[ WP ] A peculiar social media account has been posting the names of well-known living individuals , and within three days after a name is posted , that person mysteriously dies without fail . Your name has just been posted .

`` Jeremiah Heisen'' 
 
 The tweet was short, two words, 14 letters, 1 space. It was the twelfth message by this account, whose information was blank. The first eleven had been super stars and famous artists, movie stars and rock gods; all dead. Now, the name shown was Jeremiah Heisen. Your name. Like everyone else on Earth, you had developed the sort of morbid curiosity that only death can bring, and so you decided to not only follow the `` `` account, but to create a Twitter solely for that purpose. At first it was a sort of sick game, one that nearly a billion people were playing. Now, with your stomach hurtling into your throat, you are beginning to regret the decision. 
 
 Your first instinct is to vomit, and you do. Not your fault, really. It's not everyday that someone tells you that you are going to die in precisely 72 hours. Also, you were never expecting your name to show up. After all, you did that one B-movie years ago, and aside from a cult following at the conventions that will still pay you to show up, you can hardly be described as famous. As you wipe your mouth, and drink a glass of water, followed immediately by a shot of the strongest alcohol you can find, you try to rationalize what is happening. You are n't going to die from a tweet. That's just a hoax, or a coincidence. Still, better safe than sorry. You go to your computer and start googling all the other names from the twitter, searching anything you can about how they died. All the reports are the same. Their hearts were removed, not with a knife or surgery, but simply missing. The entire organ, cleanly taken out without so much as a needle mark anywhere on the body. The more you read, the tighter your chest gets, until you stumble across an autopsy photo of the most recent victim. Its there, the clean hole where the heart should be. Even your far-from-expert mind knows where the heart should be, and hers is missing. 
 
 You begin to hyperventilate and your throat seizes up. You have n't had an asthma attack in 23 years, but it seems like it could hardly be the worst part of your day. As you scramble to calm down or find an old inhaler, you hear a pounding on your door. You can barely breathe, and your attempts to calm down are pointless as the pounding grows louder. 
 
 `` Jerry! Hey, Jer, open up!'' It's your neighbors voice. Brian was a good guy, a little odd, but friendly. He always let you borrow his laundry detergent, as you never remembered to refill yours. Now though, that nice neighbor was desperately banging on your door, shouting your name. `` Jer! Jerry! I know you're home! Open up!'' 
 
 You ca n't concentrate on Brian right now, your vision is going dark and your chest and throat burns. No matter how hard you try, you ca n't get air into your lungs. Your last sight is Brian bashing your door in, before everything goes sideways and your vision goes black. The remaining thought that flits across your mind before you lose consciousness is that you died before three days. Heh. The twitter was wrong. 
 
 *Beep* 
 
 *Beep* 
 
 *Beep* 
 
 The steady high pitched beep to your left slowly pulls you up. You groggily open your eyes and see a blinding light. As your vision clears, you realize you are in the hospital. Blinking quickly, you catch sight of a nurse frantically grabbing the phone, and you can just make out her call for a doctor. A woman in a white coat comes rushing in, and begins to fiddle with the instruments and feel around your body. 
 
 `` Wha-'' You try to talk but you ca n't get out the words. 
 
 `` Shh, do n't try to talk. You had a sever asthmatic attack, followed by a heart attack. Your neighbor brought you to the hospital.'' Heart attack? That makes sense. You remember being very stressed. You ca n't remember why though. Something about twitter. Twitter? That seems odd. You are n't a big social media user. 
 
 `` Wh- When..?'' You croak out the words in a dusty rasp. 
 
 *Beep* 
 *Beep* 
 *Beep* 
 
 `` Three days ago. Now please sir, do n't try to talk. You need to rest.'' The doctor's voice is calm, but firm. 
 
 Three days? That number seems important to you. Why? Then, like a shot of lightning down your spine, you remember everything. The tweet! Your name! Three days! You were supposed to die! 
 
 *BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP* 
 
 But wait, its been three days, so clearly you did n't die. You try to breath a sigh of relief through your aching lungs, but just end up coughing and wheezing. The agony is a sweet pleasure though, as you are alive! Gloriously alive! 
 
 *BEEP* 
 
 *BEEP* 
 
 *BEEP* 
 
 You smile up at the doctor, noticing for the first time how pretty she is. Maybe if you're lucky, she's a fan of yours. You always love meeting a loyal fan. You settle back down onto the bed with a contented smile on your face. 
 
 *BEEP* 
 
 *BEEP* 
 
 *BEEP* 
 
 *BEE -- -- * 
 
 
 Ch'Zn'Rhat'Ahthai'Ahigae'afe looked at the small red piece of flesh between his fingers. 
 
 `` Aww yes! Finally!'' He takes a small pin and pins it through the organ to a small piece of corkboard. Above the pin is a small label that reads: `` Jeremiah Heisen: Baltimore Rumble 1987-1992'' 
 
 Next to the pin were eleven more pins, each with a small mass of red, and a label. 
 
 `` Only two more to go, and then I have the complete 1985-1995 Baltimore Actors set. Jh'KJih'haihwae'Andis is going to be so jealous!''
