THE HUNDRED-AND-TWENTY-FOURTH PAGE

A download icon glowered from the upper right-hand corner of the mailbox. I knew it contained the poisoned pill, but I could not remove it. It was somewhere in the system, and I’d probably need to admit it into my programs. I could not shut down the mailbox. I could not turn off the computer. I could not unplug the machine. I could not stay in the room with the machine.

Leaving behind the monitor, which had taken on a Satanic glow, the dog and I went for a long, dark walk in the snow. There was no one to call; it would demand too many damaging explanations.

By the time we returned, the modem connection had evaporated, but the screen still held the cruel threat. I hit the return key, hoping against foolish hope that it was nothing but a threat to frighten me. The mailbox screen disappeared. I turned off the machine, and then booted up the computer again.

The cheerful little icons that usually lined up across the bottom of the screen on booting took on a new, threatening presence.

The threat became reality. The “Eep” sound suddenly began eeping relentlessly from the speakers. I could turn the sound down but not off. And I could pull the plug from the fucking machine, and I did.