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."
His mouse hand trembled. He moved the cursor to the file, desperate to delete it, to erase the evidence of what was happening. But when he right-clicked, the option wasn't there. Instead, the filename had changed. It now read: Uploading Reality m4a. Download Recording m4a
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. On the screen, the playback bar reached the one-minute mark
In the recording, a door creaked open. He heard the heavy thud of boots on hardwood—a cadence he recognized instantly. It was the exact sound his own front door made when the hinges needed oiling. He moved the cursor to the file, desperate
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.
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.