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

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: .

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 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.

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. The cursor blinked steadily against the white digital

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

Elias grabbed the laptop to slam it shut, but the screen stayed upright, locked by an invisible force. The timestamp on the notepad began to count upward, faster and faster, blurring into a strobe light of digits. And there was something else

He reached the counter. The microwave’s glass surface was polished, acting as a perfect, dark mirror of the room behind him. He could see the edge of his unmade bed, the pile of laundry in the corner, and the back of his own head. Then he noticed the discrepancy. In the reflection, the laptop on his desk was closed.