Some Imbecilic Nitwit Is Presently Attempting To Frighten Me

At this very moment, as I write, my computer screen is flashing with the most gruesome images a pubescent and particularly uncreative mind could possibly muster. The computer is also emitting some sort of horrible screech which has forced me to unearth my earmuffs from my closet. With my desktop computer being thus disabled, I currently type on my old second-hand laptop. For the sake of my readership, I shall commence at the genesis of this sordid affair. A short while ago, I felt an overwhelming longing for a video game I once enjoyed in my youth, the old favorite known as Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars. However, as any true enthusiast of the franchise knows, it is nearly impossible to obtain a physical copy of the game within the budgetary constraints of one who can scarcely afford a daily diet of rice whilst simultaneously repaying old debts accrued from a fruitless venture into higher academia.

But I digress.

Being the penniless, contemptible youth that I am, I resolved to instead obtain a virtual copy gratis from somewhere amongst the multitude of pages within the World Wide Web. Using my default Web browser, I happened upon, and clicked upon, a link containing that which I sought. It was a fairly standard sharing site (I can't possibly be bothered to recall such minutiae as the name of the site), and there was some madman in the comments section rambling on about Illuminati something or other. I opine that such people can be found in all corners of the world, and thus I paid it no heed. The ROM image downloaded quickly and without consequence, and thus I proceeded to load the game into my Super Nintendo Entertainment System console emulator.

And this brings us to our current state of affairs. At this rate, this ROM has seemingly nothing to do with my aforementioned pastime at all, save for a brief introductory cutscene of various mutilated characters from the game, which is really quite disappointing. Once this pathetic joke of a hack relinquished it's hold on my desktop, I will have to search elsewhere for my quarry. Incidentally, as I peruse other posts of potential pirating, I now observe that the site from which I obtained this dubious corruption is conspicuously absent. One can only hope that the profligate uploader has received some measure of Internet-dispensed justice for this travesty.

Ah. The screen has finally ceased its constant barrage of rejectamenta and switched its focus to something marginally more stimulating.

HELLO, ANNA, the screen reads in a faux-horrific, blood-dripping font that I personally find offensive to the sight. I couldn't help but cachinnate, however, as Anna is in reality the name of my sister, the former possessor of the now-infected desktop. I surmise that the developer of this affront, who I will henceforth refer to as Mr. Developer or Mr. D for short (an appropriate appellation, if I do say so myself), presumably attempted to reinforce his pathetic attempt at horror by drawing upon the username registered in the computer, which I had previously neglected to correct.

I was scarcely paying attention to the screen as various satanic (or faux-satanic) symbols flashed across the screen. I caught a glimpse of such dreary clichés as the numbers thirteen and six-hundred-sixty-six. I depared for a couple minutes to fetch myself a cup of tea, and upon my return I saw that little had changed. At this point, I only humored Mr. D's heinous creation out of base inquisitiveness; I pondered whether it would ever reach a resolution, or if it would prove to be so utterly inane that I would simply be obligated to manually turn off the computing machine, as the program seems to have disabled all external devices such as my mouse and keyboard.

Finally, my unfortunate computer monitor seems to have settled on a singular symbol. I don't immediately recognize it, so one can only assume that Mr. D simply concocted it himself. It is sufficiently disorganized in appearance. In addition, the image seems to have been crudely scanned and stretched on a rather unassuming white background. Really now, Mr. D, you're going to have to do better than that.

After an absurdly long interim, some text in an unsightly font has appeared, superimposed upon the symbol in such a way as to render the text nearly incomprehensible. The text is in Latin, a language which, conveniently for me, I am somewhat cognizant of. The abridgment of the text is that, unless I acquire a silver ring, a silver dagger, and an animal sacrifice, and perform some sort of unnecessarily elaborate ritual, I will die. I have taken this opportunity to facetiously convey a text message to a friend, advising him to upload this text file for prosperity in the event of my untimely demise. I am certainly not going to embark on a shopping quest just to appease Mr. D's twisted whims.

I now see that a black goat has materialized in my bedroom. How kind of Mr. D to provide me with one element of the ritual, really. I suppose I ought to be frightened by the black goat's satanic aspects, but really, everyone knows that the goat only derives these connections through pagan associations.

My patience for more interesting fare seems to have been rewarded, as a voice issued forth from the computer: "My patience is at an end. Your intentional ignorance will not save you, Jareth." (Look at that, it got my name right this time.) "Your entire township will suffer along with you for your sins." Oh, Mr. D, you're such a card. As if I would shudder in trepidation at your transparent thre

Comments • 1

Loading comments...