Chapter 3: Severed Hands and a Killer in the Chat

403 sounded shaken:

"Damn it, the motion-sensor lights in the stairwell were busted."

"Couldn’t see a thing."

"All I saw was a hand waving at me."

"Just as I was about to go over, I saw blood everywhere."

"It was a severed hand!"

The image was so vivid I almost gagged. I pictured it—pale, lifeless, fingers curled like they were still reaching. My skin crawled. I hugged my knees to my chest.

Just picturing it made me break out in a cold sweat. I wiped my palms on my jeans, trying to steady myself. The room felt smaller, the shadows deeper. Every sound was suddenly too loud.

403 was really lucky to get away. I typed as much in the chat, and others echoed it. We all agreed—whatever was out there, it wasn’t messing around.

But soon, people noticed something weird:

"How many people have actually died in our building?"

The question hung there, unsettling. I scrolled through the chat, counting heads. The uncertainty gnawed at me.

Everyone checked, but all the residents were accounted for. People started posting roll calls, checking in one by one. Even the quiet folks from 504 and 305. The realization settled over us—everyone was here.

Someone cried out:

"So who the hell is dead?"

The panic was catching. If no one was missing, who was the body Jess saw? My mind raced, searching for an answer.

It was bizarre—Jess clearly saw a body, but everyone was present. The contradiction made my head spin. I rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of it. The fear in the chat turned to confusion, frustration simmering underneath.

Someone else raised another question:

"What’s up with the severed hand?"

"401, can you check the body?"

"Does it have both hands?"

The request was blunt, but we needed answers. I held my breath, waiting for Jess’s reply.

Not long after, Jess replied:

"Both hands are there!"

Her message was short, but it sent a fresh wave of dread through the chat. If the body had both hands, then whose hand did 403 see?

Now everyone was even more confused. The chat devolved into chaos—speculation, arguments, wild guesses. The fear was back, sharper than before. I stared at the screen, helpless.

If the body at 403’s door had both hands, then more than one person might have died. The thought sent a chill down my spine. Was there another body? Or was something else going on? My mind went wild—monsters, murderers, all of it.

Things were spinning out of control. The chat was a madhouse—people shouting, blaming, accusing. I wanted to scream, to tell everyone to chill, but I knew it wouldn’t help. Panic was spreading.

No one could make sense of it. Every theory got shot down, every answer led to more questions. I felt like I was drowning, the walls closing in.

Someone asked:

"Could the thing have taken the victim’s phone?"

The suggestion was met with disbelief. Monsters didn’t use phones—did they? I chewed my lip, thinking. Stranger things had happened tonight.

Everyone was baffled:

"How could that be?"

"It’s a monster, not a murderer."

The chat was a mess of question marks and exclamation points. No one knew what to believe anymore.

But the person laid out their reasoning:

"Neither 401 nor 403 saw what it was."

"What if it was a murderer pretending to be a monster to scare us?"

Their logic was solid, but that just made things scarier. If someone was using the chaos to cover their tracks, we were all in danger. I typed out my agreement, hands shaking.

Everyone thought that sounded possible. A few people chimed in—"Yeah, that makes sense," "Could be," "Creepy as hell." The mood shifted from supernatural terror to something more real—and just as terrifying.

If the murderer took the victim’s phone and joined the group chat, that would be even worse. The idea made my skin crawl. Anyone in the chat could be the killer, hiding in plain sight. I stared at the list of names, wondering who I could trust.

Suddenly, 403 spoke up: