Jack was just a regular guy with a regular apartment and a regular breakfast routine. Every morning, he made toast. But one day, his toaster decided to rebel.
It started with the smell. Instead of the warm, comforting scent of toasted bread, the air was filled with something… burnt. But not just any burnt smell burnt ~screams~.
Jack frowned. “That’s weird.”
The toaster popped up his bread, but instead of golden brown slices, they were black. Charred. And—hold on—there were words on them.
"GET OUT."
Jack blinked. “Huh. That’s new.”
He poked the toast. Maybe it was just an accident. He put in two more slices. Pressed the lever. Waited.
Ding!
The toast jumped up, perfectly black again.
"I SAID, GET OUT."
Jack frowned. “Okay, this is definitely haunted. But I paid 40 bucks for this thing, so I’m not giving up yet.”
He tried again. This time, the toast had a new message.
"YOU’RE AN IDIOT."
Jack gasped. “Hey! No need to be rude.”
The toaster rattled. The lights flickered. And suddenly, the entire kitchen smelled like burning souls. The toaster started glowing red-hot. The slots opened wide—wider than physics should allow. A deep, demonic voice echoed from inside.
“LEAVE. OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES.”
Jack crossed his arms. “Listen, buddy. I don’t know what kind of ghost business you have going on in there, but I need my toast.”
The toaster shook violently. Sparks flew. And then—silence. The smell disappeared. The lights stopped flickering. The toaster sat, innocent, on the counter.
Jack smirked. “That’s what I thought.”
He put in one more slice of bread. Pressed the lever. Waited.
Ding!
The toast popped up.
Jack read the message.
"Turn around."
A cold chill ran down his spine.
He turned.
And screamed.
Because standing right behind him…
…was a giant, burnt slice of toast. With eyes. And it was angry.
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