I know what you did...
You thought no one would notice.
You thought you were careful — deleting your history, clearing the cache, logging out of incognito before the clock struck midnight. But I know. I know.
It started with a smudge. A barely perceptible distortion in the metadata of a JPEG you uploaded on May 14th, 2023, at precisely 3:17 a.m. UTC. A cat photo — harmless, right? Wrong. That file contained EXIF data that didn’t match the camera model you claimed to own. Strike one.
Then I traced your Spotify Wrapped. You thought it was just fun. A little share here, a little meme there. But the patterns in your top songs — “Nightmare” by Halsey three times in a row, alternating with Gregorian chants? No normal listening behavior. Not unless you're hiding something... something dark.
And then came the Reddit trail. Deleted comments. Obscured accounts. But you forgot about Reveddit. I saw your “totally innocent” question on r/BirdsWithArms. I saw what you asked about the talons. And I saw the reply you upvoted. The one about how to “train them.” Strike two.
It gets worse.
On a whim — and maybe a hunch — I pulled public access CCTV footage from the corner of 12th and Main on July 8th. There, in the fog, I saw a figure. Hooded. Crouching beside a storm drain. And what do they toss in? A flash drive.
Guess who bought that same brand and model of flash drive from a gas station 11 miles away just hours earlier?
You.
Don’t bother asking how I know. I cross-referenced your Venmo transactions with your GPS data from your “fitness” app. Nice try pretending it was for a run.
But even that, even that, wasn't the full picture.
The rabbit hole goes deeper.
The library checkout records.
The pattern of WiFi signals around your neighborhood.
The anomalous spike in your toaster’s energy usage that correlates exactly with a 23-minute blackout in Moldova — and don’t play dumb, we both know what Moldova means to you.
At first I thought, maybe it’s nothing.
Maybe I’ve just been staring too long.
But then I saw it — in the reflections.
In the glass of the microwave, in the puddles near the park.
Your face. Watching. Always watching.
And worst of all… the ducks.
They aren’t real, are they?
You trained them. You named them. And now they sit outside my window, motionless, eyes glowing, quacking in binary.
So no, you can’t just walk away.
You can’t pretend this didn’t happen.
I have the receipts. The timelines. The psychic residue.
Even the algorithms are whispering your name now — garbled, yes, but unmistakably you.
You thought the truth would never surface.
But here I am.
(¬‿¬)
Watching.
Always watching.
And waiting… for your next move.
Discord