Dangers of AI

The text cursor flashes on my screen, mocking me. It flashes in time with the clock above my head. Tick.. Tick.. Tick. Reminding me that time is running out. I just got off the phone with my agent and he threatened to drop me if I missed another deadline.

“The only reason I haven’t dropped you yet is because I’ve known you since you were in diapers but you’re in breach. Fucksake, Jess! I can’t keep covering for you.”

I close my eyes and rub my temples, recoiling at my frozen fingertips. Maybe if I rub hard enough, I can erase his words from my brain. I tried telling him that pressuring me to write is counterintuitive. Has the complete opposite effect of what he is trying to achieve. But he wouldn’t listen.

I’ve been staring at the blank document for so long, I swear it’s starting to move. It stretches out and yawns before me. Bored. Begging, pleading to be covered in words.

“I’m trying,” I whisper.

Hands drumming on my keyboard, I fire up Google and stare at the search bar. I shouldn’t.. The cursor flashes at me once more but this time I know what I need to type.

No. I close the search engine and open up my empty document once again.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

“Fuck you, cursor.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, Google is open in front me and I find myself typing the word WritingAI.

I enter my prompt, give it a word count and it spits out a story. Simple as that.

Copy. Paste. Skim. Change a few words here and there.. aaand submit. Done and dusted. Simple as that.

I stand up from my desk and give my neck a quick massage before heading to bed.

****************************

I wake up the next morning to the sound of heavy footfalls. My heart starts pounding and I look around, desperately trying to find something to protect myself with. Nothing. I go to grab my phone from my side table but it’s not there. Fuck! Left it downstairs. Too tired to care about my phone after finally finishing the book.

The footsteps stop and I freeze, too afraid to rustle the blankets. I wait for more sound but nothing comes. It’s completely silent downstairs.

I lift myself from bed, as slowly as I can, careful not to alert anyone to the fact that I am awake.

I’m probably just overreacting, I tell myself. I must’ve left a window open and a raccoon managed to get inside or something. I’m not particularly convincing because as I’m saying this to myself, I also decide to forego my shoes. “I’ll be quieter without them,” I think.

I tiptoe out of my bedroom and peek over the landing. The kitchen is empty, living room is empty. No raccoon. No human being either. I smooth out my frown lines and gingerly make my way down the stairs.

I head to the kitchen first and turn the kettle on. I use the pretense of making coffee to grab a knife from the drawer. I hold it tight against my thigh, knuckles white. I walk around the living room, throwing curtains open and casually checking every possible corner that could be hiding someone. But the house is completely empty, save for me.

I sink into my couch and a giggle escapes me.

“How ridiculous,” I mumble. My books are starting to get to me.

The kettle whistles and then screams. Reluctantly, I lift myself up but before I turn in the direction of the kitchen, everything goes silent.

The hairs on my arms raise and I grab my knife once again, quickly turning towards the kitchen. But it’s empty. The only place to hide is behind the kitchen island. I square my shoulders and raise the knife as I walk towards it.

One more step and whoever is behind the island will no longer be able to hide from me. I take a deep breath and step forward. Only, there’s no one there. Did I turn the kettle on when I came downstairs? I place a fingertip on the kettle and yank it back. Hot!

Putting the knife down, I push my hands into my hair and pull.

I head to the bathroom, in need of a cold shower and a clear mind. I open the door and angry, red words jump out at me. Across my mirror, in what looks like blood, is the word, “DEVOUR.”

I run out the bathroom and throughout the entire house, throwing open every cupboard door, looking under every table, under every bed. But my search comes up empty. There’s no one here.

I am the only person in this house.

I am the only person in this house?

I go back to the bathroom, wet cloth and bucket in hand but when I get to the mirror, all I see is my own reflection. I scrub the goosebumps on my arm, a weird sense of deja vu washes over me. Deja vu and dread.

I drag myself to bed, throw the covers over my head and allow myself to be swept away by dreams of vampires, ghouls and goblins.

****************************

When I finally wake up, my room is drenched in darkness. I blink quickly, trying to adjust.

I jump out of bed, pulse racing as I realize why the events of this morning gave me deja vu. Walking over to my desk, I open up the manuscript I submitted last night. My heartbeat picking up pace with every page scroll.

My phone lights up and my agent’s face pops up on my screen. I answer the Teams call.

“What the fuck, are you vibrating? Oh, it doesn't matter. Are you serious? Tell me you’re not serious. That was an AI generated piece of shit and I am appalled that you thought I wouldn’t be able to tell!”

“Alex,” I whisper.

“Jess, speak up. I’m not wearing my hearing aid.”

“It’s happening.”

“What?” Alex scrunches up his face.

“It’s happening.” I ignore the eye-roll and continue, “the book I wrote. It’s happening.”

“You wrote? Come now, Jess. We both know you didn’t write it.”

“It’s coming true!” I scream.

Alex is finally quiet, shocked at my outburst.

“Alex, the things that happened to the character in the book, it’s happening to me,” I try to explain.

“Did you even read that piece of crap? If the book was coming true, how are you speaking to me right now?” Alex starts to laugh and then abruptly stops, his eyes wide.

“Jess.. there’s someone behind you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cheeks wet. I turn cautiously, knowing what comes next. Before I can scream, before I can say anything, everything goes black.