Chapter 1: Numerical Predicament
2097words
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath, her slender fingers striking a rapid rhythm on the mechanical keyboard. This number represented not just a decrease in downloads, but felt like a death knell for her entire career. In this era dominated by TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and Instagram Reels, hour-long podcasts requiring sustained attention had become as outdated as vinyl records in a streaming world.
Alex's apartment was located in Capitol Hill, once the beating heart of Seattle's counterculture movement, now overrun by tech workers and artisanal coffee shops. She'd chosen this place not just for the somewhat manageable rent, but because the neighborhood's history gave her a sense of belonging—she felt kinship with those who had once challenged mainstream culture here, much as she was trying to do with her podcast. But now, it seemed her rebellion against traditional media was about to end in failure.
The walls were plastered with supernatural materials she'd collected over the years: blurry Bigfoot photos, UFO sighting reports, news clippings of urban legends, and ancient symbolic patterns she never fully understood but always found unsettling. These formed the backbone of "Midnight Truth," but in the age of short-form content, nobody wanted to spend an hour listening to her detailed analysis of why some abandoned hospital might be haunted.
Her phone buzzed with an email notification from the advertising agency. Alex took a deep breath and opened it, finding exactly the gut punch she'd been dreading:
Dear Ms. Carter,
After careful consideration, we have decided not to renew our advertising placement with the 'Midnight Truth' podcast. While your content quality remains excellent, the target audience engagement and conversion rates no longer meet our clients' requirements. We suggest adapting your content into short-form video format…
Wishing you all the best,
Marcus Thompson
Director of Digital Marketing
Alex slowly put down her phone, feeling her chest constrict. This was the third advertiser to bail this month, and her largest source of income. Without that revenue, she couldn't even make rent, let alone maintain her recording equipment and server costs.
She stood up, walked to the window, and gazed through the rain-blurred glass at the street below. Most passersby hurried along with heads bowed to their phones, captivated by endless streams of short videos. The scene reminded her of dystopian sci-fi novels where people are unwittingly enslaved by technology. But now, she realized she was just another part of that system—an outdated component being phased out.
Raindrops gathered into rivulets on the windowpane, their downward tracks triggering something in her mind—a memory as hazy as morning mist. This déjà vu often haunted her, especially under stress. Sometimes she'd dream of disturbing images: white-robed figures standing in a circle, ancient chanting, and a bone-deep terror beyond ordinary fear. But whenever she tried to grasp these memories, they'd slip away like smoke through fingers.
Her therapist had suggested these might be manifestations of childhood trauma. Alex knew her early life wasn't normal—her memories before age seven were virtually blank, save for fragments of living with her mother Diana in what was described as a "special community" with "different beliefs." Only when her grandmother Margaret suddenly appeared and whisked her away did her life become "normal."
But what is normal? Alex often wondered. Her grandmother had never fully explained what happened, only saying her mother was "sick" and needed "special help." Since turning twelve, Alex had never seen her mother again, and didn't even know if she was still alive. This void was like a wound that never healed, driving her to explore the shadowy corners of existence that most people avoided.
Perhaps this explained her fascination with the supernatural. While researching mysterious events, she always hoped to stumble upon clues to her own fractured past. But so far, she'd found nothing but dead ends in endless urban legends.
Alex returned to her desk and opened Instagram. Her latest post—a meticulously researched infographic about mysterious disappearances in Washington state—had garnered barely a dozen likes. Meanwhile, her feed overflowed with content from influencers boasting millions of followers: 30-second makeup tutorials, frenetic dance videos, and viral challenges. These posts racked up hundreds of thousands of likes and shares, while her painstakingly crafted content languished in obscurity.
"This world has gone mad," she muttered, her voice heavy with frustration.
Just then, her phone rang. The caller ID showed "Jason Lee"—her best friend and the technical wizard behind her podcast.
"Hey, Alex." Jason's voice carried a note of tension. "Have you seen the latest analytics data?"
"I have," Alex replied with a bitter smile. "If you're calling to cheer me up…"
"No, that's not it," Jason interrupted. "I'm talking about the user behavior analysis. Do you know what content got the highest completion rate?"
Alex frowned. Jason was one of the sharpest technical minds she knew—a former Microsoft engineer who'd gone freelance after growing weary of corporate bureaucracy. His intuition for data patterns was uncanny, and when he spotted something interesting, it usually meant a genuine discovery.
"Tell me," she said, curiosity piqued.
"Your episodes about cults and supernatural rituals," Jason replied with strange excitement. "Especially that episode on the 'New Dawn' organization—it hit an 89% completion rate, way above your average."
New Dawn. The name sent an inexplicable chill down Alex's spine. She remembered that episode well—she'd produced it based on scattered online sources about a mysterious cult active in the Pacific Northwest during the 1990s. While researching, she'd experienced that same unsettling déjà vu, as if the information wasn't entirely new to her.
"And there's something else weird," Jason continued. "That episode's comment section got flooded with anonymous messages containing bizarre symbol and number combinations. I tried tracing the IPs, but they're coming from all over the world, bouncing through sophisticated VPN networks."
Alex felt goosebumps rising on her arms. "What kind of symbols?"
"Let me send you a screenshot. One sec."
Seconds later, her phone pinged with Jason's screenshot. The image showed the comment section—mostly normal listener feedback interspersed with disturbing messages:
"◊◊◊ The truth in the forest waits to return ◊◊◊"
"Does she remember? The door is about to open"
"New Dawn never truly ended"
Reading these words, Alex felt her heart hammering against her ribs. That familiar yet terrifying sense of déjà vu washed over her again—like some long-buried memory clawing its way to the surface.
"Alex? You still there?" Jason's voice yanked her back to reality.
"Yeah," she managed, struggling to keep her voice steady. "What do you think this means?"
"Not sure. But I have an idea." Jason paused. "Halloween's coming up. If you really want to save your podcast, maybe you should do a special episode—a live broadcast about supernatural phenomena."
"Live broadcast?" Alex echoed. She'd never done live content before—her podcast had always been meticulously pre-recorded and edited.
"Yeah. Think about it—Halloween night, you invite some self-proclaimed experts, maybe people claiming to have supernatural experiences. This stuff always kills during Halloween, and the live interaction could pull in younger viewers. The unpredictability factor alone would be worth it."
Alex weighed the suggestion. From a business standpoint, it made perfect sense. Halloween was prime time for supernatural content, and the raw immediacy of live broadcasting could create genuine tension impossible to capture in edited content. Yet something in her gut warned that this path might lead to consequences beyond her control.
"What kind of guests would you suggest?" she asked, pushing aside her misgivings.
"I've already done some digging," Jason replied, his excitement palpable. "There's this psychologist who specializes in cult trauma—Dr. Mia Sanchez. And a guy named Drake Robbins—former Vegas magician turned professional debunker. The contrast between them would create great tension."
"Anyone else?"
"The real wild card is this girl named Kayla Murphy. She's seventeen and claims she just escaped from a modern cult. Her story is… well, it's pretty damn disturbing. If you can get her on the show, it would be absolute dynamite."
Alex felt a wave of unease. Featuring a traumatized minor on a live broadcast raised serious ethical concerns, but her rational side argued this might be her last chance to save her career. And if the girl's story was genuine, sharing it might help others with similar experiences.
"I need to think about this," she said cautiously.
"Look, I know it sounds risky," Jason's voice turned serious, "but you're running out of options. If this bombs, you might need to dust off your resume. But if it works…"
He left the sentence hanging, but Alex understood. A successful Halloween special could reignite interest in "Midnight Truth," bring back advertisers, and salvage her career.
"Alright," she finally conceded, "let's do it. But I'll need your help with the technical setup. If we're going live, everything has to be flawless."
"Already on it. We'll need multiple cameras, professional audio gear, and redundant internet connections. I'm thinking we transform your apartment into a temporary studio—you'll be more comfortable on your home turf."
After hanging up, Alex sat motionless, staring out at the rain-lashed darkness. The decision left her simultaneously exhilarated and terrified. Something deep inside whispered that this Halloween would change everything—she just couldn't tell if that change would be salvation or damnation.
She opened her laptop and researched Jason's suggested guests. Dr. Mia Sanchez was easy to find—a psychology professor at the University of Washington specializing in PTSD and cult survivor rehabilitation. Her credentials were impeccable, with numerous published papers on religious trauma and cult deprogramming.
Drake Robbins had a more colorful background. Once a successful Las Vegas magician specializing in mentalism, he'd pivoted to becoming a professional skeptic after some undisclosed personal experience. His YouTube channel boasted a healthy following, featuring videos where he methodically dismantled supposed supernatural phenomena with the insider knowledge of a former illusionist.
Information on Kayla Murphy was scarce. Alex found only brief news reports about an FBI raid on an organization called the "Eternal Gate," where several minors including Kayla had been rescued. Being underage, her details were largely protected, leaving more questions than answers.
Reviewing these materials, Alex began mapping out the show's structure. She'd open with Halloween's history and cultural significance, then have Drake demonstrate how easily perception could be manipulated. Dr. Sanchez would follow with psychological insights into belief systems, before finally transitioning to Kayla's firsthand account—the emotional climax of the broadcast.
But as she imagined Kayla's potential testimony, that familiar unease crept back. Stories about cult rituals always triggered something within her—as if they were keys unlocking sealed compartments in her subconscious.
At 11 PM, as Alex was preparing for bed, her phone chimed with a text from an unknown number:
"Don't do things you don't understand."
She stared at the message, ice spreading through her veins. The number was unfamiliar, yet the warning seemed to echo something from deep within her memory—something she couldn't quite grasp.
Minutes later, a second message appeared:
"The truth in the forest awaits you. Remember who you are."
Alex's hands trembled violently. The words mirrored those strange comments on her podcast. Worse, the second message triggered that overwhelming déjà vu again—as if these exact words had been spoken to her long ago.
She tried calling the number but got only a busy signal. Her text asking for the sender's identity bounced back undelivered.
That night, Alex tossed restlessly in bed, sleep eluding her. The rain continued its relentless percussion against her window, like some ancient ritual drumming. In the liminal space between wakefulness and dreams, she caught whispers of distant chanting—a melody simultaneously alien and achingly familiar, evoking fragments of childhood memories.
When sleep finally claimed her, she dreamed of a forest. Towering pines cast long shadows under moonlight, while strange symbols marked the ground—symbols she couldn't comprehend yet somehow recognized. Her mother's voice called from somewhere among the trees, but no matter how desperately Alex ran, the voice remained just beyond reach.
The next morning, Alex woke to find a strange icon on her phone screen—a simple black spiral symbol she definitely hadn't downloaded. When she tried to tap it, the icon vanished as if it had never existed.
But deep in her memory, something was stirring to life.
