Lights Out

World Wide Web

The new notification sound bubbled from his computer. It paused his song he was listening to while doing homework so it made him instantly search for the cause of the interruption. If he didn't finish this paper by midnight, he would fail this class and have to repeat the class to graduate. He hated the class and he was in no hurry to do it all over again.

His agitation grew as the clock ticked closer to midnight and he couldn't find the source of the sound. He checked every browser tab to see if it was an ad, every background application, even Facebook even though that isn't the sound a message makes. And then he found a folder that he didn't remember adding. It was a second hand computer his parents bought for when he started college; they said they reset the hard drive but maybe they missed something.

He clicked it and was instantly taken to a website. It didn't want to load at first and then a blue screen popped up. Ready to give up and ignore any other sounds the computer decided to make, he almost exited out when the blue pop up became a murky gray page with neat red letters. 'World Wide Web for The Dark and Twisted', it said. He smiled, thinking this was a site like Reddit or CreepyPasta, somewhere for kids and adults to share and create devastating stories.

He clicked on the first link, titled 'No Room for Morgan', and was taken to another page. It was a story detailing somebody's girlfriend who had grown manipulative and obsessive and they wanted to get rid of her. They expressed how they tried everything to get her to leave of her own volition, but nothing worked. So, while she was sleeping, he took a drill from his shed and drilled two holes into her skull. He went so deep the bit dug into the pillow under her head.

He was amazed at first; he was stunned by the author's writing and attention to detail. And then he saw a link highlighted in the story, and when he clicked it pictures came up. The first one was of Morgan sound asleep, the flash making her look garish and blue. The ones that followed were of the person putting the drill to her head and drilling into her flesh.

The last one was the person posing Morgan's body like a prized deer, her hair matted and wrapped around the bit and blood sprayed everywhere. None of the photos showed the author's face, but each one made sure to capture Morgan's face and death. He grabbed his trash can and hurled his dinner into it, his stomach trying to follow. There was no way these pictures could be real; how could they be? But if it was all fake and makeup for a story, who would go that far for a piece of prose? The thing that cemented his fear and horror was the time stamp on each photo. According to the site, the story was posted a week ago. Each photo was taken a few minutes after the one prior, all submitted with the story at the same time.

He told himself this has to be a joke. A messed up one, but a joke, it had to be. There is no way this girl is really dead, but there was one surefire way to find out. He typed in the girl's name to the internet search bar. A few articles came up but only one that caught his eye, an obituary from a few days ago. Her picture was plastered all over it and a news article linked to it described how she died. Police are still looking for the killer.

He pushed away from his desk. He pulled up the comments section, recoiling as each reply detailed how THEY would do it differently. Whoever made this site, and furthermore whoever had this saved on their laptop, was one sick ticket that delighted in death. Revulsion didn't keep him from opening the About Site page, and he quickly read the little blurb under the headline.

'Stalkers of the night and children of Satan abound, welcome to my house. Everyone here is just like you, proud and bloody.'

This site was created for serial killers. Everyone on here, every username, every anonymous confession belonged to a killer. He searched Morgan's killer's profile, but it said the account was deactivated. He searched through a few others, some containing more than one victim, until he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't look at any of this anymore.

And then the sound beeped again. A chat box opened saying he had a new notification, and when clicked it took him to a recently posted story. It told of a girl who had gotten too comfortable on a subway car, a corresponding picture showing her sleeping against the railing. She looked homeless, dirty and her clothes ragged. He instantly knew this girl would be the next victim. Some users had already begun commenting, asking where she was and describing their methods. It made him feel sick.

A new picture came up and he recognized her. It was a girl in his grade; she had dropped out because she was pregnant by her boyfriend but she didn't look pregnant in the picture. She was huddled in the seat, looking out the window and her arms tight against her stomach. A knife was in the corner of the picture and he knew what would happen.

A video link opened, the title saying live killing on the subway. He clicked it and watched as the user sidled up beside her, talking to her and asking where she was going. There wasn't another soul on that car and while he worried for her, he wanted to see what would happen. He talked with her another minute; she was obviously wary and just wanted to be left alone. Then he grabbed her shoulder, pressed her back to his chest and began to play with her. She cried out to leave her alone but he pressed on, lifting her shirt to slide the metal against her skin. He wasn't sexually hurting her, but the way he toyed with her felt sexual.

He made long scratches into her soft skin, angry red welts weeping blood. He stabbed her in the chest, putting his ear above her lungs to listen and then continued to stab her in different places, continuing to listen. It was slow, methodical, and he couldn't help but watch. When the video ended he knew the girl was dead. She would be found bloody and deceased on the subway and this killer would walk free.

The clock struck midnight as he picked up a camcorder, the pocket knife in his closet, and a hoodie as he walked out the door. His screen timed out, but not before a small ding echoed out that his new account had been approved.