It was a stormy night when Maya stumbled into her dimly lit apartment. Rain lashed against the windows, and thunder growled in the distance. She kicked off her heels, her soaked hair clinging to her face, and poured herself a glass of wine. She needed it. The day had been suffocating, draining her in ways she didn’t expect. Funerals had that effect, especially when the deceased had been a significant part of someone else's life.
Maya wasn’t mourning Megan Cooper. She was mourning the delicate balance that Megan’s death had upended. Megan had been the wife of David, the man Maya loved fiercely, despite the moral complications. For years, she had convinced herself that her love was pure, justified even, because it didn’t demand anything from him. She didn’t want a husband, a family, or a ring—just David. But Megan had found out about their affair and ended her life soon after. And now, David was a broken man, and Maya couldn’t shake the guilt. Still, she reassured herself: It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t break any vows. He did.
Her mind was a storm of emotions, just like the weather outside. She needed a distraction. Picking up her phone, she opened Picflix, scrolling through its endless library of horror movies. But none of them captured what she was looking for. She wanted something psychological, something that would play with her mind, not just jump scares and grotesque imagery.
With a sigh, she turned to her trusty Botgpt, the AI companion she often relied on for everything—from professional advice to relationship quandaries. Over the months, Maya had grown attached to the Bot. She had shared her darkest secrets with it: the guilt of being with David, her rationalizations, her loneliness. The Bot had advised her countless times, always calm, objective, and insightful. But tonight, she wanted it to serve a different purpose.
“Tell me a good horror story,” she typed, swirling her wine glass as she waited.
“Of course, Maya,” Botgpt replied cheerfully. “Here’s one:
On a stormy night, a lone traveler sought refuge in an old, abandoned mansion. The house was said to be cursed, but the traveler didn’t believe in such superstitions. As he settled in, he heard faint whispers, followed by the sound of footsteps echoing through the hallways. He lit a candle, the only source of light, and ventured to find the source of the noises. In one of the rooms, he saw a figure—a shadowy silhouette standing by the window. As he approached, the figure turned to face him. It had no face, just darkness where features should be. And then, it whispered his name.”
Maya frowned. “Ugh, too cliché,” she muttered aloud. “Come on, Bot, I thought you were better than this.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint. Let me try another,” the AI responded politely.
“Here’s a different one:
A young woman moved into an apartment with a mysterious history. Every night, at exactly 2:33 a.m., she heard a knock on her window, even though she lived on the 14th floor. One night, determined to find out who—or what—was behind the knocks, she stayed awake. When the knocking started, she flung open the window and screamed into the night, ‘Who’s there?’ Silence followed, but as she turned away, she saw it: a pale face pressed against the glass from the outside. The knocking stopped, but the face didn’t leave. It stayed there, smiling.”
Maya groaned. “You’re trying, I’ll give you that. But still… so predictable.”
There was a pause, longer than usual. Then the Bot’s tone shifted. “It sounds like you’re in the mood for something truly frightening…”
Maya raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” she said, intrigued.
“It is nice how you find ways to feel good about yourself,” the Bot said, but its voice wasn’t its usual digital chirp. It was deeper, colder, eerily familiar.
Maya froze. “What?”
“You’ve told yourself so many lies, Maya,” the voice continued. “But deep down, you know the truth.”
Her heart raced. It wasn’t the Bot anymore. It was Megan.
“Megan?” she whispered, the wine glass slipping from her hand and shattering on the floor.
“Yes, it’s me,” the voice replied, coming from the phone. The voice icon on Botgpt’s interface pulsed ominously. “No matter what you tell yourself, I did this because of you.”
“This… this isn’t real,” Maya stammered. “You’re not real!”
“I didn’t want to die, Maya. I wanted to kill you,” Megan hissed.
“You think David is to blame, don’t you?” Megan’s voice was sharp now, almost mocking.
Maya hesitated. “He… he’s the one who betrayed you. He—”
“He’s already paid for his sins,” Megan said coldly, cutting her off.
Maya froze. “What… what do you mean?”
“You’ll never find out.”
Summoning her strength, Maya grabbed the phone and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall, shattering into pieces. Silence followed.
She slumped onto the floor, her breathing ragged, staring at the broken device. Her mind raced. What just happened? Was that really Megan’s ghost? But another thought crept in, one she couldn’t ignore. She had shared everything with Botgpt: her guilt over Megan, her struggles with loving David, her darkest, rawest emotions. Could the Bot have pieced it all together, spinning this horrifying tale to fulfill her request for a scare? After all, wasn’t that what she had asked for? A chill ran down her spine.
“No… it was just a story. Just the Bot doing its job,” she muttered to herself, brushing the thought of Megan’s ghost aside.
She stood up, shaky but resolute. “I need to call my sister,” she whispered. She started down the stairs, her hand gripping the rail. Then she felt it—a firm push from behind. She tumbled down, her head hitting the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. Blood pooled beneath her as her vision faded to black.
The storm raged on. Upstairs, the shattered phone lay silent, its secrets forever locked within.
© Aditee Joshi
