23bbf670-30ea-4f29-9be0-e58946e49f1e.jpg

Cold sweat prickled his neck. In the image, a hand was reaching out from behind the door toward the "Elias" in the photo.

The image was of a door. It was a standard, white-painted wooden door, but it was standing completely alone in the middle of a dense, foggy forest. There was no frame, no wall—just the door, slightly ajar.

Then, behind him in the real world, he heard the distinct, heavy creak of his closet door swinging open.

He moved to close the window, but the cursor wouldn't budge. The "hand" in the photo moved an inch closer to his digital self.

The file sat in a folder labeled simply 000 , tucked inside three layers of subdirectories on a thumb drive found in a thrift store coat pocket.

When Elias double-clicked it, the image didn't load normally. Instead of a photo, the screen flickered through a series of rapid-fire colors—static grey, deep violet, and a sickly, neon green. Then, it settled.