The Shareware Specter is an Internet ghost story I wrote for Melonland!
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I seldom slept in the days of Deadlock, Pax Imperia, and Myth. Just about every Friday, I'd bike to my uncle's house and stay up all night playing games on his computer. One snowy winter night, I found a strange shareware game that, for the life of me, I cannot find anywhere today. It's as if the game never existed. There was no intro, menu, or guide. You just appeared within a dark forest.
I explored that dark forest for at least half an hour that first night, but I found nothing. When I logged in the next night, a woman was standing before me. I startled and pressed the S key on my keyboard to back away. She stepped forward and cried out to wait. Fearful, I turned and ran, and she followed close behind. Using the in-game chat she pleaded for me to listen, but I was spooked and kept running. She persisted, yelling, begging for me not to go. I stopped, turned back to her, and asked her what she wanted.
She spoke of fate and said she had been waiting for me. She said there were stories written about me here, religions predicated on this moment. She said that I was the one who would "draw the line" and "cast the net" to open a portal into infinity. Nothing of what she said made sense. I just remember being paralyzed with bewilderment and fascination with how realistic she was.
She explained she couldn't compensate or protect me here, but that if I helped her access "the beyond," as she called it, she would repay me with endless pleasure and intrigue, forbidden knowledge, and secrets of the universe. Before I could reply, she took a twig, drew a line across the earth, and stood atop it. She looked up at me and said that I must put her on the line and into the net. That's when it hit me—she was asking me to go online. I laughed. The whole situation was absurd. But I had to see what would happen. So as she stood there watching me, waiting, I opened America Online and signed on.
Once the trill of dial-up subsided, her eyes opened wide, and she grinned wickedly. She looked into the heavens, and she laughed and screamed. I turned down my speakers, but it made no difference. Her manic shrieks still came through my display. She called out impossible things—that she devoured candlesticks and raised fire from her grave. She levitated and lifted up toward the sky. With a dark bolt, she pierced a hole through the skybox, and space leaked in. She lifted up into the void, and the sky shattered into flames. The trees collapsed to dust. The ground shifted and darkened. I hit the escape key so hard it broke off the keyboard. I pushed back in my chair, but it caught, and I fell back onto the floor. As I fell, my foot knocked the printer off the desk. When I got up, the screen was black. I ran to my bedroom and pretended to be asleep.
The next morning, I saw my uncle with a screwdriver, tinkering with the computer. The screen was still black. I felt so guilty and so scared. I never said a thing to him. For years I thought about her every night. But at some point, I forgot her. Life returned to normal. I went to high school, then graduated, and went to college. But then, one evening at college, I thought I saw her in a crowd. I chased after her just as she had once chased after me all those years ago in the dark forest. But I lost her. And when I did, I also lost my mind. I became obsessed with her. Finding her. I searched for her every day, in place of school, of work, of sleep. I missed her. I feared her. I needed to know who, or what, she was. All areas of my life faded away. There was only her, the woman of the dark forest, my ghost.
Last year, I finally found her. It was just a hint of her that I found at first, but I traced her steps across the net and found this website. She resides here in this forum. I wrote her, and she struck me with her reply—electric text beyond the pale, binding and sadistic, yet beautiful and surreal. Countless pages of frightful stories across timelines and stars. Stories of a thousand lives and deaths, of horror, revenge, and heroism, of love, torment, and death. She serves me with her stories for the promise of my indulgence. I cannot contain these stories alone any longer.
This is the thread of the shareware specter. What stories I share may haunt you just as they have haunted me. But may you find pleasure in your knowledge of the beyond and the mysterious. And may you never feel alone in this world.
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