Rose L.

Rose Lalonde

1 day ago

@woeGothic[WG]

#eridanweek #horror You find yourself in the same cubicle you've worked for the past ten years in. You find yourself alone in the half lit office building. You are the last individual in the building, everyone else has families at home. You gaze at the CRT Monitor displaying its 600 x 400 resolution. You are comforted by the warm hum radiating from its core. You flit your pupils about your digital workspace, resting on the internet explorer icon. You decide to click it, check a few personal emails. You are invited to a website, chittr.ing, it's called. You see it's created by an Alternian. @dynamicFlowfields You see your standard social media fare when you register. You see pictures of friends and foes of old sharing good tidings. You feel a warmth inside. You however, lose that warmth when you notice a small trend. You saw it every dozen posts or so. #imcoming. You chalked it up to an innuendo. You did not register the warning. You look into it a bit more as it begins to populate your feed. You see #eridanweek, your see #bouncingonit. You see no reason to be worried. You let yourself be comfortable once more. You find yourself reading one of Rankmaid's fictive narratives. @archiveAddict You don't let it excite you too much, you're still at work. You don't give #imcoming much more mind. You don't even realize it's already the second day of #eridanweek. You look at the clock, it is midnight. You wet your eyes with eyedrops, ever handy. You can not seem to turn away just yet. You begin to experience Eridan Week vicariously through the posts. You see the likes of humorous, possibly purely jesting, celebrities from Alternia and Beforus. You notice that nearly ever post of Eridan Week includes #imcoming. You notice that #imcoming slowly turns to #ImComing. You are uneasy from the new threat. You look elsewhere, exploring other tags such as #teatime and catching up with others who aren't involved. You see irrelevant posts to Eridan Week even begin to include #imcoming. You begin to see odd images aghast across your dashboard. You begin to see yourself in images you weren't aware of being taken. You see yourself commenting on posts long since past. You did not write these. You keep seeing it. You even begin to post #imcoming in these retroactive oddities. You assume that this is due to someone mimicking your identity. You attempt to steer conversation on the platform away from it. You hastily type up humor, and romantic posts. You are doing anything you can to drown out #ImComing. You notice it is larger now. #IMCOMING. You select the tag, out of sheer curiosity and perhaps a fear for survival. You need to know who is coming. You. You are coming. You scroll endlessly through the tag. You see yourself on every post. You see your own hollow words. You see your notifications begin to shift. You are bombarded, first, a dozen #IMCOMING Responses. You refresh. You see a hundred. You refresh. You see a thousand. You click one. You see yourself. You click another. You see your own account again. You scroll down your feed. You only see your own account. You see your profile picture, stretched, compressed, tortured, reflected in glass. You do not remember seeing yourself like this before. You try to log out. You fail. You try to close the browser. You fail. You try to shut of the monitor. You are tortured by its continued hum. You step away. You notice the lights are long since turned out. You notice the office is even darker than usual. You see the distant lights of other monitors flicker. You notice a rhythm. You notice a heartbeat. You notice it isn't yours. You look back to the screen. You see #ImComing is #ImHere. You do not remember this post. You do not remember thinking it. You see a live feed open itself. You see your grainy, monochrome cubicle in an old video. You see your chair, your desk. You see yourself. You are not looking at the monitor. You are looking at the camera. You see the image distorting as the alternate self begins to move closer. You see it distort the frame. You hear it. You do not have speakers. You hear it under you, or around you. You hear its cacophony of whispers. You hear it gently say, "I'm here." You see the monitor flicker. You see the camera cut out. You monitor briefly turns out as you lean forward. You see yourself in your own reflection, only behind you. You see chittr.ing return. You see a new post. You see @you. You see an image loading slowly. You clench your nails in anticipation as each line slowly creeps into rendering. You see your cubicle again. You notice it is empty. You aren't even there. You see the caption. #IMHERE You feel something breathing on your neck. You stand up to leave. You see its fingers slowly extend past your peripheral vision. You close your eyes. You shouldn't have stayed.