Your Fans Are Watching

The alert began pinging profusely at 5:02AM. A quick, groggy-eyed check shows "IG" with a tiny red bubble that shows the number "107" inside of it. What could possibly be blowing it at this hour?

You pop open the app to see what all of the fuss is about.

A video you posted at 2:45AM had gotten the attention of some meme junkies on the web. Wasn't my last post a video of my cat? Maybe the world finally sees how loveable Sir Mittens is! The video, is in fact, not of the cat, but rather, you. A still shot from across the room of you in bed. You feel the blood drain from your face.

Halfway through the minute long video, a figure steps into frame clad all in black. They step over to you, stroke your hair, then walk back out of frame.

Your heart skips a beat. Is this real? You slowly look around the room. No one was there. Maybe living alone has started getting to me. They say the first year alone is the best, but ever since the pandemic was announced everything has been topsy-turvy. You slowly sit up and place your phone on the bedside table. Nothing in the room seemed different than before you fell asleep.

This HAS to be a prank! We just had April Fools Day and some people are diehard April pranksters. Maybe one of my friends from school did this! You grab your phone again and begin scrolling through each notification and checking the accounts attached to them. Every single one seemed like a computer generation, no trace of anyone you know in any of them.

You go back to the original post to inspect it. How on earth can this say it was posted with my phone? You toss the phone onto your bed in frustration. I'd better make sure the front door is locked, other wise I won't be able to drop this and get back to sleep. You rub the sleep from your eyes, slide your feet into your slippers and head downstairs.

As you flick on light after light, still nothing seems touched and you confirm the front door is locked. Every window is shut and locked. You head back upstairs.

You grab your phone once more. The little red bubble now reads "372". The video had made it to "trending" and people were starting to take notice. Most figured it was a sort of publicity stunt or home movie project. Finally, the stress eats you into submission and you put the phone down on the side table.

You toss and turn, unable to sleep with the looming dread that the video brought. You startle awake and throw a hand out to grab your phone off of the table, but when you reach for it, it is not there. Your eyes widen in fear. You flop your hand around frantically in the dark but find nothing with your prying paw. A tingle of terror runs down your spine. You dash from the bed to the light switch, then turn around and slam your back up against the wall, panting.

The phone is nestled on your chair across the room, tiny red recording light on.

You freeze. The room is empty. The door never moved. Is it possible that I did it in my sleep? I don't think so, I wasn't exactly getting the best "Zs"... As you reach a hand out to grab the camera something clunks to the ground behind you. You whip around, your heartbeat pounding like a drum in your ears, breathing choked and uneven.

There behind you stands a tall figure dressed from head to toe in black, face covered by a ski mask. Eyes wide in terror, you gasp to scream but their hand flies out to cover your mouth.

"Shhh little one, your fans are watching." Their deep yet strangely soft voice coos.

Your knees wobble and your vision begins to go fuzzy. Their hand smells wei- You crumple to the ground in a heap.

As your vision returns to you, you realize that you are back in bed. You bolt upright. The intruder was nowhere to be seen. You look to the side table and your phone is sitting right where you remember placing it before bed. You quickly scroll through your social media account. The video was nowhere to be found. Just as you take a sigh of relief, an alert pops up and catches your attention. Someone had started a live stream and tagged you in the announcement post. You tap it and are redirected to the stream.

There you sit. Phone in hand.

You turn your head slowly toward the corner of the room where the video seemed to be shooting from, and blinking in the dark is a tiny red light. As your eyes begin welling with tears, you frantically punch in a number and sit in the dark, shivering while the phone line tries to connect. It beeps. Dead line. The top corner of your phone reads "No Service."

Leaping out of bed you look around for the first thing resembling a weapon. Your eyes fall upon the heavy book on your desk. You wield it like a deadly hammer and begin inching your way out of your room, checking behind yourself every few steps. The hallway seems to stretch on forever, uncertainty and dread seeping into your bones. By the time you reach the stairs you feel as if the slightest noise would send you into a flurry of flying fists and literature.

Nothing.

You continue creeping down the stairs, careful to step as lightly as possible to not creak the old wood. Your foot lands on the floor at the bottom.

Still, nothing.

You creep through the living room, ducking behind the couch. You sit down for a moment, clutching the book close to your heart. This is real. This is real and I have to get out. This is real and I need help! You open your clenched eyes and take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. You pull your phone out again. It has a signal! Before you can begin punching in a number, your social media pings again. You look around the room for a red flashing light but see nothing. Unable to fight the curiosity, you open the alert and tap on the video.

It was back in your room. The same angle as the first video. There on your bed sat the figure dressed all in black. They were just sitting there quietly, staring at the camera, but once you join the stream they stand. They grab one of your stuffed bears and show it to the camera. One hand reaches to their hip and pulls out a large hunting knife. They place the knife at the bear's throat and with one fluid motion slice off it's head.

They lean in close to the camera and whisper, "Run."

You bolt, no longer worried about noise. You hear the thudding of footstep on the stairs above you. The room seems to shrink as your eyes narrow, your only goal escape. You trip on a lamp cord and stumble out into the foyer, panting. There's the door! I made it! You teeter up to the door, undo the deadbolt, and wrench it open.