Don't Ignore Me

It sat on a table next to the desk. That was its place and had been for some time. It was coated in a thin layer of dust, not too much, just enough to prove it received irregular cleaning. The half empty ink cartridges loaded inside were the originals it had been shipped with, same as the stack of paper racked in the back.

It remained in this place, in this state for days and days, years and years, offering nothing to the world but a barely noticeable blinking light. Until one day, for no discernable reason

Click… beep, beep, whirrrrr, chunkchunkchunk

Derek glared at his printer. Printing things unprompted, great. Another problem he did not need today. He examined the freshly printed page which contained a single line at the top.

%@F362L1XZ>Q

“Must be a system update or something.” He returned his attention to the wrong password notification jeering at him on the monitor. He could not believe he lost his password notebook. Resetting all of his accounts would take all night.

He resumed the task with a frustrated sigh, only to be interrupted by the printer again.

Chunkchunkchunk

“Are you kidding me?” The newly printed page contained the same string of nonsense characters. It occurred to him that it was a suspiciously bizarre arrangement, and on a whim, he typed it into the password field.

Login Successful

Strange and somewhat alarming. He booted up a spyware scan and moved on to the next account, which prompted the printer to spit out another page.

BL$@ZXZL341!

This was getting very weird. He anxiously typed the letters into the box.

Login Successful

That clinched it, something was definitely wrong. Derek knew better than to take chances with online security. He put electrical tape over his webcam, deactivated his mic, unplugged the printer, and spent the next several hours shoring up security settings.

***

New days and fresh problems pushed the password incident out of Derek’s mind. Things were not looking good. They cut his hours at work and his savings were drying up. Paying this month’s rent would bleed him dry.

As he sat at his computer to check job listings, he was jolted by a familiar noise.

Chunkchunkchunk

This time there were actual words on the page.

“Mega Millions: 25 82 47 69 61 8”

Lottery ticket numbers. If this was a hacker, they had a weird sense of humor. Derek started to ball the page up when something occurred to him. He checked the back of the printer. Still unplugged.

“What the hell?”

He dug out the manual buried in his desk drawer and read it front to back. No answers there. He opened the machine up, looking for a battery or anything that might shed some insight.

Nothing. There was no logical reason for what had occurred.

He unballed the paper with the lottery ticket number. No way this could work, but at this point, it would be crazier not to give it a shot.

***

Derek ran or tried to run. His legs felt flimsy like something prevented them from going full throttle. The thing was behind him, he had to get away before it hurt him again. It was always hurting him, always after him. He wanted to fight back. He thought about turning around and charging it, but fear held him back.

It was close now, its hands grazing his neck hair. He had to stop it, he needed to stop it before -

Derek woke with a gasp. He rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket to his chest, taking slow steady breaths to calm his galloping heart. Just a bad dream.

He soothed himself by rubbing his sheets – the smooth, velvety coverings of his luxurious new bed.

His life had gone through an overhaul over the past several months. After predicting the winning lottery ticket, the printer offered investment tips. Unlike the frustratingly vague lines it printed before, it now provided long lists of what to buy and dates to sell. He’d become a millionaire in a matter of weeks, all thanks to that old machine.

The printer did have limits. It could work without power, but that rule did not apply to ink. Whenever it ran out it repeatedly printed blank pages, like it was signaling for help. He was happy to oblige.

He sat up and stretched when the familiar noise reached his ears.

Chunkchunkchunk

How he had grown to love that sound. He leaped out of bed and skipped to the machine, but his smile disappeared when he looked at today’s page.

For the first time, it printed an image: a picture of a safe. Beneath it was an address, and under that, instructions.

2:15 pm, back door, key on top of the doorframe. Closet in the master bedroom. Combination: 25, 14, 38, 21.

“Is it telling me to rob somebody?”

Derek realized he had grown too comfortable with the mysterious printer. He knew nothing about this thing, but it seemed to know everything about him.

It was probably time to put it to rest. It would be insane to follow through with this plan. He was already a multimillionaire, what in that safe could possibly be worth the risk?

And yet… that question nagged at him. What could be worth the risk? Why had the printer suggested it? He couldn’t think of any reason to go through with this, but maybe that’s because he lacked imagination. The printer knew how to improve his life better than he did.

***

Derek arrived at the address 10 minutes before the designated time. It wasn’t a bad house – in good condition and decently sized, but it was no mansion. Hard to imagine anything valuable was in there. This only furthered his curiosity.

As he expected, there were no cars in the driveway. The printer specified this time for a reason. He crept into the backyard and headed for the large double window back doors. He reached up to the top frame ledge and felt around until he felt the jagged edges of the key.

He thought panic would set in once he was inside, but an eerie calm washed over him. Everything would be alright if he followed instructions. The printer never steered him wrong.

He moved briskly through the house, ignoring every distraction. He needed to get in and out as fast as possible.

It didn’t take long to find the bedroom, furnished with a king-sized bed surrounded by sports paraphernalia.

Derek rushed to the closet, a small walk-in. Here things hit a snag. It was a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere and boxes stuffed with weights or shoes that made it difficult to move around. The safe was nowhere to be seen.

He threw himself into the mess, wincing at every dirty sock and pair of underwear he pushed out of his way. Scrambling all the way to the back of the closet, he found the safe hidden under a blanket in the corner.

The calm from before was gone now, he entered the combination with a trembling hand. The lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal a gun.

He stared at it in shock for a few seconds. Was this it? Why would the printer bring him here?

He took the gun out to examine it. It was a simple, easy-to-use pistol. He was no expert, but it didn’t seem exceptionally valuable.

Disappointment gave way to rage. How dare that stupid machine goad him into this. What the hell was the point?

The sound of a door opening interrupted his thoughts.

Fuck.

Gun still in hand, he stumbled out of the closet. Maybe he could still break for the back door.

The encroaching footsteps dispelled that delusion. Someone was coming straight for the bedroom.

Not fully aware of what he was doing, Derek aimed the gun at the door. His panic-fueled body moved instinctually.

A tall man wearing sweaty workout clothes walked in. He stared dumbfounded at Derek and the gun.

Neither of them spoke. It occurred to Derek that the man seemed vaguely familiar. After several seconds of awkward silence, the man said, “Aren’t you… Derek?”

Upon hearing the man speak his name, Derek realized that he did know him, and with that realization, the obscured details from last night’s dream became crystal clear.

The “monster” was Gordon Stubbs, the bully who tormented him in school. Memories of getting kicked in the groin and shoved off bleachers flashed through his mind. Back in those days, he never had the resolve to fight back.

What happened next was not motivated by anger. High school was a long time ago, old grudges didn’t matter to him. No, it was self-preservation. He had burglarized Gordon’s house and grabbed a weapon. Gordon knew who he was. Life was just getting good, he would not let it be ruined over this, not for his bully’s sake.

He squeezed the trigger and Gorden fell to the ground.

***

Bat gripped tightly in hand, Derek stormed into his room. That stupid machine, what the hell had it done? There was no telling what might happen now. He was no murderer, he didn’t know how to get rid of a body. He wiped his prints of the gun, safe, and key, left Gordon on the floor, and ran out as fast as he could.

Maybe they would call it suicide?

No, he shot him from the front, that would never fly.

This was all the goddamn printer’s fault. It had to go, he should never have listened to it in the first place.

He reared the bat over his head but hesitated. What if he needed it? The police might come after him. The printer could have a solution.

But how could he trust it? He killed someone because of it. How did it know about his dream? How did it know anything about him? Could it read his thoughts?

As he contemplated these things, the machine stirred.

Chunkchunkchunk

Another image, this time a picture of a large house overlooking the beach. It was the kind of place Derek fantasized living in. The printer kept going.

Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk Chunkchunkchunk

The most beautiful woman Derek had ever seen. His face on the cover of Time magazine. A yacht sailing crystal clear waters. A library full of rare, pristine books.

On and on it went, an endless stream of promises…

***

It sat on a pedestal in a spacious, secure room. That was its place and had been for some time. It was well kept, freshly wiped clean every day. The ink cartridges were always full, and the paper rack stacked with the finest quality stock.

It remained in this place, in this condition for days and days, years and years, offering endless opportunities to its owner. He, in turn, followed its instructions faithfully. He did not always know why it instructed him to do certain things. Sometimes even after the deed was done, the reason for the task remained a mystery. It did not matter. Over time, the promised rewards of its instructions mattered less and less. He trusted it, completely. Serving it, keeping it well-maintained and happy was all that mattered now.