Chapter The December App
THE DECEMBER APP
TW: Abduction, cyberstalking, technological control, unauthorized location tracking.
LISA
As soon as my phone vibrates in my hand, I unlock it, tap the screen with trembling fingers, and hold my breath as I watch it download. The icon pops on my screen—a simple red circle with reindeer wearing a Santa hat in the center.
Last year, I only heard about the mysterious app, but after all the disappearances of the people who used it, I’ve been obsessively gathering information. Now, I’m willing my heart to stop beating in my chest so darn fast as I fill in the information.
At first glance, it looks like any other dating app. The information it demands to provide is vague and very straightforward.
Name: Lisa
Occupation: Journalist
Age: 27
Height: 5’1
Eye color: Green
“Well, this doesn’t look weird at all,” I whisper to myself as I tap the “next” button and frown. “Okay, never mind, I take that back.”
My screen suddenly freezes, and I swear, I see a face in the dark red color that bleeds all over it. Then, just as suddenly as the color appeared, it disappears, and the app takes me to the next question.
Every time I input more information, I write down notes so I don’t forget a single detail.
Once I’ve filled in all the questions, I wait for the app to load, and instead of a front page, where I assume I could see the potential matches, it takes me to another screen.
“To ensure you meet your perfect match within minutes, please upload your most embarrassing photo,” I read the words out loud and frown. “How the fuck would this thing know I have an embarrassing photo at all?” I ask, then mutter, “as if anyone’s stupid enough to do that.”
My screen flickers and the previous words disappear, then new ones appear, and I gasp as I read them.
Last Christmas, Lisa. The photo from the office party.
My breath catches in my throat as I reach for the pen to write down this too, but my phone screen flickers again and the words fade.
Stop.
“What the fuck?” I whisper as more words slowly appear on the screen.
Upload the photo, Lisa. The app will self-destruct in three minutes, your time is ticking. Tick… tock…
My hands shake as I grip the phone tighter and try to make the decision.
Would the app really self-destruct? I don’t think so. But then again, what if it does? Will I be able to download it again or will I have to wait for another year to figure out what’s wrong with it?
Time’s ticking, Lisa. This is your last warning.
I finally notice the tiny timer in the upper corner of the screen. It shows I have a little less than a minute left. Panicking, I open the gallery, scroll down to last year’s photos, and click on the one from the Christmas party.
If it were up to me, I would never let anyone see the photo. Honestly, I have no idea why I never bothered to delete it in the first place.
In the photo, I’m wearing a Santa hat and nothing but red lace lingerie while my colleagues are pouring champagne on my breasts. To many, that photo doesn’t sound like the worst thing, but to me, it’s the most embarrassing memory of my life.
I don’t act like that. Ever. Except for one party, during which I got blackout drunk because I wanted to forget a boyfriend who dumped me, and apparently, proved to my colleagues that I can be a half-naked life of the party.
As the photo uploads on the app, I hold my breath and wait, hoping against hope I’m not too late. I let out the breath only when the screen flicks and brings me to the main page of the app.
Welcome aboard, Lisa. Here’s your perfect match:
Under the title is only one profile. A man—Noah, 33.
He doesn’t have a profile photo, so for a moment, I assume this has to be the creepiest and smartest marketing strategy a company could’ve created.
Intrigued, I click through the options in the app and don’t see the most important ones—I can’t change the profile information, photo, or add more to my bio. I can’t even find the settings of the app, let alone the option to disable or delete the user profile.
“This is bullshit,” I whisper and my finger hovers over the screen to close the app, but that same moment, my phone pings with a notification for a new message. I click on the envelope emblem, and my eyes widen as I see his name.
Sender: Noah
Subject: I’d love to take you out on a date.
“Okay, it’s just one message, no biggie. Read, reply and see where this goes,” I mutter as I tap on the message and read it.
Good afternoon, Lisa.
My name is Noah, I’m a 33 year old architect.
In my free time, I enjoy hikes and walks in nature, would you be interested to join me on one anytime soon?
If you’re not too big of an outdoors person, I’m more than happy to take you to a nice restaurant so we can get to know each other better soon.
So, what do you think?
Noah xxx
There’s no way I’m joining a complete stranger on a walk somewhere in nature, away from the city, or even worse—an actual hike. Those things are nice, yes, but with a stranger who messaged me on an app that’s already notoriously known for its users going missing. Yes, hard pass.
“Okay, so how do we answer a message like this, hmm?” I mutter to myself and drum my fingers against the desk.
I want to keep the message light, something organic that shows I’m excited to meet people, but also not overly excited. At the same time, I need to be careful because I don’t want to come across as someone who’s doing research, not using the app for its purpose of finding love before New Years.
My eyes focus on the bookshelf in the corner of the room, rather than the phone screen. Ideas, one after another run through my mind, but none seem good enough just yet.
The phone pings with a new message, startling me so much I jump in my seat. I glance down and read the message.
Noah: Sounds great. Would you like me to pick you up around 7 PM today? Just send over the address and I’ll be there. I’ll bring the flowers ;)
“What the fuck?” I whisper and for some reason, scroll up just to see there’s a message from me in the thread.
I didn’t answer anything, didn’t even look at the screen or touch it, but here it is, black on white.
Lisa: “Hey, Noah! I’d love to go out with you. A hike sounds fun. Let’s not waste time and plan too much, how does today, 7 PM sound to you?”
I didn’t send a message. Heck, it doesn’t even sound like me. I don’t have much time to dwell on the fact since, as I scroll lower, I see another message sent, supposedly from me, just seconds ago.
Lisa: *sharing live location*
My eyes widen as I watch the pin on the map, showing this stranger exactly where I am. With trembling fingers, I try to unsend, then delete the message, but none of the options work.
“Okay, this is bad, this is really bad,” I hiss and close the app.
Maybe if I delete it, nothing will happen? Right? I can simply delete the cursed thing and forget it exists, then go about my day like I usually do. As a matter of fact, I won’t even tell anyone about this, and I won’t work on the article about the app either.
Except, regardless of how many silent promises I make to myself, the app won’t delete. Well, it sort of does, at least at first—I tap on the app icon, hold it and press delete. It flickers and vanishes from my screen… Only to reappear in the same position three seconds later.
I try again, and again, and again.
Every time the result is the same and at one point, I wonder if drowning my phone, or better yet, letting the garbage disposal have a go at it would help.
“Wait, that’s it!” I hiss and quickly remove the SIM card from my phone, then turn it off.
Thankfully, my phone doesn’t turn back on, which wouldn’t surprise me given the current course of the events. Next, I run into my bedroom and rummage through the drawers until I find my old phone. I quickly put it to charge and slide the SIM card into it before I turn the phone on.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I wait for the phone to turn on, and when the screen lights up, I let out a breath of relief. Everything looks fine, the app messed with my head, that’s all.
Placing the device on my bedside table, I lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling, enjoying the silence and peace that washes over me after the heart-attack worthy experience.
However, the peace doesn’t last for long. The silence is broken by a sound of notification and for a second, I wonder if my phone turned back on in the living room, where I left it. But then, I turn my head and realize that my old phone’s screen has lit up.
Slowly, I sit up in the bed and reach for the phone, my hand trembling. As I unlock the screen, I scream and throw the phone to the floor—that cursed app is on my old phone and there’s another message from that guy, Noah.
Just as the sound of the phone falling onto the floor echoes in the bedroom, it starts ringing with an incoming call from an unknown number.
“Lisa, you’re losing your mind. You’re officially crazy.” I tell myself as I stand on top of my bed and start pacing it.
When the phone stops ringing, the silence in the room feels heavy and suffocating. Silence is supposed to make me calmer and more at ease, but it brings only the opposite feeling.
I’m panicking, losing my mind and feeling like I’m about to start crawling up the walls just to get rid of an app that has to be haunted or some shit like that.
My phone rings again and I actually scream at the sound. The same unknown number is calling, but I make no move to answer the call. Instead, I freeze and keep watching the phone like it’s about to detonate like a bomb.
When it stops ringing again, I don’t let myself relax. Should I call the cops or something?
“Yeah,” I snort out a bitter laugh. “Because calling the police and trying to explain a mysterious app with one user, the app replying to messages as you and then some random calls definitely makes you sound sane.”
That call would land me straight into a psychiatric hospital.
My legs tremble as I step off the bed and slowly approach the phone. “You’re okay, Lisa, you’re okay,” I whisper and crouch down to snatch the phone off the floor. “Answer the next call, it’s probably someone trying to sell you something, nothing dangerous. Just chill and stop overthinking.”
Seriously, maybe a trip to the hospital wouldn’t hurt me after all—sane people don’t tend to have conversations with themselves, unless it’s a quick pep talk.
“Come on, call already,” I whisper and grip the phone in my hand a little tighter.
But of course, it doesn’t ring, so I’m stuck in the silence of my bedroom. I should be getting ready to go to work by now, but every time I think of leaving the house forces a wave of dread over me. I’m scared, damn it.
All those horror movies and crime documentaries I’ve watched don’t even compare to what I feel because of a stupid app, which most likely is nothing but an elaborate way to prank people.
“The movies and documentaries don’t scare you because those things didn’t happen to you! It’s one thing to watch it happen to others, completely another to experience something like this yourself,” I explain to myself because obviously, I need to educate myself too.
I don’t go to work. Don’t even get ready for work. Instead, I spend what feels like hours sitting on my bedroom floor and glaring at the phone in my hand.
I have no idea how much time passes, but eventually, my neck and back start hurting, so I stand up to stretch and ease the ache in my muscles. Just as I stretch my arms over my head, there’s a knock on my front door.
That has to be my sister; she mentioned needing to stop by for something, so I don’t hesitate to head to the door and open it without checking the peephole.
Bad idea. It’s not my sister, it’s a strange man.
He’s wearing comfortable-looking outdoor clothes, grinning and holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“Lisa? I’m Noah, we had a chat on the app.
I tried to call you twice, but figured you had to be busy since you weren’t answering. Ready for our first date?”