Estimated reading time — 10 minutes
[ADMIN NOTE: THE FIRST PART OF THIS PASTA CAN BE FOUND HERE]
Oh, so I see you got my email. Your reply was rather vulgar, I’ll admit, but I have to tell you this, I fear for my family and friends. I want them to know I didn’t die an insane man. Let me get to the meat of the topic now.
My last email left off with me awake on a night that sleep couldn’t visit. So I will resume from there. I was awake and I couldn’t fall asleep, and that damn dll file was fogging up my thoughts. I had stood up, and began walking towards the door, going to go take a piss, or get a drink of water. I can’t quite remember what it was, but it doesn’t matter. My hand clasped the knob of the door, and I was shocked to see I was sweating. Now, this was during the cold winter months, so it wasn’t as if the weather was the culprit. I was sweating HARD. And right when I noticed this, that cursed laughter began.
It began slowly, barely a hum. It was the laugh of an elder man, it seemed vulnerable yet threatening at the same time. I must’ve just heard something, but it was clearly distinct, however, and my hand let go of the knob. The laughter became louder, but it never exceeded more than a whisper. I began fearing the shadows all of a sudden, I could imagine a face poking through the window, or my closet door open to a smiling beast. No, I must be fucking crazy, but that laughter kept insisting… insisting…
I smiled. Hypnotized, I now knew what I got up for. I had an executable file to run. I walked like a drunk man, I was sure of it. My sub-conscious was asking itself what the hell it was doing; it was telling me to stop. I don’t remember if my hypnotized self replied, but I continued walking into my home office.
The chair was comforting, relaxing, luring. I sat, and before I could stop myself, I put my hand on the keyboard. My hand touched the screen, I remember, and the monitor came up without a moment’s delay. There it was, stn_fldr.exe. What the hell was I doing? I tried to concentrate my hand to grasp something BESIDES that mouse. I knew I was sweating, and my smile was straining itself to keep itself crisp. My hand gave way and flung itself onto the mouse. And the mouse landed on stn_fldr.exe, before double clicking. At that, I remember regaining consciousness, and without a moment to consider what I had done, I fell of my chair and landed my head on the leg of the table, passing out instantly.
What a nightmare.
When I woke, the sun wasn’t shining. I don’t remember the weather exactly, but there was no sunlight coming in through the office window. I got up, but before I could stand up, a killer migraine threw me to the floor. I sat there for at least half an hour before pulling myself up to the computer’s dark screen. My screensaver, meaning my computer was on all night. Fuck. I remembered I ran that executable file, who knows what type of shit my files were in now. There was a Trojan in there, my antivirus said so. I moved my mouse, and the desktop came up. It was exactly as I left it; except for the fact that there was a command line up on the top left of my screen. I don’t quite remember pulling that up in a while, so I dragged it to the center so I could so what it said.
“Would you like to flush, John?”
That’s my name, John. I know, long time into the story before telling you, but that’s beside the point. Would you like to flush? What the living hell was that supposed to mean? Oddly, after reading the sentence, a new phrase printed itself onto the screen, “Y for yes, N for…” and then there was nothing after that. Fearing that pressing N would awaken the Trojan, I decided to type out Y for yes, and then the new text appeared.
“Good choice. Thanks for the fun, I really look forward to getting to know you better in the long run.”
Dazed out of confusion, the command line went away, and I was stuck with silence. How the hell did the program know my name was John? I figured it probably tracked some of my payment or bank records, in that case it would be explainable. But that was the type of hacking that takes months to write up, it still didn’t make any sense. What type of sadistic teenage loser had the time to write up something so profoundly stupid and completely irrelevant to anything? I got up, feeling stupid for the paranoia I experienced last night, when my printer turned on. I mean, flat out turned from the off state to the on state, all by itself.
I looked at it, dizzily. The printer said that there was a job it needed to print. Curiously, I pressed Ok, and proceeded to print out whatever the hell the printer was about to print.
It began printing out pages, something I haven’t asked it to do in a long time. The odd thing was that these pages were riddled with phrases; each phrase had it’s own line on the pages, and the phrases were absolute gibberish to me. At first.
I examined the phrases, and they seemed random to me, one phrase was “Big sausage.”. Another was “Happy Tree”. Still another phrase was “Lost Father”. I read some of the other phrases, almost laughing at the amount of paper I lost to something I originally thought was a Trojan. I, luckily, had a sense of humor, so this didn’t quite anger me for some reason. I laughed, and threw page after page onto the ground. I couldn’t believe the mess, there must’ve been at least ten pages of non-sense. All fear that had vested itself in me had left happily. Now I realized that this was a joke, maybe it wasn’t a teenager who wrote this. Maybe it was a professional programmer who had nothing better to do than mess around with other people’s heads. “Screw you Microsoft!” I chuckled before picking up the last page, scanning it to see if it had anything special ‘phrase’ at the end of the printout. My heart went from a erythematic beating to a slowed down thumping.
The last phrase simply read out “Migraine Table Fun”. I… I remembered waking up after banging my head against the table. I remembered the migraine I had received since waking up. I immediately threw down the paper, and my migraine exploded with immense force. Migraine Table Fun? Migraine fucking Table Fun? How did it know, how did that god-forsaken program know what happened to me last night?! I immediately took the pages, and threw them down one by one into the mouth of the garbage can. I thought things over.
Big Sausage. That phrase couldn’t refer to the time I nearly choked on a bratwurst during a Fourth of July party? No no, that’s crazy, correct? Then, I remembered the phrase Happy Tree, that time I feel off our Oak tree and broke my wrist. Lost Father.. I remember my dad dying when I was young from cancer. I immediately took out some pages from the bin.
I wanted to tell myself that these were mere coincidences, and that at least one phrase from the one of the papers would at least give me some reassurance. I hoped that one phrase would say something that didn’t have to do with me experiencing pain in my younger years. No luck.
“Door Shattering Teeth”. This phrase immediately reminded me of when I broke some of my teeth when my sister opened the door when I was right in front of the knob.
“Hungry Hornet”. I got stung by a hornet at least twice in my childhood. “Yummy Rotten Apple”. Fuck. I remember being hospitalized after eating a moldy apple. I’m sorry for my profanity, receiver of this email. I just can’t stand remembering these events without pure anger and remorse for what would since then occur. What really pisses me off the most about those phrases was the immutable optimism associated with each event that cause me pain. Hungry Hornet, and Happy Tree almost seemed like phrases that would mock someone who experienced bad events from such things.
I sat down, thinking that perhaps I hit my head harder on the table than I expected. I read more phrases, scanning different phrases to see what else the program got right about me. It was all 100% accurate, every phrase I read I was able to easily connect to a time I had received pain, agony, or depression.
The printer started again. I jumped. What else could possibly print out without me prompting it? I almost didn’t want to see what the hell would print out from it, but it was inevitable. The printer stopped, and a fresh piece of paper had the following written on it:
“Hello, John. Glad to see you’re awake. It’s nice to finally meet you. I look forward to the parties we will be having with each other, but I think I’d rather talk through the command line. This is a long and painful process, you can see. Meet you there.”
The monitor turned on. I was getting really scared now. The room seemed to darken even more. I was actually confused whether it was day or night at one moment. A command prompt flashed onto the screen. The command prompt printed out a message. It said “Sit down. We have to talk.”
I stood shaking, walking backwards to the door. My hand was sweating furiously, my fingers holding onto the knob of the door. The thing within the computer didn’t appear to be too happy about this. I don’t want to say my computer became alive at that point, but I don’t know how else to explain it.
The command prompt printed out “Please John. I can see that you have quite a lot of programs on here, some really big ones too. For big companies? It’d be a pity if I had to delete them just to get your attention. But I will if you don’t sit down.”
I trembled, moving over to the seat to sit. I put my hand on the mouse to type something into the command prompt but before I could, the computer printed out: “Hello, John. My name is stn.dll. Now, don’t be afraid, I only want a little fun from you. Now that you found me, and I found you, we could become friends.”
“You sadistic fuck!” I exclaimed, with pure rage. Whatever type of virus was on this computer was toying with me. I was still at the point that I hoped, I dearly hoped that this was the work of another programmer. Thinking this, my fear had gone away, and I was now convinced that this was the work of a mad-man. I’m a die-hard skeptic, some stupid punk couldn’t scare me off. I got up, threw the keyboard off the table, and went downstairs for some coffee.
I honestly wish I didn‘t. I went downstairs to the coffee maker, and pulled out a small brew to clear my thoughts. I poured a small amount into a coffee mug that was on the counter, and put the coffee maker away. I smiled, thinking that after a warm coffee I would simply call tech department, they would come over, and I would hopefully save my programs before the virus did any damage. I was concerned mostly about the database that I’ve been writing, if the virus sends any of that data to the outside world, I’d be as good as a dead man. With these thoughts in mind, I picked up the coffee and walked over to the table, hoping that I could just have a normal day and that I was just experiencing some vivid nightmare that carried onto my waking hours. Some sort of sleep paralysis, minus the paralysis. I had a laptop, even if it was incredibly slow, I could work with it until my computer problem goes away.
My hand slipped. I mean, it trembled violently, and the coffee in the pot splashed everywhere, including my skin. I screamed, and dropped the pot, shattering it upon contact. It was a glass mug, so it instantly made the whole floor a dangerous landscape of sharp tendrils waiting to embed themselves in my skin. The pain, my skin was burning. It took me about five seconds to realize I was standing near the kitchen sink, and I turned it on with full force to the medium temperature. My hand, it was going limp. It was losing feeling, and it was turning into a bright red color. I kept dousing it in the water, tears coming to my eyes as I realized the luck I was having. My migraine exploded with full force, and I slouched down to the kitchen cabinets, looking out at the glass shards scattered on the floor.
I was thinking of how to get across and call the ambulance when I heard it. The printer roared back up to life, getting ready to print out another paper. Only, something was quite wrong with it. The printing sound was louder, almost as if it wanted me to hear it, and it was distorted with static. It was also longer, and if it’s alright to say it, the printing sound was a constant loop of the same, distorted sound. It looped three times before stopping. Then, my heart leaped an extra beat as I heard it again, a small laugh of an elderly man.
I got up, walking slowly over the floor, making sure I didn’t step on the glass. I didn’t focus on cleaning it up, I know, stupid idea. That damn printer. It called me, if that’s appropriate to say. I walked up the stairs cautiously, listening to hear another call or laugh. The stairs creaked under the silence, and the walls caved in to a vantage point-the door. It swung open slowly as I put my hand behind it almost as if it was my shield against whatever was in the room. I instantly grasped the handle like a man and remembered that this was all a joke, a big fucking funny one at that.
I walked forwards strongly, and before I put my hand to unveil the message on the paper, my monitor turned on. The command prompt simply said: “I don’t like being called names, John. Next time keep your language decent. I think you’re about to learn your lesson, though.”
I stopped, unblinking at the monitor. It turned off, back to my screensaver. I violently replied, yelling “What do you mean calling you names!?” The monitor turned back on, with the command prompt missing. Suddenly, the speakers came on spurting out “You sadistic Fuck!” exactly as I said it less than ten minutes ago. The speakers then remarked in a disturbingly anamatronic voice, “Must I repeat myself?”. Before having the chance to answer, it proceeded to say “You sadistic Fuck!” at a lower pitch then earlier, and then again, only at a disturbingly low pitch, it you said “You sadistic Fuck, John.”.
The command prompt came up and told me to take the paper. “Take it, John.” The speakers encouraged. I did. The phrase on it simply read, “The coffee is hot hot hot!”
My eyes grew large. The coffee is hot… hot…… hot…
The command prompt then came back up. Eyes glued, I watched as it spat out a message at me. It was a long one, and I took my time to read it, mostly out of fear, I couldn’t stand still for one second. I swayed and fell to the chair, eyes glued to the screen. My migraine worsened, the situation become exceedingly grim. The message is as follows:
“John. I now see I’ve gotten your full attention. That’s good. Because if you don’t listen to me, I can hurt you. I’ll just tell you flat out, that I’m a demon. I can and will cause you severe pain unless you do exactly as I tell you to do. I may as well cause you pain anyways, I find that… entertaining. That coffee mug accident? Nothing for what I’m preparing for you. SO LISTEN, AND LISTEN WELL. We’re going to get along very well, you and me. We are going to work together to make this a living hell to whoever you cross. If you don’t comply, well, I’ve got ways to guide you to your enlightenment. Trust me, John. Listen and I’ll let you live longer, maybe even let you go. Revolt, and I’ll love what I do to you.”
I sat motionless, mouth wide open. I stared, until I came up with enough courage to say three words. Those words were as follows. “Who are you?”
The command line spat out letter by letter the following:
“My name is Lucifer. I think you can instead call me Satan. Satan.dll. I’m in control of you now. 6666666666666
Credit To: zehawk
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