The first time it happened was a few weeks ago. I was filling out the company’s daily sales figures in the shared drive’s Excel spreadsheet, when I got an error message I’d never seen before.
I thought I must have had some malformed formula in one of my cells, only, instead of the ordinary, “#VALUE!” it said, “Something is looking,” or words to that effect. I only caught the first few words of it, as the rest was cut off by the width of the cell.
I almost didn’t fully read it before dismissing it. In fact, it was only after I’d hit Ctrl+Z that the words registered into my brain. I’d almost convinced myself I hadn’t seen it at all, but then it happened again last night.
I had, again, clumsily pasted some half-complete Frankenstein formula into the cell, when another message replaced my numericals. This one alarmed some primal part of my brain immediately, and so instead of instinctively deleting the cell contents, I read the message.
It said, “Something smells your blood.”
Alarmed, I stared at the message for a few seconds. I Googled the words of the messages, followed by, “Excel error,” then followed by, “Pirated Excel version,” then followed by, “Weird Excel message scam bug error.” Nothing.
I took a screenshot of the error and saved it. I still have it, although the file name keeps changing itself.
This was last night. Since the pandemic, I’ve effectively stayed inside for the last 3 years, and so haven’t recently made contact with any eccentrics. My family, my friends, and my acquaintances are as plain and boring as I am, so I couldn’t point out anyone who would play such a strange and elaborate joke on me.
The thing is, I’ve been seeing something outside the window ever since.
Out of the corner of my eye, within an hour after I read the message, I could have sworn I saw two white lights suspended outside my window, immobile behind the blinds. I ignored them, just as I’ve been ignoring as much of the outside world as possible for a long time.
I kept my bedroom curtains closed as I went to sleep last night, trying not to pay any mind to the two new street lamp pinpricks seeping their way through my blackout curtains.
Yesterday morning I awoke with a splitting headache, but that’s not exactly an excuse to avoid your job when you’re working from home. I kept my Teams status set to Available, sent my emails, attached my documents, apologised to my clients, and finally it was time to fill in the sales figures.
I’d been putting them off all day, so by the time I got around to them, the sun was starting to go down.
I was so careful with my cell entries. My fingers hovered above every key before I pressed it, like a surgeon making delicate but life-saving incisions. I checked, double-checked, triple-checked my formulae before moving onto every subsequent cell. I actually convinced myself that nothing untoward would happen tonight.
In fact, it wasn’t until I saved the file that the error message showed:
“Something sees you.”
I’m an innately jumpy person and I scare easily, so I hadn’t taken a proper look at the lights until just now.
The horse is there, whether I deny it or not, somehow outside my second floor window. Its eyes are bulbous white lamp-lights, and its mouth is split in a serpent’s grin from ear to ear. Its grey-black skin clings to its bones, and it sees me and it smells my blood it smells my blood it smells my blood it smells my blood