There’s an old photo booth at the back of Pine Street Arcade. It still barely works. But if it prints a fifth frame…
You’ll wish it hadn’t.
Lena and her friends found the photo booth by accident.
It sat alone behind a row of out-of-order machines, covered in stickers from the early 2000s.
“Retro!” Lena laughed.
She popped in a coin and dragged her friends in.
Four quick flashes.
They came out laughing, blinking from the sudden light.
The machine whirred.
Printed four photos.
Then… a fifth.
It slid out slower than the rest.
Like it didn’t want to be seen.
Lena picked it up—and her smile faded.
In the fifth photo, they were all still in the booth.
Same clothes. Same poses.
But…
Their faces were twisted.
Eyes black. Mouths gaping.
Like they were mid-scream.
And behind them, in the narrow strip of light…
A tall shadow.
No one remembered seeing it. No one was behind them.
They shrugged it off.
“Probably just a glitch,” one said.
They threw it away.
Two days later, Maya—one of Lena’s friends—vanished.
No signs. No struggle. Just gone.
Police found her phone in her apartment.
Camera still open.
The last photo?
A blurry image of her closet.
And a tall, dark figure emerging from it.
Lena woke up to find the fifth photo on her nightstand.
She knew she threw it away.
Now it looked older. The colors faded.
And Maya?
Gone from the image.
Just a dark smudge where she stood.
One by one, her friends started disappearing.
Each time, the photo reappeared—with one less person.
Until only Lena remained.
Desperate. Lena returned to the arcade.
The photo booth was still there.
She crawled inside.
The coin slot was jammed.
But the screen turned on anyway.
It showed a live feed.
She was alone.
Except… a shadow flickered behind her in the reflection.
She turned.
Nothing.
The screen blinked.
“FRAME 5 PRINTING.”
The fifth photo dropped.
She braced herself.
But this one was different.
No twisted faces.
No shadow.
Just her.
Smiling.
And behind her—herself again.
Another Lena.
Standing outside the booth.
Eyes wide. Terrified.
Mouth open in a silent scream.
That’s when she heard a whisper behind her:
“Smile for the next one.”
The booth was removed two weeks later after the arcade was shut down for “safety violations.”
No one remembers the names of the missing friends.
Not even Lena’s parents.
But the photo?
Sometimes it resurfaces.
At flea markets. In thrift stores. On random Instagram filters.
Frame 5.
A flash.
A twist of the mouth.
A figure in the dark.
If a photo booth ever prints five pictures instead of four…
Don’t look at the last one.
And whatever you do—don’t go back inside.