Notes

Back in 2004, I wasn't exactly the tech-savvy type. Computers fascinated me, but I was far from an expert. So when my father surprised me with a copy of Windows XP Home Edition, I was both excited and apprehensive. The box art alone was enough to captivate me. Eagerly, I popped the disc into our trusty old Windows 98 computer and began the installation process.

As the software installed, a soothing melody filled the room, adding to my anticipation. The setup prompted me for basic information - my name, a password, and such. Finally, the installation completed, revealing the iconic wallpaper of rolling green hills and a serene blue sky. The glossy "Start" button beckoned me to explore.

Like any curious user, I clicked my way through various apps - playing around with the voice recorder, doodling in Paint, and jotting down random thoughts in Notepad. But soon, boredom crept in, and I yearned for something more engaging. That's when I noticed it - a program named "Internet Explorer." Intrigued, albeit clueless about its purpose, I launched it in hopes of finding new games to play.

A search for games led me to an enticing advertisement promising "1000 Games." Excitedly, I clicked on it, only to have my computer abruptly shut down, the familiar tune signaling the end of my session. Confused, I shrugged it off and went about my day.

The following day, I attempted to use my computer again. After logging in, I was greeted by a brief flash of red before the familiar Bliss wallpaper appeared. However, something was off - a new icon labeled "1000 GAMES" featuring a jumping Mario had appeared on the desktop.

Intrigued, I clicked on it, expecting another adventure. But instead, the screen flickered to black, and I found myself back at the login screen. Perplexed, I logged in again, only to be greeted by a drastically altered desktop - the wallpaper now black, the Start button an ominous orange, and the taskbar an eerie shade of black.

Front and center on the screen was a mysterious .WAV file titled "01001000 01100101 01101100 01101100." With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, I clicked on it, and the room was filled with chilling, indistinct noises that sent shivers down my spine. It was as if someone was desperately trying to communicate, but their words were lost in a void of static and distortion.

Terrified, I hastily shut down the computer, turned off the monitor, and removed my headphones. The experience had left me shaken, and I vowed never to touch that computer again, fearing what other horrors might lurk within its digital depths.