The Museum of Forgotten Faces

In 2012, art blogger Lin Mei received a plain black envelope in the mail. Inside: a ticket to something called The Museum of Forgotten Faces. There was no return address — only a date and time.

Curiosity won. She arrived at an abandoned department store where masked attendants guided her through exhibits filled with photographs — all candid, all real, all of strangers going about their lives.

Except she recognized them.

Her kindergarten teacher. Her neighbor. Her dead father. Herself.

The photos weren’t from the past — they were from the present. People she knew, frozen mid-step in the exact moments she’d left them.

When she turned to leave, the attendants had vanished. Every light dimmed. Only one new frame hung at the end of the hall — a photo of Lin herself, standing where she was now, eyes wide with horror.

The museum doors were later found locked from the inside. Police recovered her camera — but every image on it showed empty halls.