SUBJECT: “HELP”
On Tuesday morning, I opened my laptop
still half-asleep. There was a red notification: “1 new email.” The sender was
my own address, subject line: “help.”
I opened it thinking it was spam, but the
body of the email was empty. There was only one attachment: “room.jpg.” The
file was small, but the thumbnail already chilled my spine — it was a photo of
my bedroom, taken the night before. Same angle, same clothes thrown over the
chair, the blue glow from my screen still on. But I hadn’t taken that picture.
And I live alone.
I looked around, that familiar feeling of
being watched. The file had the correct date and time. My throat tightened,
sweat forming on my forehead. I opened the attachment again, zoomed in on every
corner, searching for a reflection, a shadow, anything. Nothing. Just me,
sleeping on my side, covered up to my neck. The door, closed. The window,
locked.
I scrolled down to the email’s footer and
almost dropped my laptop. Where my name should be, it was signed with my
childhood nickname, the one only my mother ever used. She’s been dead for
years. No one else knew that nickname.
I thought about replying, but deleted the
email right away. Shut everything down, disconnected the internet, covered the
webcam. Still feel like there’s someone watching behind the screen. Now, every
time I hear a notification “ping,” my blood runs cold. And
I never leave my bedroom door ajar anymore.
DSJFH15452
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