The App That Sees the Dead

The app appeared on my phone at 3 AM. No download, no notification. Just… there. Its icon was a glowing eye, and its name was simple: Spectre.

I stared at it, my thumb hovering over the icon. I hadn’t downloaded it. I didn’t even believe in ghosts. But something about it pulled me in.

I tapped the icon.

The screen went black, then lit up with a single line of text: “Spectre: See the Unseen.”

Below it was a button: “Scan for Spectres.”

I laughed nervously. “What the hell,” I muttered, and pressed it.

That was my first mistake.

The camera activated, showing my dimly lit living room. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then I saw it—a faint, translucent figure sitting on my couch.

I dropped my phone.

When I picked it up, the figure was gone. But the app was still running, the button now labeled: “Spectre Detected.”

My heart raced. It had to be a prank, right? Some augmented reality trick.

I scanned the room again. This time, I saw more of them—faint, shadowy shapes moving through the space. One stood by the window, staring out at the street. Another hovered near the kitchen, its form flickering like a dying lightbulb.

I should have stopped there. But I didn’t.

Over the next few days, I became obsessed. I scanned every room, every street, documenting the unseen world. The app even had a feature that let me “tag” spectres, adding notes like “Woman in Victorian dress” or “Child with a ball.”

It was thrilling. Until it wasn’t.

The first warning came on the third night.

I was scanning my bedroom when the app froze. The screen glitched, then showed a single line of text: “Spectre Detected: Behind You.”

I turned around.

There was nothing there. But the air felt… wrong. Heavy, like it was pressing down on me.

I closed the app and tried to uninstall it. But the delete button didn’t work.

The next day, I noticed something strange. The spectres were becoming more aware of me.

One stood in the corner of my office, its head tilted as if studying me. Another followed me down the street, its footsteps echoing even though it had no feet.

And then there were the whispers.

At first, I thought I was imagining them. But they grew louder, more insistent.

“You shouldn’t have looked.”

“They’re watching you.”

“Join us.”

I tried to destroy my phone. I smashed it against the wall, dunked it in water, even threw it out the window. But every time, it reappeared—whole, unharmed, and still running the app.

The spectres grew more aggressive. They started touching me—cold, phantom fingers brushing my arm, my neck, my face.

One night, the app sent a notification: “Spectre Detected: Under Your Bed.”

I didn’t look. I couldn’t.

But I felt it.

Something grabbed my ankle and pulled. I screamed, kicking wildly, until it let go.

That’s when I found the hidden feature.

Buried in the settings was a section labeled “Spectre History.” It showed the deaths of the ghosts around me—a car accident, a house fire, a drowning.

And then I saw it.

My name.

“Sarah Mitchell. Time of Death: 24 hours from now.”

I tried to run, but the spectres were everywhere. They surrounded me, their whispers merging into a deafening roar.

The app glitched again, showing a new message: “Spectre Detected: Inside You.”

I dropped my phone and backed away, but the screen followed me, floating in midair.

The spectres closed in, their forms solidifying, their eyes glowing faintly.

“Join us,” they whispered.

I grabbed my phone and smashed it against the floor. The screen shattered, but the app was still running.

A face appeared—a girl, her skin pale and her eyes hollow.

“You shouldn’t have looked,” she said.

Then everything went black.

I woke up in a hospital bed, my phone shattered beside me.

A nurse smiled. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

As she left, I noticed something.

Her shadow didn’t move with her.

And when she turned back, her eyes glowed faintly.