The kitchen light was a harsh, unforgiving yellow against the early morning gloom as Aroan shuffled toward his bedroom. He held a chipped ceramic bowl filled with Fruity Pebbles, the vibrant, artificially colored squares creating a rainbow mosaic against the stark white milk.
He brought the bowl to his mouth, the first spoonful a sharp, sugary explosion that immediately dissolved on his tongue, leaving behind a creamy, faintly artificial fruit residue. With a few quick chews, the satisfying crunch of the cereal softened into a sweet mush, which he swallowed with a slight gulp.
He set the bowl down on his cluttered desk, the slight thud barely audible over the low, continuous whirring hum of the refrigerator in the next room. His bare feet slapped softly against the cool, slightly dusty hardwood floor as he hopped onto his bed. The mattress springs beneath him offered a familiar, soft, rhythmic squeakas he settled in.
With practiced ease, his thumb found the remote control, clicking the power button on the large, flat-screen TV. He ignored the initial blue static bloom that preceded the boot-up sequence, instead focusing on his phone. He deftly navigated away from the bright, chaotic thumbnails of the YouTube video he'd been watching-a loud, fast-paced gaming montage-and opened Discord.
The house was utterly silent otherwise, a vast, empty space where the only sounds were his own small movements. His parents were gone for the night, maybe longer; the knowledge gave him a fleeting sense of freedom. He kicked his legs idly, the cotton of his soft, worn flannel pajamas brushing against the sheets. His fingers danced across the phone screen, a series of quick, smooth swipes across the cool glass, landing him in the 'Snake' gaming channel.
He typed out a casual, drawn-out greeting: "Gooood morning, serpents." The message immediately vanished into the stream of incoming text. He smiled faintly, amused by the rapid-fire succession of emotes and inside jokes** already flooding the chat, the community was already awake and buzzing.
Then, a sound snagged his attention. It was a sharp, rhythmic click-hiss, click-hiss, like a faulty circuit breaker being rapidly toggled. It wasn't in his headphones; it was in the room.
It was the sound of a power button being depressed and released, over and over, impossibly fast.
"Huh?" Aroan mumbled aloud, his spoon hovering mid-air. He looked up, his eyes scanning the dark corner where his desktop tower sat. The noise was definitely localized there. He carefully placed his phone next to the bowl, which was now surrounded by the crinkled, waxy wrappersof the strawberry Pop-Tarts he'd demolished earlier-the scent of artificial strawberry jam and toasted wheat still faintly lingering.
In the chat, his friends were already noticing his sudden silence, responding with humorous GIFs of characters typing furiously. "Look at Aroan writing a whole book again," one message read. He was used to their teasing jabs, the light mockery that felt more like affectionate banter than true bullying.
Cautiously, Aroan slid off the bed, his bare feet meeting the floor again. He approached the computer desk slowly, his senses hyper-alert. The room was empty, just him and the shadows. The flickering noise intensified. He leaned in close, squinting past the glare of the monitor. The screen wasn't displaying his desktop; it was cycling rapidly between black and a single, **stark white text string** that appeared for a fraction of a second each time:
"Just Monika... Just Monika... Just Monika..."
A searing pain erupted behind Aroan's eyes, a throbbing, ice-pick sensation that made his vision swim. He stumbled backward, clapping both hands over his temples, trying to physically squeeze the intrusive sound out. "Monika, get out of my head!" he roared, his voice cracking. He tried to force a deep, steady breath, but it came out as a ragged, gasping growl, fighting against the relentless, echoing repetition in his mind.
The voice grew louder, the two words becoming a deafening, vibrating drone. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the rough, fibrous texture of the bedroom carpet. His vision tunneled, colors bleeding into abstract shapes. Through the haze, he saw a figure coalesce near the computer-a shape that glitched and fractured, shimmering like a corrupted video file that didn't belong in this physical reality.
Before the darkness fully claimed him, he felt an impossible sensation: his body was being lifted. Strong, yet undeniably soft and feminine hands gripped his shoulders. The touch felt startlingly real, human, yet possessed of a strength that easily hoisted his weight. Then, the world dissolved into absolute, heavy blackness, and he was fast asleep.