book. He was extremely excited about it, looking forward to meeting me and suggested that, after a formal introduction in the office, we have lunch at a nearby restaurant.
I liked the sound of Felix but, to be frank, I was happy to work with anyone who was happy to work with me. I replied that that would be ‘fantastic’ and I was very much looking forward to meeting him too.
My next email was an old friend expressing condolences. I clicked on the link and went through to Facebook. Then I did the standard reply: ‘Thank you. Yes, it’s been crap, but I’m getting on with life.’ I had to deal with it this way – if I went into detail I was worried that I’d unleash a torrent of real grief that might wash me away. I was about to shut down, when a message box popped up on the screen.
Unusually, it had no name attached. There was still the regular green dot in the top left-hand corner and the other function symbols across the toolbar. But no name. I looked down at the message.
‘Are you there?’ It read.
Of course I bloody am, I thought. But I simply wrote, ‘Yes.’ Then I waited, curious to see who it was.
Nothing happened for a few seconds then the words ‘Where are you?’ appeared.
What did that mean? Most of my Facebook friends knew I had moved out of the Smoke eighteen months ago.
A little irritated by the stupidity of the question, I chucked it back at the unknown messenger. ‘Where are you?’ and sat back to see the response.
There was a bit of a time delay. I glanced at my watch. I couldn’t spend long on this joker as I should be getting my stuff together to leave fairly soon.
Then the words popped up on the screen, ‘I can hear you but I can’t see you.’
Mmm. Weird. I regarded the screen for a moment then retyped: ‘Where are you?’
A breeze outside nudged the oak leaves against the window. They sounded like little metallic fingertips on the panes.
The reply came up: ‘I do not know. Everything is dark here.’
Okay, this was getting creepy. What to do? Coming up with no good reply, I sat still and contemplated the screen.
My correspondent was typing. ‘There is only blackness,’ they wrote.
Then underneath that, ‘I am scared.’
That stopped me.
Was this a joke? An inappropriate friend trying to freak me out? Some random viral marketing ploy? I tried to think of a way to respond without looking stupid if it was a prank. Though, at the back of my mind, I was wondering about what to do if it wasn’t.
‘Who are you?’ I tapped out on the keys and hit enter.
‘I’m sorry,’ they replied.
I stopped and looked at it. Then I swallowed. The words had been on my lips just an hour ago.
Then another line of text: ‘Hush.’
Hush? That was an odd choice of word.
Quickly, more text appeared. ‘He may come back.’
Now cynicism was overruled by a more concerning impulse.
‘Who might?’ I wrote. ‘Who might be coming back?’
The screen was still for a moment, then the words ‘Oh God’ tapped out on the screen.
Without letting my head intervene in my now more emotional response, I wrote ‘Where are you? Are you okay?’ But when I hit enter this time my screen died and turned to black.
I cursed and looked down at the on button. My battery had run out.
I hastily reached for the power cable and plugged it in. The computer took several frustrating seconds to reboot and when I returned to the site there was nothing there. No box. No evidence of our conversation. I scrolled down my list of online friends. There was no one I didn’t recognise.
I could have left it alone, but a part of me felt responsible. After all, this hadn’t been a chat room – it had been a dialogue with one other person. A private communication sent only to me. I was troubled but not yet scared. Just worried that I hadn’t stepped up to my civic duty if indeed, this was a genuine message. Crap. This had to be the last thing I needed right now – more guilt.
I bit my lip then made a decision, pulled out my mobile and dialled the one person who I could possibly pass this on to. I was in no fit state to get involved with anyone else’s business right now.
He answered pretty quickly. ‘Hello, Sadie. How are you feeling?’