“Beep!”
There goes the computer, notifying Vincent of his fifteenth
unread message on Facebook. Vincent is downstairs, scavenging for something to
eat from the refrigerator.
Less than a minute later, he hurries up the stairs as if
there is an emergency situation. In his mind are the unread Facebook messages
and the urgency of each exchange of words. He placed his dinner plate recklessly
at an arm’s length away from the computer, and in a split second, his hands are
already in the keyboard keys, crisply typing and banging the enter key as he inputs
and sends his message. Typing in the keyboard is as automatic as breathing and
as essential as life.
Facebook. That’s where his life revolved these past few
months. He’ll never be contented to be below level 20 at all popular Facebook
games, and he has 37 community pages on Facebook which he administrates.
Vincent is quite the social networking magnet, updating his status at an
average of 32.3 times a day, based on his own computations and receiving likes at
an average of 21.8 per status update.
Call him the ultimate Facebook addict.
“Vincent! It’s already midnight!” her mother yells from the
bedroom.
“All right Mom! Just a moment!” Vincent replied.
That was Vincent’s 12th “just a moment” to his mother, who
has recently been complaining of her son’s uncontrollable Facebook addiction
causing their electrical bills to skyrocket.
Vincent proceeded to chatting with his friends, some from
his neighborhood, some from his past, some from school and some from online
forums. Abused as the keyboard may be, the chatting continues until several
notifications fill in the left side of Vincent’s monitor.
It’s a friend request from someone named Fara Higgins.
With the notifications from that friend request flooding
Vincent’s monitor continuously, the web browser hangs and is not responding
anymore, and without any warning, closes by itself. He tries to open his web
browser. It wouldn’t open. Double-clicking the desktop icon did nothing, too.
Anxious, Vincent triple-clicks, quadruple-clicks,
speed-clicks the mouse in a frenzy. Still, he received no response from his
computer. He slaps the monitor, gently kicks the system unit, and all of a
sudden, dozens of Google Chrome windows piles up his screen. One-by-one, he
closes them.
He goes back to the friend request, to that of Fara Higgins.
Without hesitation, even without any mutual friend, but with that gorgeous and
seductive display picture, Vincent accepted the friend request.
He then goes on to chatting with his friends, wanting to
apologize for the delay in reply caused by his browser crashing. However, there
was a problem loading the chat feature of Facebook. He couldn’t see his online
friends and he couldn’t send any message. Anxious as Vincent naturally was, he
double-clicks, triple-clicks, quadruple-clicks, speed-clicks the mouse in a
frenzy.
“Beep!”
There goes the computer, notifying Vincent of an unread
message despite an error in the chat feature.
It was a message from Fara: a plain “Hi!”
“Hey!” Vincent replies, “Thanks for the add!”
“No prob, twas nothing. Just wanted to make friends on FB,”
Fara replies.
The conversation went deeper and even sweeter – the typical
teenage flirts online. Vincent already forgot to talk to his other friends and
to eat the food he scavenged from the refrigerator.
The next day, at school, everyone is talking about Tetris
Battle, that new addictive game on Facebook that put some competitiveness over
the classic block game of Tetris.
“Hey Vincent, you suck, I’m now at Level 31,” a classmate
brags to Vincent.
“Level 36, baby. Now who sucks?” Vincent returns the boast.
“Level 36? The last time I checked, it was Level 30!”
“And when was that last time you checked?”
“Before class!”
“Hahaha! Well, you’re connection has a really serious
problem, bro. Check it again. Level 36!”
To settle their debate, they go online and check Vincent’s real
level. It turns out that Vincent is still at Level 30. Vincent is convinced
that he leveled up to 36 last night, just before he slept. His classmate
concludes that server problems might have caused his progress not getting
saved. Vincent’s ego just can’t consume how Facebook is starting to meddle with
his online life.
That night, Vincent scampers to his computer, and logs in to
Facebook. Well, at least he tries to. Facebook wouldn’t load. Google, Twitter
and all other popular sites will load, just not Facebook. YouTube videos would
buff with ease, yet even that light Facebook logo won’t appear.
Vincent contacts his classmate, Paulo, who is well-known in
the class for being a computer geek. Vincent asks for some tips. Paulo tells
him of some proxy sites, some codes to tweak in for faster connection and some
buttons to tick so as to make sure that Facebook is not blocked. All of them
did not work. The elusive error is showing some invincibility.
Frustrated, Vincent goes downstairs and once again, forages
for some dinner.
Coming back was a surprise for Vincent. He sees his Facebook
account logged in and open, as if nothing had happened. There are no
notifications for the 6-hour period that he hasn’t logged in, and it’s quite
another surprise for this social networking addict. There was a single message
however, that from Fara. It isn’t humanly understandable for the message did
not contain any message at all: it only consisted of randomly typed letters.
Ignoring Fara’s nonsensical message, Vincent opens Tetris
Battle, and was surprised to see that he is indeed Level 36. He chats his
classmate and sends a screenshot of his Tetris Battle home page, showing that
he is Level 36. His classmate sends back a screenshot of his, showing that he
is Level 30. For Vincent, it seems like his computer is having a problem.
He tries to chat with Paulo for help, but unexpectedly, an
error in the chat feature occurs once again. The annoying error is pestering
Vincent once more.
“My computer is kinda sick. These Facebook errors are
getting to my nerves. Help?” Vincent types as a status message.
Posting it was equally as hard as logging in. Facebook won’t
allow Vincent to post that status; again, an error occurs.
No matter how pissed Vincent was, he just couldn’t leave
that site. To burn time and irritation, he just tries to browse over his
profile, and again, putting frustration to an extreme, something in his profile
was gravely incorrect.
His 3,000+ friends disappeared. He could not see his 200
notes. Add to that the displeasure of receiving no notifications. Vincent is
slowly turning red in exasperation. He just can’t believe the errors that are
happening to his Facebook account.
“Beep!”
His computer, after a long time, sends him a notification.
It is a message from Fara, and this time, this one is readable. A simple “Hi!”
from a sweet girl partially assuages Vincent’s bad mood.
Some sweet exchange of words that lasted for hours sparked
Vincent’s curiosity at last. Who is this girl?
Vincent clicked over her profile and found only two display
picture – typical of a fake account. No educational background is available,
just gender and a few liked pages. Friend list is hidden. Vincent is troubled
whether this account is a fake or whether the girl is just secretive. Just a
sweet word or two, it doesn’t matter to Vincent anymore.
The night after, coming from school, Vincent sprints to the
computer, hoping to start early the conversation with Fara. Earlier that
morning, at school, Vincent asks Paulo to come over their house to fix the
computer without any compensation, of course, being a friend of Vincent.
Fara is not online. Vincent, however, is still delighted to
discover that the chat feature is now functioning. Eating some finger foods with
his left hand while scrolling with his mouse on the right hand, Vincent goes
back to enjoying the pleasures of being the social networking magnet that he
was, chatting with his friends until sleepiness pass him out.
“Beep! Beep! Beep!”
The computer sounded once again, this time in bursts of
beeping. In a short span, more than 30 of his friends messaged him, which is
soon followed by 100 more. In the middle of the beeping climax, a classmate of
Vincent calls him through phone.
“Vincent! Vincent!” the voice through the phone shouts in
panic.
“Why? Why? What’s the problem?” Vincent answers, also driven
by the panic.
“Don’t! Oh please, Vincent! Don’t!” the voice pleads.
“Don’t what? You sound like I am raping you!” Vincent
replies confidently.
“No time for jokes, Vincent. I’m coming there,” the voice
says, still in panic.
“Why? I do not understand! Calm down!”
“Your note on Facebook? What the freakin hell was that, and
how do you expect me to calm down?!”
“My note on Facebook? Which one?”
Baffled by that alarming call, Vincent checks his Facebook profile.
Amidst all the hysterical beeping and the upsurge of messages, he discovers
that unknowingly, he had supposedly typed a seemingly suicide note telling
everyone that he is happy with this life except for one mysterious thing which
the note did not state. The note also contains some dramatic farewells to his
family, his classmates, his friends and to the world. One thing, each of his
friends was tagged in the note.
Vincent’s cellphone was on rage. Calls and messages keep
coming, and Vincent does not have any idea how to fix the impression that the
note he supposedly typed and published created to his social circle. He was
also oblivious as to where that note comes from.
The frenzy on phone and on his Facebook continued as Vincent
became witness to his own account automatically posting status messages talking
about revenge and death. Minutes pass, status updates were posted and troubled
friends warily struggle to contact Vincent, who was, in turn, in shock of what
is happening to his online life.
While clicking on Facebook, he sees that his display picture
had changed without his knowledge. His display picture became a picture of him
three years ago at an educational trip. In the background was a bunch of
people, and in those was a strikingly familiar face. He was bothered by that
familiar face.
“Beep! Beep! Beep! Beeeeeep!”
Vincent’s computer beeps numerous times.
Fara messages Vincent, 99 times in a few seconds.
Vincent views the messages. Empty. They are all blank.
That display picture of his just flashed back on his mind.
He clicks back to the picture, looks at the display picture, and sees that the
familiar face he was looking at a while ago is already gone. The girl has
already left the photo. “Imagination?” Vincent was asking himself, “it couldn’t
be.”
It really couldn’t be.
“Beep!”
Another message from Fara.
This time, there is an attachment. After some online virus
scan, Vincent downloads the attachment.
Double-clicked, triple-clicked, quadruple-clicked,
speed-clicked. Opened. A picture.
The picture shows Vincent. The description says that it was
taken in a museum, dated December 3, 2008, three years ago. The picture is the
exact same picture that became Vincent’s display picture on Facebook.
Vincent is startled. Why did she send that?
Lights flicker. They turn on and off, alternating rapidly.
Vincent, on total fright, stands in the corner of his room and watch as his
online life turn into a living nightmare.
The monitor slowly fades to black. It left words in red,
bold, capital letters -- DIE. The monitor strongly tells Vincent to die.
DIE.
Eyes are straight. Hands are sweaty. Heart is skipping a
beat on fright. Holding his body against a wall, he starts to scream, but no
voice is coming out of his lungs. Lights continue to flicker.
The computer, despite fading to black, begins to play a
recording.
A girl screams from the computer speakers. A girl is
screaming desperately for help. Background voices grow louder. Deep male
laughter, violent physical movements, flowing liquids and falling objects to a
wooden floor noised the recording. The scream becomes inconceivable, as if something
had covered the girl’s mouth.
The recording becomes more disturbing. The screams become
more deafening. The girl is struggling. Gasping every single breath available. Calling
for help that obviously weren’t there. Screeching in struggle and pain. Not
long, sound of flesh being stabbed becomes audible, and the girl’s cry for help
becomes more emotional – the scream was for her dear life; it was for her
survival.
Then, for seconds, moments of silence.
“DIE! DIE!” an outraged female shouts.
“DIE! DIE!” the message of death reverberates around the
room, echoing more violently inside Vincent’s mind. The voice is filled with
revenge and ruthlessness. Vincent is being compelled to death for something he
has no idea about. Vincent just stared at his computer set, in trauma, in
shock, full of guilt for something unknown, full of pity for a girl whom he did
not know, full of worry not only for himself, but for the girl whose life has
been taken away.
He leaves the house in terror. He called a friend and asked
if he could spend the night with him.
The next day, terrible news came to the classroom. Paulo
died of a car accident. Paulo was supposed to help Vincent fix his computer,
but it seems like on his way, Paulo met dreadful fate. Also, Vincent is the
most talked about person of the day, with the unexpected suicide note, the
melodramatic status updates, the weird display picture and just this morning,
the pictures that were tagged to Vincent, abstract red and black probably depicting
death and suffering. Vincent had no control over all of these. Vincent is a
victim of an unknown online activity.
Facing his fear, after class, he goes home.
In serenity, his computer sits there idly, his Facebook
logged in, showing his home page. The whole desk is clean, and it seems like
everything is waiting for him to take his seat. Everything is in order except
for Vincent’s mind, which is still disturbed by everything that had happened
last night.
“Beeeeeeep!”
His computer notifies him of a message. Blood surged inside
his body. An unexplainable chill raptures from his body. He becomes uneasy. He isn’t
ready to see from whom the message was. Slowly, his sight crawls from the
keyboard to the bottom part of the monitor.
His worst expectation came true, the message is from Fara.
A single message still unopened lies there. Vincent
hesitates if he’ll still open the message. He opens.
“DIE.”
That single message was followed by dozens more, all in a
continuous inflow of sharp death threats.
“DIE.”
“DIE.”
“DIE.”
“DIE.”
“DIE.”
The web browser minimizes and maximizes on alternate,
showing the desktop background on glimpses. Daunting, on the desktop background
is Fara – that gorgeous display picture of hers drenched in blood, with a knife
stabbed on her neck. Fara’s eyes were looking sharper and sharper to Vincent as
Google Chrome continues to alternately minimize and maximize. Tears of blood
flow from her innocent eyes.
The browser stops and opens a new tab instead. There, a
video automatically plays.
The video shows a slaughterhouse, with hanging dead pigs in
the background. Light from a swinging incandescent bulb plays with the shadows
of the hanging pigs. Dim as the light could be, the video shows the silhouette
of two men approaching. One of the figures adjusts the camera to show a woman
hanging head down along with the pigs. The woman begins screaming, and it
sounded exactly like the recording that Vincent heard yesterday.
The video was inhumane. Torture. Abuse. All Vincent felt for
the woman was pity. The woman is stripped off her clothes and was bathe in
boiling water. The woman struggles to escape the tight knot, but was only
weakened by the continuous beating of the two men. One of the silhouettes covers
the woman’s mouth with a duct tape while the other continues the torture. The
woman dies, after receiving dozens of stabs from the cold-blooded criminals.
“DIE.”
A voice from the video calls.
“DIE!”
The voice is getting louder.
Terrified, he races to the computer and unplugs it. Still,
the computer was unaffected, playing from an unknown source of electricity.
Then, another clip plays. This time, it was him. Vincent sees
himself in the video. In the video, he’s holding a rope, staring at the computer,
guilty and crying. Disheartened, he falls down to his knees. He sets a chair up
and knots the rope in a support bar attached to the ceiling. He positions his
head on the other end of the loop.
Vincent is taking his own life, and in the moment he jumped,
the footage is cut, and on the screen appears Fara’s face, talking to Vincent,
“DIE!”
Fara, red in blood and anger, continues to speak to Vincent
in a psychedelic voice. With her eyes with capillaries oozing out blood, the
edges of her teeth decaying to black, her neck with a knife stabbed deeply, she
fills the room with her grudging voice – calling for Vincent’s death.
The morning after, Vincent’s friends came to confirm the
news from his parents, that after he had supposedly changed his display picture
into his decapitated head, posted his own video committing suicide and tagged
all of his friends, he had really killed himself.
“How did he post his video committing suicide if he had
already died?” a classmate asked.
Fara’s account never really existed at all.
***
This short story is an
experiment trying to source fear from one of the least explored medium in horror
literature – the Internet. Many of us find the Internet as an important tool in our
lives. This story wants you to ask yourself a question: will I ever fear the
Internet?
This short story was originally submitted at a short story competition for the Lance's literary folio, Muralla: Space. The Lance is the official college student publication of Colegio de San Juan de Letran, Intramuros, Manila.
