Creepypasta Stories

Chatroom 98

Umm... hi. I am currently in a bed, inside St. Anne's Hospital in North London. Dr. Martin kindly allowed me to use his laptop, so I can explain how I got here, and what happened to me.

My name is David Argento, I am 16 years old, and... apparently I am suffering from a mental illness of some kind.

There was only so much I could take in from the doctor's words in the opposite patient room, since I have a bloody massive headache.

I've been given a fair amount of Ibuprofen, but this headache seems permanent. But I don't care... I absolutely must get this written down at all costs. Anyways, you might be wondering how I got here. Here is my story:

About four nights ago, I went upstairs to the loft and took my old schoolbooks to the burning pile. I just finished my G.C.S.Es, and like all my friends, hated every single subject I did. Math, History, English - especially English. You name it, I really hated it. So I found the books exactly where I left them a few months back (or dumped, more like) in a corner that was so old, there was enough dust to make a candy floss (cotton-candy).

I scorned the moment I looked at them again, except I knew this would be the last time I'd have to look at them. So I collected them all underneath one arm. Disgusting. I considered changing clothes shortly afterwards.

But then, something caught my eye. I'm not really sure how I noticed it, but I remember being so intrigued by it that I dropped the books on the loft floor and picked it up. It was a red CD-ROM case, about the size of the average book. There were no words of any kind, even when I turned it over on the other side, sod all. I was kind of excited, it looked like a computer game that the previous house owners had left behind. Since I absolutely loved computers at the time, I was interested in giving it a go on my Dell.

But when I opened the case, the disc inside lacked any kind of artistic illustrations, instead just a bland, white colour with some text written on it in black marker pen. The words were: "". I wasn't exactly pleased when I learned it wasn't a game, but since someone had actually went through the effort of making a CHATROOM disc, rather than the vast chatrooms available on the internet, I concluded it would be somehow different. That, I got right.

Having kicked the worthless books down the attic ladder, I inserted the disc inside my old laptop. After a brief moment, a red box with no text in it appeared. I wasn't sure what to make of it at first, but it seemed to linger there for half a minute. Then, the screen went black for a brief moment, and flashed. The words "Welcome to " appeared at the top centre of the screen. ? What was the significance of that number? Then, what appeared to be a white text box opened up in the centre. I didn't know what to type, so I randomly put: "Hello."

I didn't expect any kind of response but then I got one. A person by the name of DARWYN CLARKE replied "Good Afternoon."

There was no possible way that this person was real, it seemed like I was the only possessor of this CHATROOM disc. Then I realized it was one of those Chatbots; a software designed to stimulate an intelligent conversation with whoever talks to it. ICT was the only thing that I was good at.

I still thought it was strange, though. I'd only lived in my current house for 6 years, but I had never encountered that red box in my entire life. I suppose the houses' previous owners must have owned it. But it's not like they owned a computer - unless you count the smashed to pieces one that we threw away to the dump when we first arrived. Anyway, I tried to start a conversation, to see to what extent the A.I. had been programmed.

"Lovely weather we're having," I wrote. No sooner than three seconds, Mr. Clarke replied, "No, it seems rather miserable today." I was taken aback. The weather was, more or less, exactly how he put it. I didn't know either, until I looked out the window, and saw that it was about to rain.