DeathClock's Echo

I swipe left — the app dissolves, then flickers back. Red numbers still breathe. My finger trembles. The laptop hums louder, a low growl. I press the home button. Nothing. The screen cracks — no, my reflection warps, edges folding inward. A whisper: Not yet. My chest tightens. The air tastes metallic, like old blood. I back away. The door creaks. No one’s there. The clock ticks. I count each second. 15:03:27. My breath syncs. Another second. 15:03:26. The laptop screen flashes — a photo. A girl, face blurred. My hands freeze. The image shifts — my face. Same blank eyes. Same smile. I blink. It’s gone. Just the clock. Just the hum. Just the red. I press the screen. It pulses. A voice: Find her. My throat closes. The door rattles. No wind. No hands. The clock ticks. 15:03:25.