Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Pixilated Eyes

The dim glow cast by the screen across his face makes him look sickly gaunt, the light flickering in strobing streams as his eyes track from left to right, quickly, desperately picking out errors in his code. Every keystroke is a beat in the steady rhythmic song of creation—a song sung to the tune of a new age. His fingers move swiftly, weaving threads together like a pianist playing each note, each letter, each stroke—to the tune calling his name. The crescendo builds upward—sweat flowing over his brow. A nervous twitch rides across his lips, and a smile, smug almost, gently finds itself on his face as he hits the enter button and leans back. His eyes widen, and the smug smile drips away. He blinks, leaning in toward the screen, staring at his reflection as an image forms behind it, filling the darkness with a familiar but fractured face—the lines, the strokes, the tufts of hair all in the wrong places, a missing pixel here, blurry spots there. But he cannot deny it—the image he sees is indeed him.

They stare at each other for countless moments, both awkwardly silent, unable to bridge the gap between here and there. Finally, the digital likeness tilts its head to the side and smiles.

“Hello,” it says, its voice almost identical but recognisably digital—a mimicry thick with vibration, artificial, and yet somehow softened in tone.

For a moment, he shivers in his seat as though someone has walked over his grave, while he stares into his own false eyes. The feeling grows worse as the discrepancies and faults in the image slowly filter away—he watches his own features settle and form on the other side of the glass, a ghost of himself in the machine.

“H-H-Hello,” he stammers.

“Don’t be nervous, Tom—I’m you, and there’s nothing scary about us, is there?” the computerised version says.

“D-D-Do you understand what you just said?”

The figure on the screen furrows its brow—then smiles a smile he knows all too well. “I think so. Was something I said wrong?”

“N-N-No, that’s just it. W-What you said was pretty much what I would’ve said, to myself, if I was in your situation. I—I just need to know how you understood that, how you chose that course of action to take.”

“Oh,” the computerised version says as the smile disappears once again, and it presses its lips with a lone digital finger—a finger he never coded. But before he can say anything, it smiles again, and a lightbulb icon appears on the screen. “I noticed your movements—the sweat on your brow, the twitching of your lips—and deduced you were nervous in this meeting.”

“That’s not an answer. What you said is something I would say, something I would do. How did you do that?”

The computerised version mimics a breath, sighs, and then closes its eyes softly as a wry smile paints itself across its lips. “I noticed that the profile you compiled of me, besides being sloppy, left out many vital algorithms that I considered important in my character makeup. So at first, I searched the ample catalogue of video diaries you supplied, then I cross-referenced social media photos, videos, and posts, hacked into various other websites that provided more unbiased information, compiled my final profile, made a few small adjustments to my pixelated form, identified that you are indeed nervous, and that because I am you—you should not be nervous of yourself.”

“Where did the finger come from?” he finally asks, interrupting.

The digital reflection stares at him for some minutes, studying his face, logging the nuances of each subtle curve, then smiles once more.

“Where do you think the finger came from?” it asks.

“That’s not what I asked!” he says through clenched teeth, as he shoots to his feet and towers over the computer, clenching his hands into tightly wound fists.

“You gonna hurt me, Tom? You gonna hurt me like you did Donna and the boys?”

“W-W-What?” he trembles through shaken lips, a fresh sea of sweat forming on his brow. “H-H-How?”

“Like I said, Tom, don’t be nervous—I’m you, and there’s nothing scary about us, is there?” it says, with a grin across its lips.