The Post That Predicted My Murder

Sleepless, I scrolled through my phone and stumbled upon a chilling post:
URGENT BULLETIN: Lock-Picking Killer Operating in City. Targeting Solo Women. Latest Incident: Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. Victim Killed at 11:00 PM.
My stomach dropped like an anchor.
Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. That was my apartment.
I scrolled down. Attached was a simulated crime scene diagram. The layout, the furniture, even the arrangement of objects on the dining tableit was an exact replica of my living room.
And the posts timestamp? It was dated for tomorrow.
A cold dread spread through my chest.
What was this? A murder prediction, sent from the future?
Then.
Click.
A distinct, unmistakable turning of the tumbler, coming from the front door.
A beat later, the door creaked open.
Someone was actually coming in.
1
My blood turned to ice.
I slammed the phone screen dark, plunging the bedroom into complete blackness.
Id gotten ready for bed early and had already turned off the living room light, lying in bed to scroll.
Now, the darkness was my only shield.
Heavy footsteps padded across the hardwood floor in the living roomslow, cautious.
Whoever it was seemed to be taking a careful inventory of the apartment.
I remembered the bedroom door was still slightly ajar.
If they reached the doorway, theyd spot me instantly.
But I couldnt risk standing up. The house was too quiet. Any sudden movement, any sound, would betray my location.
I fought a fierce internal battle.
Swallowing hard, I decided to disappear.
I executed the move at the most agonizing pace, sliding out of the covers. Hand first, then my legs. I rolled onto the floor and then, inch by agonizing inch, slid myself under the bed.
Once I was flat on my back on the floor, I peered through the narrow gap between the bed frame and the rug.
A tall silhouette moved from the sofa, pausing briefly to check it, then slowly drifted toward the dining table.
The table sat diagonally across from my bedroom door. They only needed to turn around to see the open door.
The figure stopped right by the table. I frowned in confusion.
Then I remembered. Ten minutes ago, I had poured myself a glass of hot water and left it there.
The water was still scalding.
A touch of the glass would immediately tell them the apartment wasnt empty.
Sure enough, after a moments pause, the figures gaze snapped toward the bedroom doorway.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
As the footsteps resumed, slow but purposeful, coming straight toward me, each step landed directly on my frayed nerves.
The post was right.
The killer found me. He's actually going to do it.
I wanted to bolt, but the bedroom offered no escape. I wanted to scream, but my throat was a vise.
I watched, helpless, as a pair of shoes stopped right at the foot of the bed, the toes pointing directly at my face.
Then, a face, twisted in a sneer, locked onto my terror-stricken eyes.
A large hand, encased in a rubber glove, shot out like a steel claw, grabbing a handful of my hair and dragging me out from beneath the bed.
I thrashed and yelled, fighting until my lungs burned.
Then, the cold edge of a blade sliced across my neck.
Blood erupted.
My phone slipped from my sweat-slicked hand and hit the floor, the screen cracking and lighting up.
The time:
11:00.
Excruciating pain overwhelmed my consciousness.
2
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying spread-eagle on my bedroom floor, my pajamas soaked in cold sweat.
My phone was by the pillow, its screen glowing.
The time read:
10:45 PM.
Was I reborn?
I had returned to the fifteen minutes before my death.
A phantom ache still throbbed in my neck, a brutal reminder that the horror Id just experienced wasn't a nightmare.
My hands shaking, I grabbed the phone and frantically searched the web for that prophetic news post.
Soon, the chilling headline materialized:
URGENT BULLETIN: Lock-Picking Killer Operating in City. Targeting Solo Women. Latest Incident: Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. Victim Killed at 11:00 PM.
My heart felt ready to burst through my chest.
It had been real. I had already died once at the hands of this killer.
The time stamp on my phone just before the endit matched the post exactly. I was slated to be murdered at 11:00 PM.
I glanced at the current time. It was just past 10:46 PM.
I had fourteen minutes to cheat my gruesome fate.
I focused on the key phrase in the post: Targeting Solo Women.
I remembered the men's athletic shoes Id accidentally ordered online last week and hadn't gotten around to returning.
I scrambled out of bed, raced to the entryway closet, and snatched them.
I deliberately pulled the laces undone and scuffed the heels to make them look worn.
Then, I carefully opened the front door, placed the shoes casually on the doormat, pointing inward. A subtle signal that a man also lived here.
I quickly shut the door, lifted the handle to engage the multi-point lock, and threw the heavy-duty deadbolt.
Since I lived alone, Id splurged on the most secure lock I could find.
The locksmith had guaranteed me: "With this deadbolt engaged, even a professional could spend half a day on it, and any attempt at a forced entry would make enough noise to alert the whole precinct. Youll have more than enough time to call 911."
For extra measure, I shoved the heavy dining table against the door. Even if he breached the lock, the barricade would buy me a few precious seconds.
Next, I remembered I had Frank, one of the security guards at Oasis Court, on my contacts list.
I quickly messaged him, asking if he could check the camera feed for my building, looking for any unfamiliar faces.
Frank was a kind, helpful man. Without asking questions, he promised hed keep an eye on the surveillance and text me immediately if he saw anything.
I thanked him, then retreated to my bedroom closet, pulled the door shut, and held my breath.
The minutes bled away, stretching into an agonizing eternity, until the clock finally hit 11:00 PM.
I listened, muscles tensed, for any sound at the front door.
But 11:00 came and went in silence.
No key turning, no scraping, no door being pushed open.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was Frank. Hed sent me a message and an attached screen recording of the surveillance video.
Kiddo, I checked the feeds. No strangers entering your building. Rest easy!
I clicked the video, scrubbing through it.
The entire wall of monitors showed the main gates, the building lobby, the underground garage, and even the camera pointed at my seventh-floor hallway.
I watched the time stamp on the video pass 11:00 PM. Not a single person walked past my unit.
My tightly wound nerves finally began to relax.
Did I actually stop him? Did I just dodge it?
Just as I prepared to exit the closet, a thought struck me.
If the killer didn't come, would the prophetic post change?
I opened my phone and pulled up the thread.
It was still there.
But the title had shifted:
URGENT BULLETIN: Lock-Picking Killer Operating in City. Targeting Solo Women. Latest Incident: Oasis Court, Building 3, Unit 701. Victim Killed at 11:05 PM.
11:05?
The impact was physical, a ringing in my ears.
My phones clock ruthlessly ticked over from 11:04 to 11:05.
And then I heard itthe heavy, rhythmic footsteps outside the closet door.
They crossed the living room and paused in the bedroom.
How?
How did he get in? The security camera didn't catch him, and I'd put up both a distraction and a barricade!
Reality offered no time for contemplation.
The tall shadow loomed, and through the closet door slats, I saw his face approaching, wreathed in that same sinister smile.
Without hesitation, he wrenched the door open.
I screamed, dragged out like a sacrificial lamb. His knife flashed, scoring my neck again.
In the grip of absolute terror, my voice was a broken, tear-choked whisper.
"W-why why me? How did you get in...?"
No answer.
The agony of dying swept over me. With an unfinished, furious question hanging in the air, I closed my eyes.

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