A shiver crawls down my spine. "Okay… that's… really weird. Don't games usually have, like, a whole process before they actually start? At least a few seconds to load?"
"Most do," Hadreted types back quickly.
"Yeah, most!" I agree, feeling a knot of unease tighten in my stomach. "But this just… bam. Right into it. No disclaimers, no epilepsy warnings, not even a title card. Just… here you are." I glance back at the chat window, a small comfort in knowing that at least Hadreted is witnessing this bizarre start with me.
The game opens up to a first-person perspective. I'm standing on a dimly lit street at what looks like midnight. The architecture… it looks unsettlingly familiar. A simple map is visible in the corner of the screen, with a single objective marker blinking: "Get home."
I lean forward, my hands still hovering over the mouse and keyboard, staring at the screen with a mixture of confusion and a growing sense of fear. "Get home…" I murmur, my eyes scanning the objective. I glance at the map. The layout of the street… it's sending a chill right down my spine. I can't quite put my finger on why, but it feels like I've walked this street before in a dream, or maybe even… in real life. "Why does this place look so familiar? And… is the game… telling me to get home?"
"Probably just part of the narrative," Hadreted replies. "You know how some horror games like to mess with your head. Just follow the objective, you'll be fine."
I glance at the chat. "Right… 'just part of the narrative'…" I mutter, taking a deep breath and trying to force a sense of calm. "Okay… okay. Deep breaths. I'll play along for now." With a slight tremor in my hand, I start moving my character forward, down the eerily familiar street.
Then, the game flickers again. Just a brief flash of complete darkness. And when the image returns, there's a figure in the distance. A tall man in a dark suit, standing unnervingly still at the end of the street, with what looks like a dark stain spread across his neck.
My heart rate spikes, a sudden surge of adrenaline flooding my system. "What… the hell is that?" I mumble, my eyes fixated on the figure. I can't quite recall if it was there before the flicker or if it just materialized. My hands are starting to sweat on the keyboard, fear and confusion beginning to bubble. "Is that… part of the game too?"
Suddenly, a dialogue box pops up in the center of the game screen. The text is stark white against a black background, and a distorted, unsettling voice whispers through my headphones.
LegacheaciM: Run... (snobs) run as fast as you can... Zoe... He's coming... the seeker, he's coming to get you.
My eyes widen in shock. Zoe. That's my name. The eerie, synthesized voice… knowing my name… a chill deeper than any I've ever experienced shoots down my spine. "Wha… How… How does it know my name?" I stutter, my hands trembling so violently it's becoming difficult to keep them on the controls. My heart is pounding in my ears, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. This isn't just a weird glitch anymore. This is… something else entirely. Something darker. More personal.
LegacheaciM: Oh no... He's already here... Remember! D-don't hide! Don't try to fight Just...
The man suddenly get pulled back into the dark with an eerie scream.
A new objective instantly overwrites the old one on the screen. In bold red letters, it simply reads:
RUN
My heart races seeing those words as the man LegacheaciM from a distance reappears and moving, his pace quickening, directly towards my character.
I swallow hard, my breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. "Run…" I whisper as the word fills my vision. Pure instinct takes over. I slam my fingers onto the movement keys, sending my digital avatar sprinting down the street, as fast as their pixelated legs can carry them. I glance frantically at the chat. Hadreted is still there.
"Run, now." He types, a strange mix of encouragement and dark humor in his words. Then, something even weirder happens. The viewer count in my streaming software jumps. Ten more people, appearing out of nowhere, as if drawn by an invisible force.
My eyes dart back to the chat. Ten more people. That's… a lot. A small, almost inappropriate part of me feels a flicker of relief. At least I'm not completely alone in witnessing this escalating strangeness. And Hadreted's comment, even though it's a little insensitive considering the on-screen terror, gives me a tiny, bizarre burst of adrenaline. "I… I know, I know!" I retort, my voice shaky but with a newfound edge of frantic determination. With this sudden, strange audience, I have my character run even faster, their digital feet pounding on the virtual pavement, desperately trying to outrun the digital nightmare.
More and more viewers flood into the chat, their names and messages appearing in a chaotic rush.
"Wait, what just happened?"
"Is this a new game?"
"What are you playing, streamer girl?"
"Hi beautiful!"
The influx of comments is overwhelming, a jumbled mess of words, but one question keeps repeating, over and over: "What is this game?"
In the game, my character continues to sprint, desperately following the route highlighted on the small map in the corner of the screen, their destination marked with a blinking icon labeled: home.
My heart continues to race, my mind split between the growing fear of the game and the chaotic influx of chat messages. The sudden surge in viewers only amplifies the confusion and panic. The messages blur together, making it difficult to focus on anything except the constant demand: what is this game?
But instinct, fueled by the terrifying objective, still guides my character forward, taking the route indicated on the map, each step bringing them closer to the digital representation of my apartment building.
I try to keep my breathing steady, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. The frantic chat, the relentless figure chasing me in the game, the impossible familiarity of the streets – it's all too much, a sensory overload threatening to overwhelm me. My hands are shaking so badly that it's a struggle to maintain control of the character. I glance at the viewer count every few seconds, noting its alarming rise and the increasingly frantic questions in the chat. Some viewers are even starting to type, "WTF is going on?!"
The streets in the game become even more detailed, the familiarity intensifying. Too familiar. My character rounds a corner, and there it is. My apartment building. The exact same faded brick, the same slightly crooked mailbox with my apartment number, the same graffiti tag on the wall beside the entrance. My breath hitches in my throat. This can't be happening.
I bite my lip hard, trying to suppress the rising wave of anxiety and utter disbelief. "How… how can this be possible…" I whisper, the words barely audible even to myself. Despite the growing dread that threatens to paralyze me, I force my character to keep moving, each step bringing them closer to the digital front door of my apartment building. My eyes dart to the chat almost instinctively, searching for some explanation, some comment that might make sense of this impossible situation. But the sheer volume and chaotic nature of the questions and confused statements only amplify my growing fear.
Then, as my character finally reaches the objective marker, their digital hand reaching out to open the front door of the virtual apartment building, and the door swings shut behind them with a soft click, the chat goes eerily silent. No congratulations, no further questions, no more confused reactions. Just… nothing. The stream information still shows the rapidly growing viewer count, but the chat window is a blank, white void.
Then, the unnerving silence is broken by a single message. It's from Hadreted. The only viewer who seemed to have some inkling of what was happening from the very beginning.
Hadreted.
Then, a follow-up message appears almost instantly.
"You actually did it! Good job Zozo!"
A strange mix of relief and profound unease washes over me. Having that one familiar name appear in the sudden, unsettling silence is… something. But the events that just transpired, the impossibly accurate game, leave a cold, hard knot of fear in the pit of my stomach. "Y-yeah… I did it," I murmur into the microphone, my voice still trembling slightly. "But… something's really not right…"
Just as the words leave my lips, I hear it. The distinct sound of my real apartment door downstairs opening.
My heart leaps into my throat, a painful, frantic flutter. The sound of my actual front door opening, so real, so ordinary, creates a stark and terrifying contrast with the surreal horror of the game I'm supposedly playing. It sends a fresh wave of disorientation crashing over me. "Oh no…" I whisper, my eyes wide with dawning terror, my entire body going rigid as I strain to listen to the sounds drifting up from the floor below.
Then, another dialogue box appears on my monitor, overlaid on the now-static image of the inside of the digital apartment in the game. It simply displays the words.
"You should have listened, Zoe."
I stare at the sentence, my heart hammering against my ribs with violent force. It feels like the game itself is taunting me. Or maybe… warning me? "What… what does that mean…?" I murmur, my eyes darting nervously towards the still-open door to my own room.
The monitor screen then shifts, displaying a brief cutscene. My character, now shown in a third-person perspective, is standing just outside the door of the digital apartment. The character is now wearing a long, black robe that conceals their features, and they begin to walk forward… slowly… deliberately… with each heavy thud of their unseen footsteps sounding louder and more ominous than before. And as I watch the digital figure move, I hear a disturbingly similar sound from downstairs. Thud… Thud… Thud. Someone is walking up the stairs.
"No…" I whisper, my eyes widening in pure, unadulterated fear. "This… this can't be happening…"
The screen abruptly cuts to black for a split second, then fades into a creepy, high-contrast black and white image. It's a close-up of the man in the suit's face, his features gaunt and distorted, his eyes wide and vacant, with an eerie, unnaturally wide smile stretched across his face. And then, from the edges of the image, a large, cloaked figure slowly walks out from the shadows, standing directly in front of my character. In their skeletal hands, they hold a long, gleaming scythe.
As the terrifying image fills my screen, the viewer count in my streaming software suddenly plummets, dropping back down to a single, solitary number.
One.
And beside it, the username: Hadreted.
A new message appears in the chat.
Hadreted: Enjoy your last moments...
I stare at the screen, my breathing quick and erratic, each inhale feeling like a struggle. The grotesque image, the imposing figure, the chilling words… it's all too much, too real. I feel a sickening lurch in my stomach, as if I've been physically sucked into a nightmare I can't possibly wake up from. "No, no, no…" I mumble, my eyes darting wildly between the horrific image on my monitor and the door to my own room. "This... This HAS to be a prank…"
A final message appears in the chat, stark and devoid of any comfort.
Hadreted: It is all too real.
Then, a soft, almost hesitant knock echoes from my bedroom door.
I jump violently, the sound sending a jolt of pure terror through my already frayed nerves. I look at the screen, then back at the door, my mind racing, desperately trying to make sense of the impossible. Hadreted's chilling words, the soft knock… it feels like some kind of cruel, elaborate game. A sick twist of fate orchestrated just for me. "Wh-who's there?" I call out, my voice barely a shaky whisper, laced with profound dread. I hold my breath, straining to hear a response, any sound that would break the suffocating tension in the room. The air feels thick, heavy, charged with an unseen presence. The only sound I can hear is the frantic, uneven rhythm of my own heart beating against my ribs.
Another knock. Louder this time, more insistent.
I gasp, my heart lurching violently in my chest. The sound echoes in my ears, blending with the thunderous pounding of my pulse. "Who's… who's there?" I call out again, my voice cracking with raw fear, the question barely audible above my own ragged breaths.
Then, something utterly impossible happens. A gaunt, decaying hand, its flesh rotting and blackened, lunges out from my monitor screen, its skeletal fingers reaching towards me, grabbing hold of the back of my neck with a surprising and horrifying strength.
I scream, a raw, guttural sound of pure terror and utter disbelief, as the icy grip of the decaying hand tightens around my neck. "No! Get… get off!" I cry, my body instantly going rigid with shock and fear. I instinctively try to pull away, to recoil from the horrifying touch, but the grip is impossibly strong, unyielding, like the hand is made of iron and ice.
Just then, I hear the distinct, unmistakable sound of my apartment door downstairs being violently kicked open. The force of the impact reverberates through the floorboards, shaking the entire building.
The hand on my neck begins to pull. Slowly, inexorably, dragging me forward, towards the cold, unyielding glass of the monitor screen.
Pure, unadulterated panic floods my senses. My heart is a frantic, deafening drum against my ribs. I claw desperately at the hand, my fingernails scraping against its cold, dead flesh, trying with every ounce of my strength to break free from its horrifying grasp, but it's no use. The grip remains firm, pulling me closer and closer. "No, no, please! Let go of me!" I scream, my voice cracking, tears welling in my eyes as the impossible reality of the situation crashes down upon me.
Then, a figure appears in my doorway. Tall, cloaked in shadow. They look at me, being dragged towards the screen by the grotesque hand, and in a blink of an eye, I was outside. No cold rotten hands on my neck. No relentless pulling sensation. I stared, wide-eyed and panting, at the figure pull down their hood revealing to be a man seemingly in his thirties... maybe forties with his disheleved ginger hair and dirty face, he had dark noticeable eyebags.
My mind's reeling, filled with a chaotic mix of confusion and a shaky, fragile sense of relief. "Wh-who… who are you?" I finally manage to stammer out, my voice still trembling uncontrollably.
The figure looks at me, their expression serious and intense, "I'm... Jack... Jack Drake." he reply, his voice a low, steady rumble that somehow manages to cut through the lingering fear. "Listen, We need to go before..."
Another voice behind me interrupts him.
"I... Arrive?."
I turned around to see a man wearing a tattered black cloak, holding a large and sharp knife. My heart began to beat faster than before as I looked at the man, scared by presence, the air's even more colder on my skin. 'What the hell is happening? WHY is any of this happening to me?'
Jack suddenly grabbed my shoulders firmly and pushed me back behind him.
"Stay. AWAY from her." Jack said, he sounded so protective of me, even has his arm extended back behind him to me as he faced this man.
"Okay... I'll stay away."
Hearing his words, I feel somewhat relieved but that was until Jack turned to me.
"Run! Now!"
His words startles me before he suddenly flies as if hit by an invisible object to the side onto the streets, it was then I realized it was the man looking back at me with a grin on his face. My heart beats as if I'm in a marathon as my eyes remain locked to the man's red scary eyes. 'I should be running... W-why can't I move my feet?' I ask myself, feeling my entire body trembling.
"J-Jack!"
I called out to my savior, watching him slowly get back up just to get a sharp blade piercing through the side of his torso. I hear his loud and short scream before looking at me with pain visible on his face.
"What are you still doing here?! Get outta here!"
"I... I c-can't."
Tears began to form in my eyes as I looked at Jack, helplessly. Am I going to die? Is THIS how I die? Scared shitless that I can't even run to save myself.
"Awww, Poor Zoe."
I turned my gaze to the man mocking me.
"Never been in situation like this before huh? Where your life is in danger... What a shame."
Jack's grunts are heard as I look at him struggling to stand on two legs, having one knee down on the ground as he is holding his side, bleeding quite alot.
"Hey! You don't have to do this... please! Spare her."
"Oh come on, Jack. By now you should have an idea in your head that I don't tend to make exceptions! The girl dies..."
His words hung in the air, a death sentence I couldn't outrun. My breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping my lips as my eyes darted between Jack, bleeding and vulnerable, and the cloaked figure, whose red eyes burned into my soul. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through the paralysis that had gripped me.
Then, it happened.
A searing, unexpected pain exploded in my back, just below my left shoulder blade. It wasn't a punch, not a shove. It was a sharp, burning agony that ripped through my flesh like hot metal. My breath left me in a whoosh, and a strangled cry tore from my throat. My knees buckled, and the world tilted violently.
'What… what was that?' My mind struggled to comprehend the sudden onslaught of pain. It felt like being split in two, a raw, tearing sensation that stole all the air from my lungs. My hands flew to my back, instinctively seeking the source of the torment, my fingers instantly coming into contact with something wet and sticky.
Warmth spread rapidly, soaking my fingers, my hand, my clothes. The metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils, sickeningly sweet and undeniably real. My vision swam, the edges blurring as black spots danced before my eyes. The pain intensified, morphing from a sharp stab to a dull, throbbing ache that radiated outwards, consuming my entire body.
"NOOO!" Jack screamed at the man, "You bastard!!"
"Hey don't look at me. I never even got near the girl." The man's voice echoed in my ears. He was right, a transparent thin woman in grey walked pass me from behind with a red stained knife in hand.
"Heh… Told ya." The man said with his voice, a cruel satisfaction lacing his tone. The woman stood and vanished next to man. 'Was that a ghost? Did a ghost just stab me?'
I stumbled forward, my legs feeling like jelly, and instinctively reached out for Jack. My hand landed on his arm, my grip weak and desperate. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and horror.
"No..." he whispered, his voice strained.
I tried to speak, to tell him how much it hurt, how scared I was, but all that came out was a choked sob. The pain was overwhelming, stealing my words, my thoughts, everything. It was a consuming fire, burning through me from the inside out.
I could feel the blood seeping through my fingers, warm and thick. My legs gave way completely, and I crumpled to the ground, my body shaking uncontrollably. The cold pavement pressed against my cheek, rough and unforgiving. The world swam in and out of focus, the sounds around me fading into a muffled hum.
'This is it,' a small voice whispered in my mind, laced with a terrifying resignation. 'This is how it ends.'
Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, pulling me down, down into its cold embrace. The last thing I saw was Jack's face, his eyes wide with anguish, as the cloaked figure loomed over me, the glint of his knife catching the dim light. Then, everything went black.