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

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

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 . Note 11/19/2022 11:48:51 AM - Online Notepad

His stomach gave a hungry growl. He’d been planning to heat up some leftover Thai food. He stood up, his eyes darting toward the kitchenette. The microwave sat there, a box of black glass and brushed steel. From this angle, it was just a shadow. In the reflection, the laptop remained shut

The cursor blinked steadily against the white digital void of the online notepad, a silent witness to the silence of the room. At the top, the timestamp sat like a tombstone: . The microwave was no longer reflecting the room

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.

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

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.