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💻Every Monday 9:15am, His Slack Opened By Itself

Marcus died on a Tuesday. By Friday, IT was at my desk with his old ThinkPad, asking if I wanted it 'since yours is older.' I said sure. I should have said no.

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The handoff

Marcus sat two desks down from me for four years. Quiet guy, ate sad desk salads, kept a tiny succulent named Greg. He had a heart thing nobody knew about. They found him at his kitchen table on a Tuesday morning, laptop still open, Slack still logged in. IT wiped the drive, reinstalled Windows, re-imaged everything. Brand new, basically. Dave from IT dropped it on my desk and said 'enjoy.' I signed the form. The keyboard still had that worn-down spot on the E key where Marcus's finger lived. I told myself I'd forget about that. I did not forget about that.

Monday, 9:15am

First Monday with the new laptop. I'm sipping coffee, opening tickets. Slack pings. Not a notification sound. The actual app launching. I didn't click it. The window slides up from my dock, opens to a DM. The DM is from me. To me. Three dots typing. I stared at my own avatar typing to my own avatar for maybe eight seconds. Then a message appeared: 'don't forget to water greg.' I closed the laptop. I sat there. I opened it again. The message was gone. The DM thread was empty. Slack acted like nothing happened. I didn't tell anyone.

Greg

Greg the succulent was still on Marcus's old desk. Nobody had moved him. I walked over after lunch and picked him up. The soil was bone dry, cracked away from the terracotta. The leaves were going translucent at the tips. I took him to the kitchen sink and watered him slow, the way Marcus used to, letting it drain three times. I put him on my desk next to the new laptop. That night I dreamed about a hallway with a door at the end that I couldn't reach. Greg was sitting in front of the door. The dream ended before I got there.

It started keeping a schedule

Next Monday. 9:15am exactly. Slack opens. DM from me to me. 'greg looks better. thanks.' I almost laughed. I almost cried. I did neither. I just watched the screen. The message sat there for maybe a minute, then deleted itself, character by character, backwards, like someone holding down backspace from the other end. The DM thread closed. Slack minimized. I checked my sent folder, my audit log, the admin panel I shouldn't have access to but Marcus apparently did. Nothing. No record. I started bringing a notebook to work and writing down the messages by hand. I was building a case. For who, I didn't know.

The third Monday

9:15am. 'are you ok.' That was the whole message. I sat there with my hands hovering over the keyboard. I wanted to type back. I wanted to type 'are YOU ok.' I wanted to type 'marcus is that you.' I wanted to type 'please stop.' I didn't. I made a rule that first morning and I was sticking to it: I do not reply. Replying makes it real. Replying invites it in. The message sat there for ninety seconds this time. Then, slowly, three dots appeared next to my own name, like I was typing. I wasn't typing. The dots pulsed for almost two minutes. Then they stopped. Nothing was sent. Slack closed itself.

I told Dave

I told Dave from IT. I tried to make it sound funny. Glitchy old laptop, ghost in the machine, ha ha. Dave didn't laugh. Dave got very still. He asked which laptop. I said Marcus's old one. Dave said 'we wiped that drive three times. I did it myself. There's nothing on it.' I said I know. Dave said 'you want a different one?' I said no. I don't know why I said no. I think part of me felt like Marcus was trying to tell me something and switching laptops would be like hanging up on him. Dave looked at me for a long time. He said 'don't reply to it.' I said I haven't. He said 'good. keep not replying.' That was a weird thing for Dave from IT to say.

Last Monday it replied to itself

9:15am. The DM opened. The message came in: 'i think someone is reading this.' I held my breath. Then, immediately, before I could process, three dots appeared again. A second message came in from me to me, fifteen seconds later: 'i know. it's ok.' Two messages. Same thread. Both from my account. Neither typed by me. I watched a conversation happen between two versions of myself that weren't me. Then the third dots started. A third message: 'tell her to water greg on wednesdays too. fridays aren't enough in summer.' Then Slack closed. I sat there for a long time. I went and watered Greg. It was Wednesday.

What I did next

I haven't told anyone except Dave. I haven't switched laptops. I water Greg on Wednesdays and Fridays now, and I check the soil on Mondays. The messages still come, 9:15am, every Monday. Sometimes they're for me. Sometimes they're not for me, and I look away because it feels rude to read them. I don't know if Marcus is in the laptop or in Slack or in the wiring or in my head. I don't know if he's stuck or if he's just stopping by. I know I'm not replying. I made him a promise without meaning to and I'm keeping it. If you're reading this and your coworker just died and IT offers you his laptop, say no. Or say yes. I'm not sure anymore which one matters.

Ready-to-launch poll prompts

1
Would you take the dead coworker's laptop?
Hell no, cursedSure, free upgradeOnly if IT wiped it twiceDepends on the coworker
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2
Should she reply to the messages?
NEVER replyReply once, see what happensReply 'hi marcus'Throw the laptop in a lake
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3
Who is sending the second messages?
Marcus's ghostA weird Slack bugSomeone hacking herHer own subconscious
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4
What would you do about Greg the succulent?
Keep watering him foreverTake him homeBury him with MarcusBuy a second Greg
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5
Is the ending more sad or more sweet?
Sweet, he's checking inSad, he's trappedCreepy, that's a hauntingBeautiful and I'm crying
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Frequently asked

Q.Is this story real?+

It's the version I'm willing to put online. Names changed. Company changed. The laptop is real. Greg is real. The Mondays are real.

Q.Did you tell IT?+

I told Dave. Dave told me not to reply and offered me a different laptop. I said no. He didn't push. I think Dave knew Marcus better than he said.

Q.Are you still using the laptop?+

Yes. I'm typing this on it. It's 11:42am on a Thursday. Slack is quiet. Greg looks good.

Q.Have you tried reinstalling Windows again?+

No. I'm scared if I wipe it again the messages stop. I'm more scared of them stopping than I am of them continuing.

Q.What did the messages mean?+

I don't know. I think some of them were for me and some of them were Marcus talking to himself out of habit. I think being dead might be lonely.

Q.What would you tell someone this is happening to?+

Don't reply. Water the plant. Write everything down by hand. And if you ever get a message that scares you, close the laptop, walk outside, and look at the sky for ten minutes. The laptop will still be there. So will he.