Creepy - Day 18 - Chatroom 98

Episode Date: October 18, 2018

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Day 18 Chatroom 98 Um, Hi, I'm currently in a bed Inside St. Anne's Hospital in North London. Dr. Mark 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'm 16 years old and I am apparently 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 school books to the burning pile. I just finished my GCSEs, 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 it, in a corner that was so old, there was enough dust to me cotton candy. I scorn 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 it on the other side, saw it 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 color with some text written on it

in black marker pen. The words were, chat room 98. 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 chat room desk rather than the vast chat rooms available on the internet, I concluded it would be somehow different. That, I got right. Having kicked a 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 Chat Room 98. appeared at the top center of the screen.

Then the screen went black for a brief moment and flashed. The words, Welcome to Chatroom 98, appeared at the top center of the screen. Chatroom 98? What was the significance of that number? Then, it would appear to be a white text box opened up in the center. 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 Darwin Clark replied, Good afternoon. There was no possible way that this person was real. It seemed like I was the only possessor at this chat room desk. Then I realized it was one of those chatbots, a software designed to simulate an intelligent conversation with whoever talks to it. ICT was the only thing I was good at.

I still thought it was strange, though. I'd only lived in my current house for six years, but I had never encountered that red box in my entire life. I suppose the house's previous owners must have owned it, but it's not like they owned a computer, unless you count smashed to pieces when we threw away to the dump when we first arrived. Anyway,

I tried to start a conversation to see to what extent the AI had been programmed. Lovely weather we're having, I wrote. No sooner than three seconds, Mr. Clerk replied, No, it seems rather miserable today. I was taken aback. The weather was more or less exactly how we put it. I didn't know either until I looked out the window. and saw that it was about to rain.

It seemed the books had one more day to live. But I wasn't too surprised. The chat bought was probably programmed to say that. Since this is England I live in, it could have been more than likely. I then typed in, So what are your favorite movies? Again, I got a response.

I don't watch movies. I prefer the things. theater. The theater. Was I talking to an old man? I replied, how old are you? I didn't care if the bot got offended, but I have to give me an answer eventually. The answer was, I'll tell you about myself. I was born in 1867 and grew up with two sisters whom I hated. Okay, right, of a program, this was clearly having a laugh. I typed back, laughing hysterically as I wrote. Well, I was born in 2008 with two identical twin brothers who are also aliens from the planet Bougaloo. I'm also Jesus. I wondered what this senile old man would say next. I knew it was a chat

bot, but I kept thinking it was a real person from some unexplainable reason. He said, really? How droll. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jesus. Have your brothers abducted anyone yet? I cracked up again. Whoever made this must have done an impressive job. I typed in.

Yes, they are actually alien pedophiles who pray on human children. You better watch out. They also have a fetish for CD-ROMs. The next reply was just plain unsettling. Clark replied, Well, although I may appear to be a CD-ROM, I was actually a human myself once, until I faced judgment for my transgressions.

I didn't know what the fuck he was saying. But the pointy detail of his description startled me for a second. It felt real, too real. And then to my surprise, he typed another message. You don't understand. Let me make myself plain. My sisters, whom I hated, met with a tragic accident. I was starting to feel cold.

This was not just a chatbot. This must have been a psycho chatbot or something. Or it was a big joke. I typed in to see his reaction. Do you know what else my brothers have done lately? And then I was met with the biggest surprise of all. Darwin Clark responded again. Only this time I could see his message being typed,

like a ticker tape typewriter. You are an only child, David. What the actual fuck? I was seriously getting creeped out now, so I typed in, What the fuck are you? And the response simply couldn't have been, made by AI. It seemed too much like a human was actually talking to me. Let me tell you a story. Do you know what happened to your house's previous owners? I sat there like an idiot, staring at the

computer awaiting a response. The same that happened to my two sisters. Remember, I despised both of them. That was it. I moved the cursor to the top right corner to click the cross button and end this nightmare. I was relieved. I'd only been talking to it for five minutes, but it seemed like two hours. When I tried to shut down the PC, the unthinkable happened. The computer became unresponsive. It went all glitched and fucked up.

We were still the chat room opened by itself. I got another message, and by this time I was sure to be hallucinating by now. You have not heard everything yet. I scrambled at the keyboard. I was losing my mind. Are you fucking with my computer? Stop! This is seriously not funny.

Finally, I think this is where it happened. Darwin Clark typed in again. This time, in a much slower ticker typewriting fashion than last time. I could hear nothing more than my own heartbeat. It intensified more and more with each. passing letter. My face was practically melting with sweat. As I focused more and more on the letters as they were being typed, the horrified expression on my face would have become so visible. I think I remember seeing it in the reflection of my laptop. A final message that he gave me,

which lost me my sanity and ruined my health was. Look behind you. I remember feeling as if everything around me was slowing down. I really was worried. Part of me knew there would be something behind, and a smaller part tried to assure me that there was nothing there. I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth violently together, then shot my head back like a bullet, absolutely nothing. I spat out a week laughter and nodded my head in relief.

I felt like everything was safe again, until I looked back to my computer monitor. I must have seen it the moment I swiveled my chair, but it caught me anyway. There was a face, a fucking face of a man, a fucking pale white man who was grinning at me on my laptop screen. His hair was blonde, and he seemed to be in his mid-20s, but his facial expressions was the exact opposite of friendly. His eyes were crimson red. I only saw for a nanosecond of a nanosecond, but that was all I could take. After that, apparently, I screamed violently and then fell unconscious for four hours.

That's what Dr. Martin told me. He's the guy looking after me at the moment. He really doesn't know what I've been through. So here I am now, sitting at about at 4.30 a.m. typing this story to the world. Even as I type, I still worry that the face will appear once again and scare the shit out of me. I seem to be suffering from a trauma. My eyes have grown dark purple circles around them because I have literally not slept at all since the incident.

I tried sleeping, but that face, that face stops me from sleeping. Now that I've written this story, I urge everybody to watch out. If you see a red CD-ROM case, throw it away. Do not open it and do not use it. I am now going to jump out a third-story window. I can't take this anymore. I'm fucking scared.

I want to die now. If anyone tries to resuscitate me, then fuck you too. And do not, I repeat, do not go looking for Darwin. Clark, he may or may not be real, but he can drive you insane. You have heard this message. Do not look for Darwin Clark. If you find him, you will lose your mind. It's Mike from the Horror Junkies Podcast, a weekly podcast that discusses all things horror and gets weird while doing it.

I'm joined by my fellow host, Patrick, George, and Dylan, so join us every Thursday as we dive into the darkness. You can find our show on Spotify, iTunes, and Stitcher. And make sure you follow us on social media to get constant updates by searching at Horror JunkiesFL. So turn your lights down low, your headphones up, and stay weird. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.

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