The Ticking
It started as a joke. There were six of them. Maya, Jordan, Chris, Evelyn, Tyler, and Lena. They’d been friends since high school, scattered across different cities now but bound together by one group chat they called The Ticking. It was where they vented, shared memes, dragged each other for bad takes, and planned their rare reunions. The chat had been alive for years. Until the night someone new joined.
It was almost 2 a.m. when the notification popped up.
“Unknown joined the group.”
No one had added anyone. They all knew that. The chat was private, invite-only.
Jordan: who the hell is that?
Maya: not me
Chris: lmao tyler did u drunk add someone again
Tyler: no?? wtf
The new user had no profile picture, no name. Just a blank gray circle. Their handle was a string of numbers: 5551937.
Evelyn: okay creepy. boot them
Lena: yeah just remove
Maya, the group admin, tried. But when she held down the user’s name, there was no option to kick them out. That was the first red flag. At 2:03 a.m., the stranger sent a message.
5551937: One of you will leave soon.
The chat suddenly disappeared after everyone read it.
Tyler: nah nah nah i’m not doing this tonight
Chris: nice prank. who made this account
Maya: NOT me. seriously i can’t even remove them.
The stranger didn’t type again. Not that night. The next day, Tyler was found dead. He’d been driving home from work when his car swerved off the road and slammed into a tree. The police said he had braked suddenly, like he’d seen something in the middle of the road. When news reached the group, they all went back to the chat.
Lena: no. no way.
Evelyn: oh my god.
Jordan: that message… “one of you will leave soon.”
Chris: it’s a coincidence. has to be.
At 9:12 p.m., the stranger posted again.
5551937: Another will leave tonight.
None of them slept. They messaged frantically, begging each other to stay inside, stay on call, anything. By morning, Lena hadn’t answered. Her roommate found her in bed, eyes wide open, body stiff. No sign of struggle. No cause of death. The coroner later said it looked like her heart had simply… stopped. The Ticking was down to four. The chat had grown silent, except for the occasional chilling ping from 5551937.
5551937: This is not a game.
5551937: You will all leave.
Maya threw her phone across the room. She didn’t want to look at the messages anymore, but the sound of the notifications kept ringing, as if the phone was demanding attention. Even when it was powered off. Chris tried deleting the chat. The app crashed. He deleted the app entirely. His phone froze, restarted, and the group chat was still there on his screen.
Chris: I can’t get rid of it.
Evelyn: me either.
Jordan: what the hell are we supposed to do?
At 11:44 p.m., the stranger sent another message.
5551937: Three remain.
Chris vanished the next morning. His apartment door was locked from the inside. No sign of forced entry. His phone was found on the bed, open to the group chat. The last thing he had typed, but never sent:
“don’t look at the window”
By now, the police were involved, but Maya didn’t dare tell them about the chat. How could she? She barely believed it herself. Still, the evidence grew. Every time someone was marked, they were gone within 24 hours. And the stranger never left. The group was down to three: Maya, Jordan, and Evelyn.
They tried abandoning their phones. Leaving them behind, turning them off, even smashing one with a hammer. It didn’t matter. The messages followed them. Jordan’s work computer pinged with a notification while he was logged into his email. Evelyn’s smart TV turned itself on at 3 a.m., glowing with the chat. Maya heard a robotic voice reading the stranger’s messages aloud from her Alexa, even though she had unplugged it. There was no escape.
5551937: Two remain.
Jordan begged them to go to the police together. Evelyn refused. She was terrified that speaking about it aloud made it stronger. That night, Evelyn streamed a live video to the group. She was crying, the camera shaking.
Evelyn: it’s in the house. I hear it in the walls. oh god.
Her screen went black mid-scream. When police searched her apartment, the only thing they found was her phone lying on the floor. The group chat was still open.
5551937: One remains.
Now it was just Maya. She didn’t leave her apartment. She taped blankets over her mirrors, unplugged every device, sat in the corner clutching a kitchen knife like it could protect her from something digital. But the messages kept coming.
5551937: You have always been the final one.
5551937: You will watch.
5551937: Forever.
Maya screamed and hurled her phone into the wall. The screen shattered. But the ping kept sounding. And when she looked at the shards, every broken piece of glass displayed the chat. Her reflection was nowhere. Just the gray circle of the stranger, staring back.
The next day, Jordan’s number called Maya’s mother. His voice was panicked, pleading.
“Mrs. Clarke, I don’t know what happened. Maya…. She’s not here anymore. It’s just me. I’m the last one.”
But when Maya’s mother checked her daughter’s apartment, she found it empty. The blankets were still taped, the knife lay abandoned, the smashed phone on the ground. No Maya. No Jordan. Just one device left, glowing in the dark. The chat open. And one final message pinned to the top.
5551937: Welcome to The Ticking.
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