Wandering Tales

Cursed 4

4

Hey... You... Do you think you can write a scary story?... Come here...

The dull computer screen blinks the same message over, and over again. Curiosity got the better of the young boy. Though he had no such beliefs as to if this site really worked, he clicked the link anyway.

The monitor shows the loading sign. Then a single sentence.

Welcome. If you think you can scare me with a story, try.

First and foremost, he must check the authenticity of the site. Running a virus scan, made sure no malicious software was ready to infect his laptop. He found none, and cautiously, wrote something simple, a test.

A little girl commuted suicide.

...

So?

The boy smirked, somewhat pleased. This wasn't just some stupid site some naive child created, certain parts of it were intricately programmed. In simple terms it was able to answer, the boy guessed, based on how long your "story" was, and if you didn't write enough, it would ask for more.

He decided to give this site his full attention.

There's more.

The reply was almost immediate.

So?

It really wasn't that mysterious then. Deftly typing with controlled practice, he wrote out an entire story, all about how this one man had troubles. His wife left him, he just lost his job, and his parents began to loathe him. At the end, he was heavy with perspiration, the excited adrenaline causing veins to thump and jump, his happy mood spiking.

Then he forced himself to be calm, and went back to his serene, neutral self. He scanned his work, spotting no mistakes, and made sure he approved of his work. Satisfied, he pressed enter. His composition, every sentence, sprung to life on the screen and whizzed away for the world to read. It was a few minutes before a reply came.

Nice. Do you have anymore?

The boy couldn't help but smile. This website was desperate for any entries, and wouldn't really stop asking for more. It was enough for one day. Clicking the X at the top of the page, the screen pleaded for him to stay one more time. 

Are you sure?

Yup, definitely. Once again clicking the exit icon, the page disappeared.

The next day, he logged back onto the site.

Hello. Welcome back

He typed in random keys.

So?

This was just some website after all, its not like it would answer any other way. Last time, he'd experimented how many words the site would take before it was accepted as a fable. Last time, he wrote it with 3000 words. Today, he would try 2000.

His hands a flurry over the keyboard, this time, he wrote about an ugly woman who was always beaten, and no matter what happened, would always revived when killed, taking revenge on whoever killed her.

He was done. He looked over it, may a few changes here and there, and sent it away.

Nice. Do you have anymore?

Once again, he felt the flush of victory. He'd written another work of art, and he felt he released himself through all his writing. Ready to let the story be spread, he clicked the exit button.