SHORT STORY - CURSOR

CURSOR
A SHORT STORY BY PAUL NICHOLAS

The computer screen flickered. A sharp, annoying, buzzing flicker that called to me like a whisper. In the quiet of my one room apartment, in the darkened space I sat. It flickered. I stared.

I was lonely this particular night, as any man who works alone gets. I was a writer, you see, an aspiring one of course. Halfway through my first-to-be-novel. I had barely seen sunshine in the last six months. Not due to fear of it, but due to my dedication. I refused to rest until my book was bound and complete, I would not stop until its words had hit the street. So I got lonely. On this night. Every night.

During one of my hourly breaks, I came across an interesting site that went by the name Cursor. It was a chat room, it seemed, a place for singles to meet. But this was like no dating site I had ever come across. There was no place to input a username or password, no browsing function, no advertisements, nothing. It simply displayed an ENTER button with the quote “Cursor: Plenty of rooms, plenty of chances” underneath.

I was not a foolish man. But I was not a coward. A mysterious website only had the potential of installing a virus onto my computer, and for that I was prepared. I had plenty of anti-virus software to combat an easily squashed web-bug, so, allowing stupidity to cloud itself as curiosity, I clicked.

What appeared both scared and intrigued me. It was multiple shots of empty apartments, all at different angles – like some sort of security coverage – yet none revealed occupants. They were so similar that for all I knew it could’ve been the same place. Empty rooms all looked like clones, speaking with the same voice until given one of their own through furniture, and these rooms were no different. Except – for whatever reason – they pulled me to watch. Pulled me to click. Pulled me to choose. It was my own ‘what’s behind door number one?’ and I was not going to walk away forever wondering which I would’ve picked and what would’ve happened. Consequences died in the arms of curiosity, hushed by two words ‘what if…’ And rational thought soon joined their burial, leaving carelessness to roam free in my fingers.

CLICK!

I chose door number three.

A plain white screen appeared with a small grey box that had just one word – Name – and a vertical line that blinked at me. I typed each letter on the keyboard as the line pushed out my input: T E D and then hit ENTER.

I was taken to a chat room, but it was empty. My name was the only one displayed on the side bar, and there seemed to be no words filling up the screen. No general chatter. No unnecessary insults. Nothing.

Bored already, I dragged my cursor to the corner and was about to click the exit cross when a little ding sounded, and the announcement Natalia has joined flashed across the screen. She greeted me right away.

Natalia: Hello, how are you?

I was disappointed to be honest. All this build up, all this mystery, to just climax at ‘hello, how are you?’ This was just another standard chat site. Worse, in fact. It had no design, no creativity, and from the looks of it, next to no users. But I was lonely. And I did like Russian girls – especially their accents – so I decided to amuse this random guest, and myself, by seeing where the conversation went.

Ted: Not bad. Just a little lonely and looking for someone to talk to.

Natalia: Me too. I haven’t had a boyfriend in so long and thought I’d give this site a try.

I could picture her voice, thick and hot, coated in a Russian accent. It was soft, yet husky, reminding me of the Soviet spies James Bond had seduced. The ones with breasts as big as airbags and lips so thick they could’ve swallowed you whole. To me, it was the sound of sexy.

The next thing to enter my head was what she was wearing. No, I’m not a pervert. I’m a writer. I was simply using a tool I possessed – imagination – to increase the believability of this online encounter, and why would you use a hammer when you owned a drill?

All she had on was a black lace bra and panties (okay, maybe I am a little bit of a pervert), and her skin was the perfect shade of cream. In my eyes – in my head – she was a goddess, and she was talking to me.

We started discussing what each did for a living: I told her I was a writer (trying to be) and she told me she was a teacher (studying to become one). From there we went to desires, what we sought in that special someone, why we had been let down before. It was quite therapeutic really. And even though I had never seen Natalia’s face, or truly heard her voice, the connection we shared was undeniable.

Now I’d never done anything like this before, but when she suggested the idea of an ‘online relationship’, I ran with it. Like a dangerous but enthralling sexual position, I ran with it.

Every day for a week I went on the site during my breaks, where Natalia would always be waiting for me in that same empty room. Always the same greeting: ‘Hello, how are you?’ that eventually got on my nerves. Hell, we’d talked enough to greet each other a little more personally, I thought. She could at least come up with something a little more thought-straining than ‘hello, how are you?’

But it was only a small annoyance. And soon I went from just talking to her on my breaks, to talking to her every thirty minutes, to every five minutes, until it was all I did.

I didn’t mind at first. But after another week passed and my novel had not gained a page, yet alone a word, I knew it was time to set some boundaries.

Ted: Look, Natalia. I’ve really enjoyed the chats we’ve had. But this is getting a little too much.

Natalia: I don’t understand? I thought we were getting on really well.

Ted: We are. It’s just… I told you I was a writer. And this novel I’m working on is really important to me. It’s my first. It’s my chance. And I’ve barely touched it since we’ve gotten to know each other. I just think if we didn’t talk… as often it would be a lot better for both of us.

Natalia: Please don’t do this. I’ve never connected with someone like I have with you. I think… Ted… I think I’m in love with you.

There it was. The L bomb. The four letter word that could kill a relationship or set it free. In this case it was the former. That was it. Natalia had crossed the line and was trying to pull me over. I had to either get the hell out of there, or risk being dragged into her obsessive embrace.

I immediately left the chat room. I switched off my computer and walked away. I was done. Finished. Never again would I visit that site. Never again…

* * *

Four nights passed and my novel was flowing once more. I hadn’t thought about Natalia, or the dreaded site she lurked on. All I had on my mind was work: characters, clauses, imagery and style. No other thoughts but the ones that mattered. And I was content. Feeling as if a hypnotist had clicked his fingers and freed me from his trance; a fortnight long escapade that had blinded me from reality.

I was in the middle of my twenty-second chapter when something happened. A message popped up. It was from… Natalia? This couldn’t be. I wasn’t on that site and I definitely wasn’t using any other form of chat program. How had she…?

Natalia: Where have you been, Ted? I’ve missed you…

My skin crawled. Every part of me shuddered. I didn’t even bother to answer. I just reacted. I clicked off the box and resumed my writing, not putting any more thought into what I had seen.

Then came another pop-up.

Natalia: Why are you ignoring me, Ted? Don’t you love me?

I swallowed and then held my breath, until I nearly choked. Now I knew I wasn’t seeing things. How was she doing this? Why was she doing this? I closed the box but this time sat and stared, waiting for the computer to do what I knew it would. But nothing came. No pop-ups. No messages. She was gone.

I wiped my brow and brought my fingers back to the keyboard, only just allowing myself to breathe. I attempted to come back to where I was writing, but it was hopeless. Natalia was all that was on my mind now. Where she was hiding and when she would be back.

Suddenly, my novel vanished off the screen and my email system appeared. My computer opened my address book, selected everyone from my friends to my mum, dad, brother, even my god damn grandma who only checks her emails once a month when her Meals on Wheels ‘smart boy’ comes to visit. There was no message sent. Just a blank page with a file attached titled Open. It was not one of my own, I was certain, and I immediately opened it up not even caring if it was the most malicious virus in the world. My computer was being possessed by Satan.

The first page simply held the words LIFE IS A LIE.

After the title page – and hundreds of pages following – were three words repeated. Over. And over. And over:

TED IS DEAD.

Right before my eyes my bank accounts were accessed and emptied, my credit cards – deleted, my word documents – deleted, all my personal information – deleted.

My screen was flooded with that same damn message I’d come to loath:

Hello, how are you?

Everywhere I looked:

Hello, how are you?

‘No!’ I screamed. ‘No! No! No!’

Every light in my house blew in one giant BANG! as my computer shutdown and short-circuited. I ran to the door. Locked.

‘Help me!’ I cried. ‘Somebody, help me!’

I banged on the door with all I had, until my palms burned red and the wood felt soft.

No answer. Why couldn’t anyone hear me?

‘Somebody! Please! Help me!’

I let my head fall against the door as hopelessness wet my eyes.

‘Fuck… Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

That’s when I heard her. Not in my head. Not in my imagination. In this very room. I heard her.

‘Hello, how are you?’

No… it couldn’t be… it wasn’t possible… how could…?

Natalia…

She sounded exactly like I imagined – if her voice had been infused with a hive of wasps. And how she looked. Oh God, how she looked… I’d be lying if it wasn’t a resemblance. But her skin. Her skin. It hung from her as if it were stolen from a corpse. Green, rotted, lifeless flesh that was decaying before my very eyes. And her head appeared as if it had been rotted from the inside out by some festering disease that left her with only one eye, which looked right through me.

She smiled. It was more haunting than any words she could’ve spoken. A single smile was all she needed to paralyse every part of me.

She edged forward with a swaggered, stilted walk that made her appear as if all her limbs were broken. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t even flinch a toe.

A voice that sounded like my own came out without thought. ‘Why are you here?’ it shouted. ‘What do you want?’

Her smile extended as did her arms. She didn’t even have to say it. I knew what she wanted…

‘How is this possible?’ I muttered, not expecting an answer. ‘This has to be a dream. I must’ve dozed off at the computer.’

I rubbed my eyes. Opened them. She was still there. Closer than before.

‘Get the fuck away from me!’ I screamed, as I threw an unlit candle from the table. The wick pierced her eye and she didn’t even twitch. She just pulled it out as if it were nothing more than a splinter.

I unglued my feet and headed straight for my room, the deafening cry of Natalia’s scream following me like a demonic nuclear blast.

‘TED!’ she cried. ‘TED, COME BACK!’

I threw a chair against the doorknob as a makeshift barrier. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t hold, but hope – or foolishness – told me I would be all right.

‘TED!’

A thump was heard against the door that came from a fist with strength that did not match its wielder’s appearance. If she had come against Mike Tyson in a fight his career would’ve ended with the headline: ‘Tyson comatosed by zombie bitch from hell’.

‘TED!’

I backed into the furthest corner, watching the door shake as each thump deepened the cracks that had already formed around the rim of the chair.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I screamed. ‘Why me?’

She laughed. A laugh that was so dark, so sinister, I could’ve sworn my heart momentarily stopped beating.

‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, Teddy.’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘Open your eyes,’ she snarled. ‘Can’t you even recognise your own apartment?’

She burst into thunderous laughter that shook the walls around me. My lamp smashed, as dirt and plaster sifted from the ceiling, covering me in a coat of smoky powder.

Recognise my own apartment? What was she trying to tell me? What did she mean?

‘You still haven’t figured it out?’ she laughed. ‘It’s okay. You will soon.’

Her fist shattered through the door, fanned into fingers, reached down, and removed the chair. The door creaked open and for a second I thought it might be the last sound I hear. But then came her locust-infested voice.

‘Hello, Ted. How are you?’

I charged at her and screamed. And then. She was gone. Everything was gone. I was in an empty apartment, the same I’d clicked on – door number three – when I’d first entered the website. But this just looked like my apartment, except… empty.

‘Hello, Ted. How are you?’

I turned around, and there she was. Standing in the middle of the room with that same wilted smile.

‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘What the hell is going on?’

She nodded towards the computer. It hadn’t been there before, but it was there now, flickering and buzzing in this empty room.

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘It has your answers,’ she said.

I approached the computer and sat down. All across the screen were news articles, dated back from over four years ago. They read: Tumour Girl’s online plea for help ignored, Email circulation considered a hoax – girl never saved, and finally, Donation website, Cursor, shutdown.

I finally understood. Natalia. The website. It hadn’t always been a cursed chat room. It had been set up to help raise money for an operation to remove her brain tumour, and no one had donated a single cent. They had all considered it fake. Just another forwarded email sending you to a website filled with viruses and haunted promises of coming to kill you in the night if the demands of the email weren’t met.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, and I truly meant it.

She nodded, and then, she was gone. The articles on the computer disappeared and were replaced with a blank document titled Cursor. The tiny line blinked at me, and I imagined it was Natalia winking repeatedly with her one eye. I knew what I had to do.
Bringing my hands to the keyboard, I let my fingers run wild with purpose, hitting each letter as if it were broken. I don’t know why I felt the need to write just because a blank document was in front of me, but I did. Something about how it stared at me – waiting – commanded me to fill it with words. Not just any words. Her words. Her story. It was like the empty room was all set up for me. Like every point in my life had lead me to here. For this reason.

I don’t know how long I wrote for; there were no clocks in the room (not even on the computer). But it felt like hours. Nothing disturbed me. I didn’t feel hungry or tired. It was like I was in some sort of Limbo that I was completely oblivious to.

And then finally, I was done. But something happened. When I clicked SAVE a message popped on the screen that looked exactly like Natalia’s chat box:

NO ONE CAN SAVE YOU…

The message vanished, and I shook my head.

I’ve spent too much time in here, I thought. Wherever here is. Yeah, that’s it. Too much time…

I clicked save again:

SORRY TEDDY, THIS BUTTON IS BROKEN…

‘WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?’ I screamed, as I banged my fists on the keyboard. ‘I did what you want! I wrote your story, now let me go! LET ME GO!’

No messages.

‘God damn you!’

I grabbed the keyboard and hurled it straight through the monitor, shattering it in a shower of sparks, as I used every single sac in my lungs to scream.

The printer started spitting out page after page:

TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD. TED IS DEAD.

‘FUCK YOU!’ I shouted. ‘FUCK YOU TO HELL!’

The computer screen flicked back on. I don’t know how, but it fucking did! The security footage was back. Why was she showing me this? How was this important now?

I didn’t want to, but I came forward and stared, analysing each shot – each angle – as if my life depended on it.

Door number one, door number two, door number three, door number four, door number five, door number six. Door after door, shot after shot, over and over and over, until it became obvious. So obvious, for a split second I thought I deserved to die for my own ignorance. But it was only a split second. And I quickly regretted it.

These weren’t different apartments. It was the same apartment, my apartment, just shot at different angles. Of corse it was empty, but in multiple shots contained a stain on the carpet. The same I’d caused one clumsy night with a bottle of Merlot.

I’d never had a choice. This was always going to happen. Life is a lie? This bitch was a fucking lie… The only truth she revealed was torture. I was just a piece of food to be played with. That’s all I’d ever been. By just entering the site I’d sealed my fate from the beginning. She just wanted to see a limp-legged fool try and run from his death and laugh as he did.

As if right on cue, she laughed. Her horrid, demonic, body-numbing laugh. It sounded as if it were coming from my head. Like she was haunting every fibre of my mind.

Then, the security coverage disappeared and the document I’d previously typed came back on the screen. All the text I’d written was erased in one clean sweep and new words started filling up the document:

The computer screen flickered. A sharp, annoying, buzzing flicker that called to me like a whisper. In the quiet of my one room apartment, in the darkened space I sat. It flickered. I stared.

What the fuck… This was everything that had happened since the first night I’d met Natalia. But not just what had happened, everything I was thinking, feeling, or even contemplating. It was a story. My story. This… story…
When the words finally caught up to this moment they did not stop. They continued to type. Type this. Right now. Right… now… 1,2,3,4,5,6, STOP! STOP THIS YOU BITCH! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW! Time’s up… Wait… I didn’t think that… Oh shit… OH SHI……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Welcome To The Jungle! - READ FIRST

Hi readers,
I am a 22 y.o. aspiring writing, currently studying Professional Writing. Enclosed is a small collection of my works: various short stories and chapter pieces. Unfortunetly blogger.com doesn't format the posts correctly (indenting etc.) so I hope that isn't a hassle.
Other than that I hope you enjoy what is offered (please feel free to leave CONSTRUCTIVE criticism - these are my babies I don't want you slapping them).

Yours truly,

Paul Nicholas.