Supernatural Story About a Prophecy AI Generator

Rain slicked the cafe window, neon signs bleeding pink into the puddles outside. Theo hunched over his laptop, fingers hovering. 'Prophecy AI,' the site promised. He smirked, typed his name: Theo Grant.

The screen pulsed. Letters crawled across: 'The choice you buried in the hollow oak will claim you before dawn.' His throat tightened— that oak, childhood woods, the dare he'd never confessed. Heart thudding, he refreshed.

Deeper now. He fed it details: his route home, the old mill bridge. 'Flee the whisperer at the water's edge,' it spat back. Wind howled, rattling the door. A patron glanced over, eyes narrowing.

Midnight neared. Theo's bus splashed through streets, mill looming black against lightning. Phone buzzed—AI alert: 'Touch the water. See your reflection lie.' He gripped the seat, pulse racing, the bridge's shadow swallowing the lights.

He stepped off into mist, river churning like oil. Peered down. His face stared back—not his. Eyes ancient, glowing. 'We've waited,' it mouthed, voice echoing in his skull.

Fingers brushed the damp screen back at the cafe—had he left it running? Words reformed: 'You are the generator now. Who will you prophesy next?' The cafe door creaked open behind him.