Note 11/19/2022 11:48:51 Am - Online Notepad -

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.

In the reflection, the laptop remained shut. And there was something else.

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. 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.

11:50:03 AM - He sees you now. 11:50:05 AM - You shouldn't have checked the time. Elias didn't turn around

He walked toward it, his hand reaching for the refrigerator handle, but his eyes were locked on that digital note. Why that specific time? Why that specific warning?

He turned back to the kitchen. The microwave was no longer reflecting the room. It was showing a live feed of the notepad. And on that digital screen, a new line appeared: “Turn around. I’m finished typing.” The microwave timer let out a sharp, piercing BEEP . It was in the room

Elias laughed, a dry, nervous sound that died quickly in his cramped studio apartment. It was a prank. It had to be. He’d left his laptop open while he went to grab the mail. Maybe his neighbor, Sarah, had slipped in? No, the door had been deadbolted.