I looked at the screen one last time. The figure in the mirror wasn't looking at me anymore. It was looking at the camera—at you .
Panicked, I tried to delete the folder. A system error appeared: The computer screen flickered, and the view.exe window expanded to fill the entire monitor.
: A simple application that, when opened, showed a low-resolution live feed of a dark hallway. I originally thought it was a recorded loop, until I saw a reflection in a mirror at the end of the hall—a reflection of the desk I was currently sitting at.
: A six-minute track of what sounded like heavy rain, occasionally interrupted by the distinct sound of someone turning pages in a book.
I checked the audio file again. The "rain" sound had changed. It wasn't rain anymore; it was the sound of something wet dragging across a floor. The page-turning had stopped. Now, there was a faint whisper, barely audible, repeating a name. My name. The Ending
: A text file containing only one line: "Don't look at the ceiling." The Investigation