Audience Commands: My Escape From the Kill Clock

It's 11:30 pm. Home alone, I decide to order some takeout. When the map shows the delivery guy is zero miles away, I receive a call from him. I pick up, only to hear unsettling silence from the other end.

I hang up, annoyed. The next moment, the guy texts me, "Sorry, I'm hearing-impaired and unable to speak. I called to notify you to pick up your food as soon as possible. I can't explain things over the phone, and I apologize for that."

Then comes another text. "You must've been waiting for a long time. I've left your order at your door, so please pick it up as soon as you can."

Just as I prepare to open the door, I see bars of live comments—reminiscent of livestream chats—floating right before my eyes.

"Don't open the door! That dude isn't a delivery guy at all! He's a murderer!"

"He called you to check if you're a woman living alone!"

"Seriously, why are all thriller story protagonists always so dumb? The delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she still wants to open the door."

The sudden appearance of those floating comments frightened me so badly that my hand, ready to twist the doorknob, jerked back instantly.

What was this? A murderer? A thriller story protagonist? Were they talking about me?

I had never believed in anything supernatural, but those words were right there, floating in front of my eyes. My heart skipped a beat.

The circumstances spared me no time to overthink, so I only caught the most important part of what the comments were saying. A murderer was currently standing outside my door, ready to kill me at any moment.

I pressed myself against the door, holding my breath as I peered through the peephole. The hallway outside was empty, with no one in sight. I kept staring and, soon, noticed something off.

All the hallways in our building had motion-sensor lights. As long as someone was there, the lights would stay on. From my front door, I could see the entire hallway clearly. There was no one outside, yet the lights remained on.

That could only mean one thing—someone was hiding in the hallway, standing just outside my field of vision.

Suddenly, something occurred to me. I immediately turned off the lights inside the apartment, then lowered my head to check the gap at the bottom of the front door.

Normally, once the lights inside went out, the light from the hallway would spill through the crack under the door. Yet, right in the middle of the gap, something dark was blocking it completely. Only a few faint streaks of light leaked in from both sides.

I could now confirm someone was actually outside. They could very well be crouching right in front of my door, the perfect blind spot from my peephole.

Just then, my phone lit up. It was another message from the delivery guy. "Why aren't you picking up your food yet? Is something wrong? I can help you."

Staring at the writhing shadow beyond the door, I thought I could hear the man's breathing on the other side. At that moment, I became even more certain that the floating comments were real and that someone with bad intentions was hiding outside my door.

I stepped away from the entrance without hesitation, rushed back into the apartment, and locked every door and window tight. Then, I pulled out my phone, ready to call the police.

A new chunk of comments swept past my eyes.

"Wow. For once, the heroine is actually not that dumb. She didn't open the door!"

"She even knew to switch off the lights to check the murderer's shadow. How smart!"

"But the plot can't carry on if she doesn't open the door and become the first fallen victim."

"Exactly. The heroine is meant to be murdered. Only after that, when the hero is shattered by grief, does he truly step into the spotlight. That's how we'll see his journey venturing into solving chilling, thriller-filled cases."

When I saw those words, a creeping sense of foreboding engulfed me. Before I could even dial 911, a mocking laugh sounded from outside the door.