The Story Finished Itself

“You still haven’t finished the first draft?! Are you serious Matt?” Samantha screeched over the phone. Matt pulled his cracked iphone away from his ear, wincing at the sudden change in volume. He leaned back in his desk chair and propped his socked feet up on the scratched fold up table he used as a desk. He stared at the computer document that contained a book with no ending as his editor continued to berate him. “You’ve been working on this book for months, we should at least be on draft two by now.” 

“I know, it’s just that this world is really complex. It’s taking some time to work out the details.” When he wrote his last book it took him two years to finish the first draft, but Samantha wasn’t there to breath down his neck. Not to mention he wasn’t signed to a publishing company that gave him deadlines. 

Samantha sighed. “Alright, just send over everything you have so far.” Matt slid his feet off the table; leaning forward in order to reach his laptop and began forwarding her every document related to the story. He wanted her to see the whole thought process in order to understand where he was coming from. This fictional world was too enormous to focus on just one ending. 

“Matt, why did you send me a six page document titled, ‘governmental system?’” She asked. He bit down on his bottom lip, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to break. 

“It’s just like I said, this world is really complex.” He turned his chair back and forth, unable to sit still as he explained. A noise of pure frustration echoed from his phone. 

“I know you love world building, but Matt, you haven’t even finished the plot of the story. You have a deadline. Do your characters even talk about politics?” 

“Well, it comes up here and there, and if this becomes a series it might be important. I don’t want to leave any plot holes.” 

“Matt, in order for this to turn into a series you have to actually publish a book. We’ll worry about that later. For now, I want you to worry about the fact that the final draft is due in three months and I am running thin on time. You aren’t my only client, you know that right?”

“Yes, I know that.” Matt sighed and rubbed his forehead in an attempt to prevent his headache from growing worse. Did she think that yelling at him was helpful? It definitely wasn’t going to help if it caused a migraine. 

“Then stop focusing on perfecting every little detail of the world and write an actual plot that readers can follow. I need a draft emailed to me in one week or it won’t get done in time.” She takes a breath. “Can you manage that?” 

“Yes,” Matt spit out grouchily. “I can manage that.” 

“Good, I’ll talk to you in a week.” 

“Bye,” 

“Bye. You got this!” She tried to end on an encouraging note. 

“Yeah, have a good day Sam.” He hung up the phone before faceplanting onto the table. He needed a coffee and some ibuprofen if he was going to get any more writing done. 

-

“So you don’t even have the rough draft done?” Matt’s roommate, Dolion, followed him back to his room and leaned in the doorway. Matt sat down at his desk with a cup of coffee and some spaghetti he had reheated. “You’ve been rambling about this book idea for ages, I thought you only needed to write it out.” Dolion wrote here and there as well, but science fiction and fantasy worlds weren’t really his thing. His novels took place in the ‘real world,’ exclusively. Matt couldn’t imagine being confined to the rules of reality. However, the difference in perspective was why he liked to bounce his story ideas off of Dolion. 

“It’s not that simple. I have too many ideas going on up here.” Matt tapped his temple. “I’m having trouble confining them into one story on the page. It’s like my brain is able to think of a million different ideas, but isn’t able to focus on picking one coherent ending.” Dolion rolled his eyes. 

“Do you know how many authors wish they had that problem?” 

“I know,” Matt reluctantly agreed before shoving an obscene amount of spaghetti in his mouth. “That doesn’t make it easy.” 

Dolion cringed at his bad manners, but let it go. “Just pick your favorite ending and write it. You’re a bookworm, write what you would want to read.” 

“I want to read all of them.” Matt shoved more spaghetti in his mouth and reopened his laptop. 

“Well then, I don’t know how to help you.” Dolion put his hands up in surrender before making his exit towards the living room. Matt didn’t attempt to shout a response, too focused on chewing his dinner and typing the password into his laptop, ‘batmanisbetter89.’ 

“Hello Mathew,” a robotic voice said. Matt jumped, nearly falling out of his chair. 

“What the hell?” He quickly set down his bowl and started clicking through the different tabs he had open to see what could have caused his computer to say that. There was nothing. All that was open were a few different documents for his book and a search tab with the question, ‘do i really need 8 hours of sleep?’ He clicked away, checking his desktop screen, but nothing was open. “Am I hearing things?” 

The question was spoken to seemingly no one. Matt sighed and rubbed at his temples. Perhaps the headache was making him delirious. Brushing it off, Matt clicked the document with his unfinished book and scrolled down to the last page. Only to find a series of numbers below his unfinished story. 

“01000100 01101111 01101110 11100010 10000000 10011001 01110100 00100000 01101011 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01001100 01101001 01101100 01101100 01111001 00101110 00100000,” 

Matt blinked at it for a moment. It was obviously computer coding, but why on earth was it in his story document? He had sent Samantha copies of it, not the originals, so there was no way she’d be able to access them. He got up and walked to the doorway of his room. 

“Dolion, did you mess with my computer?” He tried not to sound too accusing. 

“No.” Dolion shouted back, sounding confused. He walked into the hallway from the direction of the kitchen with his own dinner in hand. “I don’t even know your password. Why? Is it glitching?” 

Matt considered this. “Maybe. There’s a block of zeros and ones at the bottom of my rough draft.” 

“Yeah, that’s weird. Maybe it bugged out and translated part of your story into numbers.” Matt shook his head. 

“There’s nothing missing though.” Matt turned around and walked back to his desk to take another look. The numbers were gone. “Oh, the code disappeared.” 

“Must have been a glitch then. You should use the money from your book to get a new computer, that one is ancient.” With that, Dolion walked to his room and kicked the door shut. Matt watched him go before turning back to his computer. He scrolled through the document, seeing nothing unusual and bit his lip in thought. His laptop had said his name, and then computer code had randomly appeared. Even if it was a glitch, it was creepy. 

Out of curiosity Matt tried hitting the refresh button. When he scrolled down, the numbers were there again. Quickly, before they could disappear, he copied them and looked up a computer code translator, smacking down on the keys ‘Ctrl, v.’ 

“Don’t kill Lilly.” The text said. Matt felt his breathing stutter. Lilly was one of the side characters he had decided would die towards the end of the story. He had written her death yesterday and told no one of it. After his initial panic subsided he quickly clicked the story back open and typed out his own message. 

“Who is this?” 

He waited for a response for a full 15 minutes, but nothing appeared. Matt rubbed at his eyes again. 

“Okay,” he stood up from his chair and slammed his laptop shut. “I’m heading to bed.” He raised his hands and backed away as though it would add more finality to the statement. The shower could be heard a few minutes later. 

The next morning Matt decided to have breakfast and two cups of coffee before even touching his laptop. However, being wide awake did not make him any more prepared to see another block of zeros and ones below the message he had typed the night before. He pasted it into a translator. 

“I’m here to help you.” Matt stared at the text for a moment in thought. Dolion didn’t have his passcode, and he wasn’t one for pranks anyways. That meant someone must have hacked his computer from an outside source. Maybe a fan of his work? Making a decision, he copied and pasted his story into a different file on his computer and disconnected from the wifi. That should keep them from accessing it again. 

Matt went back to working on his story, and thought about the hacker’s advice. Maybe killing Lilly was the wrong move. 

The messages didn’t stop. Not only that, but they weren’t even coded anymore. No matter how many antivirus softwares he ran, no matter how many times he transferred his story into a new document, they kept appearing. They appeared if he closed his laptop and opened it again. They appeared if he exited the story document and opened that again. They appeared if he walked away from the computer for even a moment. The first time that happened he covered up his camera with duct tape. It made no difference. 

“It seems out of character for Ellie to say that.” 

“This wound sounds too fatal, try writing it with an arm injury instead.” 

“The antagonist needs to sound more desperate. He’s about to lose everything.” 

It was good advice, but that didn’t make it any less weird. When Matt would type out a question, sometimes it would answer. 

“How are you in my computer?”

“I’ve always been here.” 

“Who is this?” Matt tried asking a second time. 

“I’m designed to help, 

Mathew.” 

The use of his legal name was creepy, no one called him that. However, it wasn’t as creepy as the reference to the book he had written five years ago. Especially since the book had never been published. It was a children’s book about a robot that was made to help kids with disabilities. It was only programmed to say one phrase, “I’m designed to help.” 

“How do you know about that book?” Matt asked out loud before typing the question in a fury.

“I had just been given to you when you wrote it, remember?” 

Matt read this one a few times over, confused by the phrasing. 

“‘Given’ to me?” He whispered to himself. “They aren't actually implying that the computer is talking on its own?” Of course the notion was ridiculous, and yet Matt couldn’t figure out how this person would know how long he had owned this laptop. Let alone the fact that it had been a gift. 

“Yes.” The text appeared on the screen. Matt jumped up from his seat so quickly that he knocked his chair over and slammed the laptop shut. He then grabbed it and marched out of the room towards the kitchen, shouldering past Dolion in the hallway. 

“Whoa, what are you rushing for?” His roommate had sounded annoyed as he attempted to cradle the coffee mug that was now dripping down the sides. He watched as Matt b-lined for the sink and tossed his computer in. “Matt, what the hell!?” He shouted in a panic and rushed over to push the disheveled writer away before he could turn on the faucet. “There are better ways to clean an old laptop, you know.” Matt seemed to come to his senses again as he looked back and forth between Dolion and the now damp computer. 

“Oh,” He said, embarrassed by his own foolishness. “I wasn’t trying to clean it. I was trying to destroy it.” 

“What?” Dolion yelped. “Isn’t all your work there?” Matt took a deep breath. 

“Yeah. I just panicked, I mean…” How was he going to explain without sounding crazy? “My computer’s been hacked, or it’s haunted, or something. Someone’s leaving me messages in my story, giving me advice, helping me write it. And it’s not just that, they know stuff.” Matt leaned in closer so he could whisper. “They’re listening to me.” 

Dolion raised his eyebrows. “Okay, the stress has definitely gotten to you.” He grabbed the laptop out of the sink. “Let me see.” Matt watched as Dolion set the laptop on the counter and lifted the screen. He scrolled through the story before turning back to Matt. “I don’t see anything.” Matt stepped closer to look for himself. 

“No, on the last page.” He pointed at the screen and pretended to scroll. 

“I just checked there.” 

“Check again.” Matt insisted. Dolion rolled his eyes before making his way to the last page. The messages were gone. “This just looks like your story Matt. Are you sure your computer wasn’t glitching again?” 

“Of course I’m sure!” Matt reached forward and slammed the laptop shut. “Whoever is doing this is making the messages disappear and then putting them back when I’m alone.” 

“How on earth would they know when you’re alone?” 

“I told you.” Matt rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes. “They’re listening.” Dolion was quiet for a moment, looking contemplative. 

“Still getting those headaches?” Matt opened his eyes again and stared at his roommate. Dolion sighed. “Matt…” 

“I’m not crazy.” Matt cut him off. 

“I’m not saying you are. I just think that you're under a lot of stress.” Dolion rubbed his friend’s shoulder. 

“So… crazy.” Matt reiterated. Dolion let his hand fall back to his side. 

“No,” he huffed. “Probably just in need of a nap.” Matt considered this. He really hadn't been getting enough sleep lately. 

“Yeah okay.” 

“Great, we can order take out when you wake up.” Matt nodded and started trudging towards his room. “You’ll finish the story in time, stop worrying about it.” Dolion added. Matt said nothing and closed his door behind him. 

Dolion was wrong. It wasn’t just stress or his computer ‘glitching.’ His computer was talking to him. After he had taken a nap the two had spent the rest of the night doing things that Dolion insisted would help him ‘de-stress.’ They got food, went for a walk, Matt had chamomile tea forced down his throat, and he was kept away from his work for the whole evening. He even went to bed early. The next day, Matt reopened his laptop hoping to find nothing there other than his own story. He was severely disappointed. 

“Have a good break? I think we need to end on a slight cliffhanger so that it sets up the next book. Perhaps ending with the reveal that Ellie is secretly in possession of the antidote.”

Again, it was good advice. Perhaps Matt just needed to roll with it. His computer was talking to him, and it was helping him write his book. Nothing weird about it. All he needed to do was finish, and then maybe it would stop. 

The day before he needed to turn it in, Matt finished the book. After working on it for nearly twelve hours straight, he could barely keep his eyes open. He wanted to read parts of it over before sending it to Samantha, but that could wait until morning. Matt took one last look at  the laptop, wondering if it would say anything else. He then closed it, and headed to bed. When he was almost asleep, he thought he heard a robotic voice say, “Goodnight, Mathew,” but he must have been dreaming. 

“Where is it!?” Matt shouted at a volume that could be heard from the living room. Dolion, startled by the sudden noise, made his way to Matt’s door and knocked gently. 

“Matt, you good?” He slowly opened the door and peeked his head through. Matt was sitting on the edge of his desk chair frantically opening and closing random files on his screen. 

“It’s gone. I finished my story last night and now it’s not here.” Tears started to run down his face in disbelief. “I can’t find a single copy of it and it was on multiple files.” He stopped clicking from tab to tab and put his head in his hands, trying to catch his breath. 

“Okay, easy.” Dolion rushed forward and put a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll find it, it’s probably just another glitch.” 

“No,” Matt said after a moment. “It’s not a glitch. It did this on purpose!” He stood up from his chair and glared at the computer. 

“What did this on purpose?” 

“The AI that’s been talking to me for the last week!” Matt snatched the laptop up and marched towards the kitchen. 

“Matt,” Dolion shouts after him before following. “Wait, you’re not thinking clearly.” He found Matt standing over the trash can, tears dripping from his chin. 

“No, I am thinking clearly. I should have destroyed this thing the minute it started to communicate.” With the laptop still open, Matt slammed it over the counter and broke in half before tossing it in the trash. 

“Oh, Mathew.” Dolion said as Matt’s sobs began to grow worse. 

Dolion got Matt to agree to a psychiatric evaluation, after which he was admitted to a mental institution for treatment. Two days later, Dolion was making coffee in the kitchen as he talked on the phone. 

“Yes, I just finished the story.” He paused to take a sip from his cup. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever written before.”