Slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs, Elias gripped the edges of his desk. He began to lean to the side, his eyes locked on the narrow, dusty gap between the back of his monitor and the cold brick wall of his apartment.
The video opened to a static shot of a darkened hallway. It was his hallway, leading from the kitchen to the bedroom. The timestamp in the corner read 03:14 AM—exactly twenty-four hours ago. AndroVid_6316mp4
A notification chirped on his desktop. A new file had just appeared in the folder: AndroVid_6317.mp4. Slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs, Elias
There, taped to the plastic casing, was a second smartphone. Its camera lens was pointed directly at the back of his head. It was still recording. It was his hallway, leading from the kitchen to the bedroom
Elias didn't open this one. He didn't have to. He could hear the faint sound of footsteps clicking on the hardwood floor directly behind his chair.
Then, his sleep-self leaned in and whispered something. The audio was a distorted hiss, but Elias turned his speakers to the maximum. "Don't look behind the monitor," the recording rasped.