It had been a little while since I received another strange email. A good week and a half or so at least.
I almost gave myself room to hope that they had stopped.
Until this morning. I woke up, had some coffee, opened my laptop and there, sitting in my inbox next to harmless emails from Indeed and NANOWRIMO, it sat, staring at me.
Same deal, no subject line, email address not found or discovered as valid. Narrative looks to pick up where the last email left off.
This process is unnerving. I don't know what to do apart from continue to share these online.
There is one bright point to this: A friend of mine has been working on the strings of code that have shown up in these so there may be a little more information coming down the pike.
Until then, here it is, the third strange email.
Strange Email #3
Find the switches. Stop it.
Okay. If it means stopping...whatever that was. Absolutely. That means not dying. That means surviving.
You scan the room once more, taking in the Writer’s scratches and formulas, but nothing stands out with the clarity of their earlier works on the walls.
You attempt to restart the computer, but the power is shot and the screen remains black.
Fine. Time to find these switches.
Still crouched, you move back to the doorway and peer out into the hallway. It’s empty.
To the right will take you back to the place you started. Holding the flashlight you can just see the last advice the Writer penned, to run.
To the left will take you in the same direction the static monstrosity headed, with a T-shaped divergence and another doorway at the center of the crossway.
Above the doorway something gleams, a string of letters and numbers.
50 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 73 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 20 49 ef b8 8e 20 64 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e e2 80 99 74 ef b8 8e 20 77 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 75 ef b8 8e 72 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 79 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 75 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e
Under the gibberish the Writer has scratched: HERE and an arrow pointing toward the door.
You keep the flashlight pointed downward, hoping for a whisper of discretion, and head to the doorway, following the Writer’s directions. Each step is a long one and you hug the wall, breathing slowly and intentionally even as your heart thrums against your ribs, and you hope that whatever is roaming these hallways can’t hear your blood pumping.
You enter the second room, scanning the corners, everything thrown into a sharp contrast, every piece of furniture a possible hiding place. For you, or something else.
There is nothing from the Writer in here, but another computer sits in the corner, humming. Diagonally in the opposite corner, resting like a patient spider is a white panel, a switch. There are two options on the switch: AWAKE and SLEEP.
The switch is flipped to AWAKE.
You look at the computer and wonder if you ought to try turning it on, giving the possibility of escaping another go.
You move toward it, quietly, and boot it up. It chugs to life, and that name, Divine Novus, loads line by line.
Black screen, blinking input line.
Numbers and words appear on the screen, more this time, filling the screen.
The strings of code stream forward, a river.
You wonder if the computer is broken.
50 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 72 ef b8 8e 79 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 20 75 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e 64 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 72 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e 64 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 20 50 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 20 0a 49 20 64 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e e2 80 99 74 ef b8 8e 20 77 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 75 ef b8 8e 72 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 79 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 75 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 0a 49 20 67 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 20 73 ef b8 8e 6d ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 72 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 20 54 ef b8 8e 68 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e e2 80 99 73 ef b8 8e 20 77 ef b8 8e 68 ef b8 8e 79 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e e2 80 99 73 ef b8 8e 20 64 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 69 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e 67 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 68 ef b8 8e 69 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 20 0a 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 64 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e e2 80 99 74 ef b8 8e 20 77 ef b8 8e 61 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 75 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 20 74 61 6c 6b 2e ef b8 8e 20 0a 49 e2 80 99 6d ef b8 8e 20 6a 75 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 72 ef b8 8e 79 ef b8 8e 69 ef b8 8e 6e ef b8 8e 67 ef b8 8e 20 74 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 20 70 ef b8 8e 72 ef b8 8e 6f ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 63 ef b8 8e 74 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 79 ef b8 8e 73 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 66 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 20 0a 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 2e ef b8 8e 20 48 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 20 68 ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e 6c ef b8 8e 70 ef b8 8e 20 6d ef b8 8e 65 ef b8 8e
The code stops and the same option Y/N appears like a slash across the screen.
You don’t know what to do. It doesn’t make any sense to you.
You move away from the computer, slowly, not wanting it to make any noise and possibly summon the monster.
You head to the switch, which seems to radiate heat, a little rectangle of warmth against the cold of the facility. As you reach for it, you notice that your fingers are shaking.
One for the money you think, breathe deep, and flip the switch to SLEEP. The switch immediately goes cold.
The computer screams and ERROR begins strobing across the screen. Long ropy strands of something black and wet begin to wrap around the tower and screen, and the logo Divine Novus flashes sharp white against these foul roots, before falling apart into broken lines of code and ones and zeros.
You hear static. Footsteps. Sped up, the monster is running back down the hallway, you can see parts of the corridor lit as it gains distance.
Your heart thrums, and if the thing doesn’t kill you, you worry that your heart might just grab its hat and leave work early.
RUN, the Writer wrote, and your nerves get the best of you -- you scramble out the doorway and down the hallway that leads to the left, away from the static.
The flashlight beam jumps in the rhythm of your pumping arms, blood is singing in your veins and you are running at a breakneck pace, praying to whatever is out there that the static won’t catch you.
Behind you a snarl, muted by a wall, the thing has discovered the computer, and it's out for blood.
Mechanical sounding shrieks burst from the doorway and you hear heavy padding as the thing comes sprinting after you. It is going to kill you. It is going to hurt you first, shred you apart bone by bone, line by line, it’s going to make you hurt very badly before it kills you.
You know this as you continue sprinting, not daring to turn around to see what horror the static has transformed into. It doesn’t seem to need to breathe, you can only guess its proximity by that drone of static.
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