Okay Google-Short Horror Story

In a dimly lit, flickering laundry room, a terrified man grips a crowbar while facing a shadowy, indistinct figure slowly approaching from the darkness. The ominous figure, barely visible in the shadows, evokes a sense of supernatural dread. Everyday laundry items like baskets and a washer-dryer contrast with the eerie, foreboding atmosphere, emphasizing the man's fear as he stands on the verge of panic.

Timothy had just moved into his new apartment, still adjusting to the creaks and groans of the unfamiliar place. Exhausted, he decided to finish up his laundry. He casually commanded, “Google, switch off the laundry room lights.” The lights flickered off, but before he could relax, Google responded in its usual monotone, “Switching upstairs lights on.”

Timothy froze. His heart skipped a beat. There was no reason for the upstairs lights to come on—he hadn’t even been up there. Tension gnawed at him as he cautiously spoke again, “Google, switch off the upstairs lights.” As the room plunged into darkness, he caught a glimpse of something—a shadowy figure standing in the corner, shrouded in the dim light. It didn’t move. It didn’t speak. But it was there.

Panic surged through his veins. Grabbing a crowbar from his toolset, Timothy stormed upstairs, his mind racing. Each door he flung open revealed nothing but emptiness. But just as he convinced himself it was all a mistake, Google’s voice echoed from downstairs, “Playing music from your playlist.”

He rushed downstairs, his breath shallow, unplugging the Google device in frustration. “That’s enough of that,” he muttered, trying to convince himself it was just malfunctioning. But something felt wrong—terribly wrong.

As he turned to search the rest of the house, the lights in the laundry room flickered back on. His blood ran cold. Google was unplugged. That wasn’t possible. He stood at the door to the laundry room, crowbar gripped tightly in his hand, cautiously stepping inside. Nothing. No one.

But as he turned to leave, a creeping sensation crawled up his spine. Timothy’s eyes widened in horror as the same shadowy figure he had seen before stood at the threshold of the laundry room, slowly taking deliberate, heavy steps toward him. Its features were impossible to make out, cloaked in darkness, but there was something undeniably menacing about its slow, methodical movements.

“Who… who are you?” Timothy’s voice wavered, his throat dry with fear. The figure didn’t respond, merely stepping closer, its presence suffocating. Timothy’s heart pounded in his chest as he screamed at the now-unplugged Google device, “Google! Switch on the lights! All the lights!”

Five desperate attempts. Five unbearable seconds of silence.

Finally, Google’s familiar chime rang out, filling Timothy with a fleeting moment of hope. “Switching off laundry room lights.”

The room went pitch black. Timothy’s scream tore through the apartment, his last emotion one of raw, primal terror as the shadow closed in, silencing him forever.

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The whisper came again, clearer this time, and her heart skipped a beat. It sounded like someone was calling her name. "Emily..." She spun around, the flashlight beam dancing wildly. "This isn't funny," she said, more to herself than to any potential prankster. "If someone is here, show yourself!" The only response was silence. After a few moments, Emily convinced herself that it was just the wind playing tricks on her. She turned to leave, but a sudden cold draft made her stop in her tracks. The temperature had dropped noticeably, and she could see her breath in the air. She took another step, and that's when she saw it—a figure standing in the corner, shrouded in shadow. "Who are you?" Emily demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. The figure didn't move, didn't speak. It was as if it was made of darkness itself. Emily felt a chill run down her spine as she took a cautious step closer. The figure seemed to dissolve into the shadows, leaving behind an eerie silence. 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