Behind the Firewall

  © Adam Welch

Sleep. You remember it right? That's because you haven't been without it for almost two weeks now.

It's not that I don't want to be back there, resting, peaceful, don't take that idea at all. I long for sleep, I yearn for it. When I go looking for rest, there's nothing, nothing behind my eyelids but waking terror. I guess I shouldn't say nothing is there, something is lingering, and it's always watching me.

It was three weeks ago when I began to notice I was having problems. Back then I was still seeing a therapist regularly for my strengthening OCD. I don't mean to imply I need to touch the toilet eighteen times, or count my hair, nothing like that. I just like things neat. My paper towels need to be horizontal to my toaster, all shoes must be pointed west, things like that. I like to keep things clean and sharp.

Needing such a hold on my enviorment means finding work is tricky. I work from home now, designing web pages for a handful of companies. The work isn't fabulous, but I don't really need to leave my house except for necessities. I've become a paid retainer for a few larger firms which keeps a roof over my head and my food in the refridgerator (aligned with the shelves thank you.).

Occasionally I'm worried I spend too much time on the internet, but as a coder I can't really validate those concerns.

The only spot on the shirt is working with the internet. I loathe it. There is no sense of order to the whole unit. Outside of my web-pages everything is complete anarchy; sometimes it's almost too much to bear.

My OCD comes in handy though; it allows me to make fewer mistakes and keeps me focused during diffcult sites. Every company I've worked for finds my code to be the neatest and easiest to maintain.

Then I have to test the pages. I dread those long hours where I have to actually investigate the outside internet world. Every link I come across takes me to another page, usually unrelated, and I can never just get the information I need. Venturing outside my pages sends my blood-pressure through the roof. I want to yell, scream at the authors of these pages. How do they not understand the concept of sharp lines and smooth navigation? Does no one see that cleanliness is a direct sign of intelligence?

It was during one of these test runs that I came across it. A banner ad popped up while I was trying to test a browser, shouting that this was the change the internet had been waiting for. I clicked it away, but it came back. I tried firing up my software, nothing changed on the banner. I couldn't even relegate the annoyance to the background of my desktop. Nothing worked on this thing. I spent an entire minute trying to get ride of this hideous blight. In a final hope of release I clicked the ad.

The site that came up was nothing I'd ever expected. It was a black screen that crackled over my speakers, forcing me to turn them down. The feed was clearly coming off of a camera, but it was broken. How typical of the world, someone spent the money and didn't even check to see if everything was connected properly. That was the attitude of society, no quality all haste. I never promised a site would be ready without taking at least a week to address all of the areas that might be problems. I wanted perfection, not this waste of time. This camera did nothing but prove my point, it was dark, black, perfect.

I went to close the window, when light jumped across the screen.

It was brief, no more than a second, but it was there. A brief flash of white flickered and was gone.

I think it's fair to say I'm not the kind of guy who makes things up. I have no use for lies and make-believe, but this was real. In that perfect darkness I saw a streak of something moving. How could that be possible with a disconnected camera? I looked at the clock, I had been staring at this thing for almost ten minutes now. Without realizing it I was almost nose-to-screen.

I backed up, straighted my shirt out and tried to find a clickable link in the widnow. The whole thing was a dead zone. The window didn't offer any insight into the joke of why a camera would be focused on blackness. I realized then that it must be working, the light was something coming across, but what. I wanted to know now, I was stuck on understanding this thing. I leaned back in, closer this time, almost close enough to see every pixel in the screen. It flashed again, slower, but it was the same clean white from before.

I jumped back, frustrated and scared, this thing was not having me to play games with. I snapped the power button on the back of my PC and went to bed. I slept for almost 10 hours that night.

I wish I had just stayed sleeping, god, I wish I hadn't woken up.

When I came back to the PC it booted right where I had left it the night before. Everything was still running, even the black window. Everything was locked around the window, I couldn't even drag things on top of it.

In the night I'd realized what the white flashes were; bumps. The camera was being pointed at a black cloth or something and every now and then the creator jostled the table. The idea was so simple, and so frustrating. This perfect blackness was an intended joke and the owner couldn't even make that happen. The irregular white flashes were a slap in the face of the hard work I put in my life. If the creator could just put in a little more time, some more effort, I could have my perfect darkness.

I brooded on this for three days.

The second day was when I began to notice my dreams. I say notice because before then I never really dreamt of anything at all. I like my sleep as orderly as my life and so all I had was the dark. In my dreams I was sterile, safe, ordered. Now I was dealing with vivid images, haunting things that brought me awake in cold sweats.

I always saw people I'd never met before, or at least, I knew there were people present. I could feel them, I knew they were there the same way I knew air was around me. I'd be walking into their houses, which were always dark, and I could see the flickering light of a monitor. In the back rooms I'd see a massive computer chair back to me and the top of a head peeking over. It was slow, the dream speed made it seem like I was underwater. I watched my hand reach out, saw the fingers grip the back of the chair, and then nothing.

I didn't want to know what was sitting there.

Did I mention the screen? I've been awake so long it's hard to keep my thoughts in order anymore. It was around that time that I noticed the pulse of the window. It wasn't just a blank shot anymore, it was a humming void of perfection. The window seemed to sweel and shrink, like it was breathing, and I knew how to watch for the pattern. I would spend days listening to the static on low and watching it pulse with life, I knew things about it.

I slept less and less, mostly trying to avoid the nightmares. In my free time I was now determined to make headway of finding this site. I had to meet the genius behind it, he clearly knew what I wanted, but was unable to hit the perfection. If I could just talk with him, help him.

I went to a friend who provided me with some great hardware. I ran back-traces and code-breakers on the window almost all day. I would watch the programs try and fail for hours before finally breaking down and weeping.

I cried a lot, especially at first.

In those early days I think I even tried to shut down the PC and leave everything. That was foolish. I'd reach for the power switch and find myself yelling at my hand. I never swore, now I would shout horrible profanities at my own body. I tried working on some sites, but I couldn't leave the window hidden for long, I needed it now. As I went more and more time awake it became my balm.

Eventually I stopped sleeping altogether. The dreams were bad, the chaos of dreaming was worse. I couldn't arrange enough to drive the horrors of those things from my mind. Finally I stayed awake, staring into the darkness without end.

I remember everything about the moment the trace programs found it. Why wouldn't I? It was the start of the end.

It happened all at once, but it always does, suddenly there was the address of the server on my screen. I was sitting there, soothed by the gentle pulse of this thing, when suddenly I knew I could make it perfect. I've never felt elation before that moment, it was wonderful.

I tried the car, but of course it would start, so I caught the cross-town bus and headed over. The server was local, but somehow I always knew it would be, it was too strong a connection to be far away. I could barley sit still on the bus. I'm sure I gave off a weird impression to the others, but they can deal with it. The buss dropped my a block from the address.

The house was in disrepair, something akin to a social ill in my book. Normally I would have been put off and left, but this was a chance to meet the creator. The shingles were grey and flaking, the paint was an olive-green that was never popular, the whole place was falling down. I was surpised by how easy it was to overcome my normal aversion to these places. I was excited, tingly, and I had to restrain myself from running up the steps.

The door was unlocked, I knew it would be, and the whole interior were shades of black. It felt funny, but the creator couldn't be bothered by turning on a few lights. The place was chilled, not cold, but definitely without heat. Even on a summer day it still tingled with crisp air. I knew this place from the dreams, but I didn't fear it. I was too excited to even feel anticipation about being in a dark house of a stranger. At the end of the hall I saw the flicker of light, he was working, that's how geniuses spent their time.

I could see the top of his head over the chair. Suddenly seeing that brought everything home. I was within an arm's length of his chair and I could feel the wrongness of the room. The air wasn't chilly, it was cold. The whole place suddenly felt like an icebox. The darkness was there in the room with us, pulsing behind every shadow in the room. The void was hovering just out of sight, and something was in it. There was a terror in that blackness, a screaming awfulness I couldn't even fathom.

My hand reached out. I was crying, I couldn't stop myself, I would have to turn him and see it. I knew that when the chair swivled I would go insane, I would see the terror in the dark and he would lay me bare. God, please, I didn't want to look, I didn't.

When the police found me I was still screaming in the empty house. They sent me home after a while, but I am supposed to check in with a court appointed shrink. I've written down everything so I wont forget to tell him.

How do I begin to explain it's been three weeks since I slept. How do I tell him I can feel my sanity sliding away by inches. I sit and stare at that black window, but now I know what it really is. It's an eye. The roving eye from darkness beyond stars, and it's staring at me. I can't close my eyes or I see the terror leering at me from whatever hell it exists in. I want to sleep, I want to just leave. I never will.

I looked behind me once since then, I don't really need to turn away from the screen anymore, and nothing was there. The whole place is dark, but I'm logged on still. Maybe in the darkness things are quiet.

Maybe they are in order.

Oh god.