Chatroom
Horror Stories - Chatroom
It seemed the books had one more day to live. But I wasn't too surprised; the Chatbot was probably programmed to say that, and since this is England I live in, it could have been more than likely. I then typed in.
"So what are your favourite movies?" Again, I got a response, "I don't watch movies. I prefer the theater." The theater? Was I talking to an old man?
I replied, "How old are you?"
I didn't care if the bot got offended, it would have to give me an answer eventually. The answer was, "I'll tell you about myself. I was born in 1867, and grew up with two sisters, whom I hated." Okay, right, whoever programmed this was clearly having a laugh. I typed back, laughing hysterically as I wrote,
"Well I was born in 2098, with two identical twin brothers who are also aliens from the planet Boogaloo. I am also Jesus." I wondered what the senile old man would say next; I knew it was a chatbot, but I kept thinking it was a real person for some unexplainable reason. He said, "Really? How droll. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jesus. Have your brothers abducted anyone yet?"
I cracked up again; whoever made this must have done an impressive job. I typed in, "Yes, they are actually alien pedophiles, who prey on human children. You'd better watch out, they also have a fetish for CD-ROMS!"
The next reply was just plain unsettling. Clarke replied, "Well, although I may appear to be a CD-ROM, I was actually a human myself. Once. Until I faced judgement for my transgressions."
I didn't know what he was saying, but the poignant detail of his description startled me for a second. It felt...real. Too real. And then, to my surprise, he typed another message:
"You don't understand? Let me make myself plain. My sisters, whom I hated, met with a tragic accident."
I was starting to feel cold. This was not just a chatbot. This must have been a psycho chatbot, or something. Or it was a big joke. I typed in, to see his reaction: "Do you know what else my brothers have done, lately?". And then, I was met with the biggest surprise of all. Darwyn Clarke responded again, only this time: I could see his message being typed, like a ticker tape typewriter. "You are an only child, David."
What the actual? I was seriously getting creeped out now, so I typed in "What are you?" And the response simply couldn't have been made by A.I. It seemed too much like a human was actually talking to me.
"So what are your favourite movies?" Again, I got a response, "I don't watch movies. I prefer the theater." The theater? Was I talking to an old man?
I replied, "How old are you?"
I didn't care if the bot got offended, it would have to give me an answer eventually. The answer was, "I'll tell you about myself. I was born in 1867, and grew up with two sisters, whom I hated." Okay, right, whoever programmed this was clearly having a laugh. I typed back, laughing hysterically as I wrote,
"Well I was born in 2098, with two identical twin brothers who are also aliens from the planet Boogaloo. I am also Jesus." I wondered what the senile old man would say next; I knew it was a chatbot, but I kept thinking it was a real person for some unexplainable reason. He said, "Really? How droll. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jesus. Have your brothers abducted anyone yet?"
I cracked up again; whoever made this must have done an impressive job. I typed in, "Yes, they are actually alien pedophiles, who prey on human children. You'd better watch out, they also have a fetish for CD-ROMS!"
The next reply was just plain unsettling. Clarke replied, "Well, although I may appear to be a CD-ROM, I was actually a human myself. Once. Until I faced judgement for my transgressions."
I didn't know what he was saying, but the poignant detail of his description startled me for a second. It felt...real. Too real. And then, to my surprise, he typed another message:
"You don't understand? Let me make myself plain. My sisters, whom I hated, met with a tragic accident."
I was starting to feel cold. This was not just a chatbot. This must have been a psycho chatbot, or something. Or it was a big joke. I typed in, to see his reaction: "Do you know what else my brothers have done, lately?". And then, I was met with the biggest surprise of all. Darwyn Clarke responded again, only this time: I could see his message being typed, like a ticker tape typewriter. "You are an only child, David."
What the actual? I was seriously getting creeped out now, so I typed in "What are you?" And the response simply couldn't have been made by A.I. It seemed too much like a human was actually talking to me.
"Let me tell you a story. Do you know what happened to your house's previous owners?"
I sat there like an idiot, staring at the computer, awaiting a response.
"The same that happened to my two sisters. Remember, I despised both of them."
That was it. I moved the cursor to the top right corner to click the cross button, and end this nightmare. I was relieved. I had only been talking to it for five minutes, but it seemed like two hours. But when I tried to shut down the P.C, the unthinkable happened.
The computer became unresponsive. It went all glitched. Worse still, the chatroom opened by itself! I got another message, and by this time I was sure to be hallucinating by now.
"You have not heard everything yet."
I scrambled at the keyboard, I was losing my mind. "Stop! This is seriously not funny!"
Finally, I think this is where it happened. Darwyn Clarke typed in again, this time in a much slower ticker tape typewriting fashion than last time. I could hear nothing more than my own heartbeat. It intensified more and more, with each passing letter. My face was practically melting with sweat.
As I focused more and more on the letters as they were being typed: the horrified expression on my face would have become so visible, I think I remember seeing it in the reflection of my laptop. The final message that he gave me, which lost me my sanity and ruined my health was: "Look behind you."
I remember feeling as if everything around me was slowing down. I really was worried. Part of me knew that there would be something behind, and a smaller part tried to assure me that there was nothing there. I shut my eyes, and clenched my teeth violently together, then shot my head back like a bullet. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I spat out a weak laughter, and nodded my head in relief, and I felt like everything was safe again. Until I looked back to my computer monitor. I must have seen it the moment I swiveled my chair, but it caught me anyway.
There was a face. Face of a man. A pale, white man, who was grinning at me, on my laptop screen. His hair was blonde, and he seemed to be in his mid-twenties, but his facial expression was the exact opposite of friendly, his eyes were crimson red.
I only saw it for a nanosecond of a nanosecond, but that was all I could take. After that, apparently I screamed violently, and then fell unconscious for 4 hours. That's what Dr. Martin told me. He's the guy looking after me at the moment. He really doesn't know what I've been through.
So, here I am now, sitting in a bed at 4:30 A.M, typing this story to the world. Even as I type I still worry that the face will appear once again and scare the shit out of me. I seemed to be suffering from a trauma. My eyes have grown dark purple circles around them, because I have literally not slept at all since the incident. I tried sleeping, but that face... that face stops me from sleeping.
Now that I have written this story, I urge everybody to watch out. If you see a red CD-ROM case, throw it away. Do not open it and do not use it. I am now going to jump out a third story window. I can't take this anymore. I am scared. I want to die now! And do not, I repeat, do not go looking for Darwyn Clarke. He may or may not be real, but he can drive you insane.
I sat there like an idiot, staring at the computer, awaiting a response.
"The same that happened to my two sisters. Remember, I despised both of them."
That was it. I moved the cursor to the top right corner to click the cross button, and end this nightmare. I was relieved. I had only been talking to it for five minutes, but it seemed like two hours. But when I tried to shut down the P.C, the unthinkable happened.
The computer became unresponsive. It went all glitched. Worse still, the chatroom opened by itself! I got another message, and by this time I was sure to be hallucinating by now.
"You have not heard everything yet."
I scrambled at the keyboard, I was losing my mind. "Stop! This is seriously not funny!"
Finally, I think this is where it happened. Darwyn Clarke typed in again, this time in a much slower ticker tape typewriting fashion than last time. I could hear nothing more than my own heartbeat. It intensified more and more, with each passing letter. My face was practically melting with sweat.
As I focused more and more on the letters as they were being typed: the horrified expression on my face would have become so visible, I think I remember seeing it in the reflection of my laptop. The final message that he gave me, which lost me my sanity and ruined my health was: "Look behind you."
I remember feeling as if everything around me was slowing down. I really was worried. Part of me knew that there would be something behind, and a smaller part tried to assure me that there was nothing there. I shut my eyes, and clenched my teeth violently together, then shot my head back like a bullet. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I spat out a weak laughter, and nodded my head in relief, and I felt like everything was safe again. Until I looked back to my computer monitor. I must have seen it the moment I swiveled my chair, but it caught me anyway.
There was a face. Face of a man. A pale, white man, who was grinning at me, on my laptop screen. His hair was blonde, and he seemed to be in his mid-twenties, but his facial expression was the exact opposite of friendly, his eyes were crimson red.
I only saw it for a nanosecond of a nanosecond, but that was all I could take. After that, apparently I screamed violently, and then fell unconscious for 4 hours. That's what Dr. Martin told me. He's the guy looking after me at the moment. He really doesn't know what I've been through.
So, here I am now, sitting in a bed at 4:30 A.M, typing this story to the world. Even as I type I still worry that the face will appear once again and scare the shit out of me. I seemed to be suffering from a trauma. My eyes have grown dark purple circles around them, because I have literally not slept at all since the incident. I tried sleeping, but that face... that face stops me from sleeping.
Now that I have written this story, I urge everybody to watch out. If you see a red CD-ROM case, throw it away. Do not open it and do not use it. I am now going to jump out a third story window. I can't take this anymore. I am scared. I want to die now! And do not, I repeat, do not go looking for Darwyn Clarke. He may or may not be real, but he can drive you insane.
