Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
Security By Niraj Bhosale
She smiled another generic, dazzling smile and snapped another selfie. That was the tenth replica she had taken today, but only one of these artificial photos would be good enough for her Instagram page. It would be seen by her thousands of mindless followers, and only the best side of her should be shown to them. Sighing, she walked over to her bed and herself on it, clearly exhausted. Her room resembled that of a rebellious teenager: messy, covered in posters and cramped with useless trash. Not that her followers would ever know that. In their eyes, she was living the dream. She used lighting and editing to shrewdly make her room seem huge, lavishly furnished and grand.
She scrolled through her gallery, frowning at her perfect pictures.
“Too light, too dark, too fake.” She thought. In fact, all of them looked too fake. Her uncomfortable smile and wide eyes clearly showed this too clearly. After scrolling through a few more pictures, she came across a blurry mess of a photo. A wave of confusion struck her, and she remembered that she never took this photograph. A worried expression struck her face. After a few minutes of scrolling, she found dozens of these creepy photographs, yet now she could recognise her own face on them. Her hands turned a pale white and she started to shiver. A cold breeze floated into her room, growing stronger and stronger. Her phone slipped out of her hands and hit the cold, hard floor. The screen cracked, and glass shards flew everywhere.
Her hands started to drip with blood as glass pieces punctured her skin. Despite the numbing pain, she reached down to hold the phone. A countdown slowly flashed on the screen. Ten. Nine. Eight. She froze in terror and confusion. Seven. Six. Five. She braced herself for anything might happen. Four. Three. Two.
One. The battery of her phone detonated. The phone’s aluminium frame started to melt, and she felt the heat slowly rise in her hand. She started to feel faint from all the blood loss by now. The phone slipped out of her sweaty hands and burst into flames before it even hit the floor. She found her voice and screamed, but no one was home. Her hands continued to gush with blood and her head dropped. She let out a final sigh as she fainted.
Her unconscious body fell onto the blaze caused by the still flaming lithium batteries. A lone speaker echoed through the room, and it was coming from the charring phone. A singsong, childish voice called out.
“We know everything about you!” it giggled. The chilling voice continued to fade as the phone burnt, muttering and laughing in an unrecognisable voice. The room filled with toxic fumes of burning metal, along with the odour of burning flesh of one nosy girl.
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