Elias didn’t remember typing the title. He didn’t remember opening the browser. But there it was, a single line of text pulsing in the center of the screen, typed in a font that felt too sharp for the words it carried. “Don’t look at the reflection in the microwave.”
Elias froze. He looked back over his shoulder. The laptop was definitely open, the bright white screen of the notepad illuminating the wall. He looked back at the microwave. Note 11/19/2022 11:48:51 AM - Online Notepad
Elias lunged for the laptop, desperate to delete the note, to close the tab, to break the connection. His fingers hit the keys, but the keyboard felt like cold stone. He looked at the screen. The text was changing in real-time, appearing faster than any human could type. Elias didn’t remember typing the title
Elias didn't turn around. He didn't have to. The chill on the back of his neck told him that the note was no longer online. It was in the room. “Don’t look at the reflection in the microwave
In the mirror-world of the kitchen, a figure was standing directly behind him. It wasn't Sarah. It was a tall, blurred shape with fingers like frayed rope, reaching out toward his reflected neck.
He looked at the clock on his taskbar. . Only seconds had passed since the note was created.