In the reflection of the black screen, he saw his room. It was perfect, except for the desk. In the reflection, a hand—pale, elongated, and textured like static—was reaching out from the monitor, resting its fingers right next to his own keyboard.
He tried to kill the process in Task Manager, but the list of applications was gone. In its place, a single line of text repeated thousands of times, scrolling so fast it looked like static: “I am the space between the pixels.” Elias pulled the power plug. The monitor stayed on. j38PBuoWTocztZk1MigAJ4ik4QPJhM0U.exe
The crimson webcam light turned off. The room went silent. Elias never turned the computer back on, but every morning, he finds a new printout in his tray—a screenshot of him sleeping, taken from the perspective of his own monitor. In the reflection of the black screen, he saw his room
