Audience Commands: My Escape From the Kill Clock

The sudden appearance of those floating comments frightened me so badly that my hand, ready to twist the doorknob, jerked back instantly.

What was this? A murderer? A thriller story protagonist? Were they talking about me?

I had never believed in anything supernatural, but those words were right there, floating in front of my eyes. My heart skipped a beat.

The circumstances spared me no time to overthink, so I only caught the most important part of what the comments were saying. A murderer was currently standing outside my door, ready to kill me at any moment.

I pressed myself against the door, holding my breath as I peered through the peephole. The hallway outside was empty, with no one in sight. I kept staring and, soon, noticed something off.

All the hallways in our building had motion-sensor lights. As long as someone was there, the lights would stay on. From my front door, I could see the entire hallway clearly. There was no one outside, yet the lights remained on.

That could only mean one thing—someone was hiding in the hallway, standing just outside my field of vision.

Suddenly, something occurred to me. I immediately turned off the lights inside the apartment, then lowered my head to check the gap at the bottom of the front door.

Normally, once the lights inside went out, the light from the hallway would spill through the crack under the door. Yet, right in the middle of the gap, something dark was blocking it completely. Only a few faint streaks of light leaked in from both sides.

I could now confirm someone was actually outside. They could very well be crouching right in front of my door, the perfect blind spot from my peephole.

Just then, my phone lit up. It was another message from the delivery guy. "Why aren't you picking up your food yet? Is something wrong? I can help you."

Staring at the writhing shadow beyond the door, I thought I could hear the man's breathing on the other side. At that moment, I became even more certain that the floating comments were real and that someone with bad intentions was hiding outside my door.

I stepped away from the entrance without hesitation, rushed back into the apartment, and locked every door and window tight. Then, I pulled out my phone, ready to call the police.

A new chunk of comments swept past my eyes.

"Wow. For once, the heroine is actually not that dumb. She didn't open the door!"

"She even knew to switch off the lights to check the murderer's shadow. How smart!"

"But the plot can't carry on if she doesn't open the door and become the first fallen victim."

"Exactly. The heroine is meant to be murdered. Only after that, when the hero is shattered by grief, does he truly step into the spotlight. That's how we'll see his journey venturing into solving chilling, thriller-filled cases."

When I saw those words, a creeping sense of foreboding engulfed me. Before I could even dial 911, a mocking laugh sounded from outside the door.