“Work from home! Set your own hours! Earn $$$! No experience needed!!!”
We’ve all seen the ads. And we all know they’re scams. You’ve got to be pretty desperate to answer them.
Well, last year, I was desperate.
I’d been training as an accountant for a few years. I’d passed about two thirds of the exams, and had a couple of promotions. But then my friend and I got caught smoking pot in the company toilets. We were sacked immediately, and I was kicked out of the chartered accountancy body (my friend hadn’t been in it) and told in no uncertain terms that I shouldn’t expect a reference. Two minutes later I was in the carpark with a small box of stuff I didn’t care about. Right then I really needed a smoke, but security had even taken away my blunts. I’m sure they didn’t end up in the bin.
I spent weeks applying for jobs. I got a few interviews, and even two acceptances - until they tried to get a reference. So one day, when I’d sent my CV in to five or six employers already, one of those adverts popped up.
I figured, what’s the worst that could happen?
Well, they might not pay me. That’s the worst. Actually, they might make me a drug mule, or part of a money laundering network. That’s probably even worse. But I just couldn’t see any other options.
I clicked the link.
I got to a fairly professional-looking webpage. Boring logo, generic corporate-sounding name… actually, it looked like a cookie-cutter website for any number of employers I’d already been rejected from. I clicked the “We’re Hiring” link.
There was one job advert, for something called “Project Cherrytree”. It claimed they’d pay £15 an hour for reviewing video footage. All you needed was a web browser and an eye for detail. I admit, I was a little concerned - what videos? Was I going to be a porn reviewer? Were the videos illegal? I figured that didn’t matter - if I didn’t like it I could just stop, and report them to the police if needed.
I had a spare laptop, old but working, so I fired it up, cleaned it of all personal stuff, set up a dedicated email and online bank account, and signed up. Once I had an account I could read the details. I was to watch a rolling video feed of people, and just type what I observed. Simple as that.
Still a bit wary, I installed a keylogger so that I had my own record of what I typed, and clicked “Start”. A black window appeared on the left of the screen, and an empty white textbox on the right. After a few seconds the black window changed to a man, sat at a computer in an office. I started typing.
The video switched to different people. Sometimes a feed lasted a couple of minutes, sometimes half an hour. Here’s an example from my keylog:
13:22 NEW SUBJECT
Black man, short hair, white shirt, red tie.
Typing on a computer.
Looks to his left.
Says something to somebody off camera.
Stares at his computer screen.
Types some more.
Drinks from a plain white mug.
Drink looks brown, probably coffee/tea with milk.
Resumes typing.
Pauses and laughs at something.
13:26 NEW SUBJECT
The videos were all pretty much the same. Most were office workers, some at home, and I figured my employer was an outsourcing company for monitoring employees to make sure they were working. I know some companies got really itchy about remote workers potentially slacking off. It felt a bit creepy, and sometimes voyeuristic, but assuming they’d given their consent it was okay. And if they hadn’t, well, that was somebody else’s problem.
This was my worklife for some time. I worked 8-9 hours a day, and each day, payment came into my account, just like they said. Hey, I thought, it’s not much of a job, and the pay isn’t great, but it’s fine as a stop-gap.
After a couple of weeks, I got an email on my burner account.
Dear X,
Thank you for your hard work on Project Cherrytree.
Your attention to detail has been recognized. We would like to invite you to sign up to our Elite Tier program. The nature of your employment will not change, but you will be paid our Elite Tier rates of £100 per hour.
Please indicate your acceptance by clicking the “Accept” button below.
Kind regards, Project Cherrytree
My heart raced. I mean, why would anybody say no? I read the email three times, in case they’d snuck something into all of five sentences, and clicked “Accept”. Immediately I got a new email confirming that I was now an Elite Video Reviewer.
I’d logged off for the day. The next morning I logged on, and there was no difference except that my username at the top was in gold. The videos were pretty much as they’d always been, and that evening my account was credited with £900.
This was awesome! I didn’t need to apply for better jobs, this paid better than anything I could have hoped for! I did some quick maths, and realised I could achieve my old salary working four hours a day for four months.
I vaguely recalled a Sherlock Holmes story, though I don’t remember the name. In the story, people were tasked with writing out by hand an encyclopaedia for ridiculous pay, but then they got to work and found the office empty. It had all been a front for some crime or other. If my employer was engaged in illegal activity, they could be shut down at any time. So I figured, make hay while the sun shines. I resolved to continue working as much as I could. I didn’t have a girlfriend to demand my attention, so I could work now and get one when I was rich.
The next day I carried on as before, but a few videos in, something changed. I was watching outdoors. The view was from high up, and seemed to be from street cameras. This was a bit more challenging, as there were often dozens of people passing by in the few minutes before the scene changed. I type quickly, and I more or less kept up. There had been no training or employee manuals, and I didn’t know exactly what they wanted, but I knew they were happy with me so far.
On day five of my Elite status I started seeing less urban areas. I still had the office employees and street cameras, but now interspersed with cameras set up in the wilderness. I liked these; after all, trees don’t do much, so they were a welcome break for my tired fingers.
By about day ten, it started to get … weird. There was a twenty minute feed of the open ocean, just gentle blue waves. I watched a sky with clouds, and got excited when a distant bird flew across the screen. One image was pitch-dark, and I only knew it was a video feed because I saw those blocky artefacts of slightly-less-black colours you get in badly-filmed dark movie scenes. Am I really getting paid for this? I thought.
I was. Full credit for that day, £1,100 for 11 hours of typing very little.
I’d been Elite for five weeks, a Cherrytree member for eight weeks, when the videos went from weird to nasty. One morning, after watching a few traffic cams and one or two nature scenes, I watched a traffic cam with somebody crossing the road. I think it was a man, though it was hard to tell at distance, and suddenly - he got hit by a car. His body was dragged along the road as the car screeched to a halt. I’m not a doctor, and the image wasn’t super clear, but I don’t think anybody could have ended up like he looked and survive.
I was in shock. I watched as the driver got out of the car, and bystanders ran up. I didn’t type anything for a minute, maybe more, but then remembered what I was doing. A full and accurate record was needed. Just as I completed my report, I saw flashing blue lights, and the video ended.
Next was a nature scene, followed by a few office workers. My heart gradually slowed to normal, and although I was distracted, I dutifully wrote them all up. Until the video switched to a woman in a bath.
She was naked, obviously, and quite pretty. Was it random, or was I being rewarded? I typed up my description of her and the scene. Then she reached over for something off-camera, and for the first time it occurred to me to wonder why the camera was even there. She didn’t seem to know about it, and certainly wasn’t performing for it. But before I could go far with that train of thought, she opened the case she had just picked up, pulled out a razor blade, and slit both her wrists.
I looked on in stunned horror as the woman’s blood mixed with the bath water, turning it red. After a short time her head drooped back against the edge of the bath, and the glazed look on her face made it quite clear that she was dead.
The video feeds were mostly live. I knew that because some had the date and time in the corner. There was, however, a “Pause” button, for comfort breaks and the like. I hit pause and tried to understand what just happened. I was most certainly in shock, especially coming so soon after the traffic accident, and I tried to calm down and make myself some food.
What I actually did was vomit into the toilet.
After that I went out for a walk to clear my head and think. I’d been paid almost as much in a couple of months as my old yearly salary. I could have stopped. I should have stopped. I rationalised continuing by telling myself that I was gathering valuable information for the police, or coroners. But truthfully, greed had just got the better of me. I resolved to type up what I’d seen, stop for the day, and carry on tomorrow morning.
The next day I steeled myself, expecting the worst - and I was not disappointed, if that’s the right turn of phrase for the circumstances. Most scenes were what I’d come to expect, but three involved various deaths. I’ve gone through my archives to check what they were: a man beating his wife until she stopped moving; a teenage boy falling at a train platform as the train arrived; and a woman doing electrical work, and suffering a painful - and presumably fatal - electric shock.
The cameras from the traffic accident and the train platform had shown the date and time, as well as the location. It was realtime. How is this possible? How did Cherrytree know to show me that camera, at that moment? As far as I knew they were all realtime. When I was watching ordinary office workers it made sense, few of them did anything particularly interesting in the minutes I watched each. If I saw just one gruesome death I could write it off as coincidence. But five in two days - and some of them showed a scene where there really wasn’t a reason for a camera to be there. It didn’t make sense.
Thoughts like this raced through my head that evening, and my dreams were… let’s just say unpleasant. Was I watching scenes filmed for movies? But if so, why pay me so much? It could be some sort of psychology experiment - but again, the money was too good. The CCTV accident videos might have been on a slight delay, automatically sent to a Cherrytree employee when an AI algorithm picked up unusual activity. But that didn’t explain the deliberate violence I’d witnessed - unless the government had bugged every home?
I got more and more suspicious overnight. The first thing I did when I woke up was search my house for hidden cameras. I didn’t find any of course, but the government has better tech than they let on. Next I took a screwdriver to my laptop, and disconnected the camera and microphone. Lastly I transferred all the money from my burner account to my main bank account. I then picked up my phone and dialled 9-
I paused. What was I going to do? Report Cherrytree? For what? And even if I successfully got whatever sadistic operation they’re running closed down - what was I going to do for money? I could last a year on what I’d made so far, but no more than that.
I considered reporting just the individual accidents and crimes I’d seen, but I realised there was no point. Two were in public, caught on CCTV, so the authorities knew everything I did; and I didn’t even know what country the other three had occurred in. I just didn’t have enough information for a police report to be of any use.
I put my phone down and did some quick calculations. I’d been on £30,000 a year at my old job. Assuming I retired at 65, 40 years away, I’d need £1.2 million. At £100 an hour, that was 12,000 hours; I could do eleven hours a day for the next three years. I might need a bit more for therapy, though. People who do this sort of thing for the police have therapists on hand, but that wasn’t something Cherrytree offered.
Okay then. Four years, eleven hours a day. If the work dries up before then, I’ll figure something else out. And I was saving quite a chunk on not having to commute.
I carried on for a few more months. I didn’t always make my eleven hours, but I was close. On Friday afternoons I saw my therapist; she was friendly and kind, and described CBT and a few other things to me. Obviously I was vague as to the nature of my work, and pretended I was working with the police. She told me to pace myself, and to talk to my supervisor about reducing my hours per day. She was right, of course, but I ignored that piece of advice.
The videos didn’t have sound, so I did try her suggestion to play relaxing music, whalesong and shit like that. And now the problems Cherrytree has caused me include ruining my Spotify algorithm.
I know my emotional health was taking quite a beating. I’m not the most social person at the best of times, but now I hated the thought of meeting up with friends. I could hardly talk about my job, and besides I was exhausted, physically and mentally, after a day’s work. I did call one specific friend though, following a particularly harrowing video.
I don’t want to drag his name into it, so I’ll use a fake one. Apart from that, the following is the exact log I made on Thursday 18 May 2023:
11:03 NEW SUBJECT
A construction site.
Five or six men with fluorescent yellow jackets and hard hats.
One with dark skin drinking something from a blue flask.
One operating a forklift, can’t see details about him.
Two white men laying bricks on a wall. There are four houses partly built. They are working on the closest one.
One turns to collect something.
Wow I know him, it’s James!
He just got cement. He’s laying it on the latest layer of bricks.
Flask man puts his drink in his bag.
Forklift is carrying more bricks towards them.
Forklift is going too fast.
Forklift man is waving his hands in a panic. He’s going towards James.
shit shit he hit james, ah fuck its theres blodo everywhere shit i think he not moving ah fuck fuckfuck ithink he s dead shit FUCK THIS
James is in fact a builder, and should have been at work right then. My hands trembled as I grabbed my phone and called him. It rang for far too long, and then:
“Alright mate! What’s up?”
It was James. He was fine! I looked back at my screen, where people in yellow jackets were desperately trying to help somebody who was far beyond saving. I had been sure it was James, but I couldn’t tell now. The forklift had crushed him into the wall, and what was left was barely recognisable as human, let alone my friend. It was horrible for whoever had suffered that gruesome fate, but it wasn’t James after all.
“Mate? You okay?”
I realised I’d been silent for several seconds. “Um… Yeah I’m fine. I just… You want to get a drink tomorrow?”
It had been weeks, I realised, since I’d talked to a friend. I needed a friend, and a drink, and some normality in my life, even if only for an evening.
“Sure mate. Usual place, seven o’clock?”
“Yeah, sounds good. And James?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful, alright? You know, on the building site?”
“Umm, sure… See you tomorrow.”
I did some breathing exercises and tried to clear my head, like my therapist taught me, then completed my eleven hours. On Friday I only did six, watched some Netflix, and headed off to the pub.
James didn’t turn up.
I stayed for a couple of hours, chatting to random people about nothing in particular. I called and texted James but he didn’t answer, and eventually I went home.
The next day I was working as usual when my phone rang. It was James’ sister. I hit pause and answered.
James was dead.
He was on a building site on Friday. The forklift operator had lost control - apparently the brakes failed - and James was impaled by one of the forks and crushed between it and a wall. He had died by the time an ambulance reached him.
That was all his sister could tell me. She was obviously upset, and I guess she had to make a lot of calls that day. I told her - actually I can’t remember what I said. There’s not much you can say to a call like that.
I certainly didn’t say that I’d seen it happen, a day before it did.
It hit me pretty bad. I got drunk that night, first by myself and then with some other friends of James. I saw my therapist three times that week, and attended the funeral the next Saturday.
I also went to the building site. The emergency services had left by the time I got there on Tuesday. There was police tape fluttering in the wind; the forklift had been moved slightly but apart from that it was more or less exactly as it had been. The most important thing I noticed, and the reason I’d gone there: there was no camera. The position I’d observed from didn’t even have anywhere to mount one; no pole, nothing in the ground, just empty dirt.
If it hadn’t been obvious before, it certainly was now. My job was far beyond normal. I was watching videos that couldn’t exist. This wasn’t just voyeurism, it was something far worse than that. The last video I watched was when James’ sister had called (if you’re wondering, it was an old woman in an armchair, reading a book). Who was I really working for? What were they trying to do? How did they get the videos? I honestly didn’t care. I’d had enough.
Until two weeks later, when my phone buzzed with an email.
Dear X,
We are truly sorry that you have suffered emotional distress during your work on Project Cherrytree.
Your dedication and accuracy is second-to-none. In recognition of your skills and hard work, and as compensation for any trauma you may have experienced, you have been selected as the first employee in our Platinum Elite program.
Platinum Elite members are eligible for our increased pay rate of £1,000 per hour.
Please indicate your acceptance by clicking the “Accept” button below.
Kind regards, Project Cherrytree
I stared at the email for a long time. I don’t even know what was going through my head back then. I turned my phone off and resolved to ignore this latest enticement.
That lasted for two days. You have to understand, I had rent to pay. I could afford a year or so but I’d still have to convince somebody to hire me after that. Persuade them that I was a model employee. Justify my absence from normal work (I could hardly put Project Cherrytree on my CV).
But if I could earn enough to buy a house… put away some decent savings… I could make a million from ten hours a day for four months. I’d already worked this job for more than that; I was more than half way through!
I thought about it constantly, and argued with myself. I even wrote a list of pros and cons. I don’t know if I’d made a decision, or if it was impulse, but two days after the email came through, I opened up my laptop, clicked “Accept”, and started working again.
The first few days were normal. Sedate, even. Maybe they were sending me more normal videos in recognition of what I’d endured before.
Then there were a few somewhat less pleasant scenes, but none featuring deaths. The worst was probably the one in a climbing centre, when a boy of about ten fell off the climbing wall and broke his leg.
And that brings us to last Tuesday. Here is my final log. And no, I do mean it this time. No amount of money will lead me to open that laptop for a single second more.
9:58 NEW SUBJECT
A waterfall.
Tall green trees around it.
Waterfall is about fifteen feet high.
Grass on the banks, turns to mud closer to the water.
Rustling in the trees, can’t tell what it is yet.
10:01 NEW SUBJECT
Man sat at a lapshit it’s ME!
What the fuck??
He’s typing. I blocked my camera it can’t be me how is it me?
hes not wearing my clothes, I mean they’re my clothes but not these ones, it’s the past, or the future I dunno
Fuck you project cherrytree you hearing this? Fuck you with bells on, I don’t know what you’re trying oh shit oshit theres something coming out of the screen its liek dark tenctaaceles what shit SHIT theyr grabbing his head hes screaming i can’t hear but hes screaming his eyes no fuck off
That was it. I slammed the laptop lid down. I’m pretty sure I heard the screen crack but I’m not opening it to find out. I yanked the power out, and the USB drive that held my keylog. I’m not touching that thing again.
I’d physically disconnected the camera months ago, and put masking tape over it for good measure. It was impossible for that video to exist. But forget the technical problems. I’d just watched myself get murdered by a shadow monster. I fled my apartment and wandered the streets for hours.
I ended up at my therapist’s office. She wasn’t with a patient, and when she saw the state of me she gave up her lunchtime. I explained everything to her. I’m sure she didn’t believe a word, and I started to get worried that she’d have me committed. I haven’t been back there.
I almost called the police again, but there’s nothing they can possibly do. I Googled “Project Cherrytree”, hoping to report the company - somehow - but found nothing relevant, not even the homepage I saw last year. I don’t know what to do now.
Two thoughts have been going round in my head for the last week, while I’ve been awake and in the few hours I’ve managed to get to sleep.
The final thing I saw, that didn’t make it into my log before I slammed the laptop closed - the shadow tentacles wrapped around my head and squeezed. I saw my left eye explode, and I could swear that, despite there being no sound ever before, I heard it.
And the second thought was that there was no date or time on that video, but I looked the same age as I do now. I can avoid the laptop, and those clothes, but - I couldn’t save James. I don’t think I can save myself.
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. And never, ever, sign up to Project Cherrytree.