The media player opened. Silence stretched for the first ten seconds, filled only by the faint, rhythmic hiss of background static. Then, a sound emerged. It wasn't music or a voice. It was the distinct, metallic scrape of a key turning in a lock. Elias froze. The sound was too clear, too close.
He reached for the power button, but his fingers passed right through the plastic as if he were made of smoke. He looked down at his hands. They were fragmenting into jagged, green pixels. On the desk, the computer speakers pulsed one last time. "Recording finished," his own voice whispered from the air. Download Recording m4a
On the screen, the playback bar reached the one-minute mark. A voice whispered, barely audible over the static. "Don't look behind you, Elias." The media player opened
Elias finally turned around, but there was no one there. There was only the sound of his own breathing, perfectly synced with the rhythmic hiss of static now leaking from his speakers, even though the file had stopped playing. It wasn't music or a voice
Elias stared at the black screen of the player. In the reflection of the monitor, he saw the door to his office, which he was certain he had closed, standing wide open.
The blood drained from his face. The voice was his own, but the tone was wrong—hollow, as if spoken by someone who hadn't breathed in years.