The man in the black mask is looking directly into the camera like he’s staring at me.
Even before I see his bouncing shoulder, I know he’s masturbating.
This makes the two detectives exchange a look and after that, they start to give me a lot of reassuring nods but I can tell they’ve stopped listening. Realizing I needed to start documenting all of this, I located the eighteen-minute “black screen” video and copied it along with the “logs” folder to a thumb-drive. It was like the moment those files where extracted, the computer just keeled over and died.
Just another troubled girl living alone, no man to support her, paying the bills through devious sex acts and hallucinating masked stalkers. I sent the video to my friend Jay who specialized in extracting useable data from corrupted files along with an email explaining everything.
There were seven folders on the desktop along with a small assortment of program icons: Microsoft Word, Photoshop, a program for live-streaming video that I had never heard of, etc.
The seven folders were labeled, from top to bottom: “music”, “movies”, “pictures”, “art”, “writing”, “video”, and finally “logs.” Call it the power of placement, but I clicked on “logs” first mainly because every other folder had a name that was self-explanatory.
Then I have the bright idea to mention that the past few nights I had this feeling like someone was following me during the walk from my car to my apartment.In my world that’s called “asking for it.” I already had the remnants of a similar Dell model stashed in a closet at my place complete with a compatible monitor, A/C cord, etc. I turned the computer on and was greeted by a Windows XP password-entry screen for a user named “Enid.” Apparently, the original owner of this computer was a 90 year-old woman.Because a lot of my friends are terrible people, I knew that there were ways around Windows passwords that required little more than a thumb-drive and several dubious keyword searches.If my girlfriend’s condo complex hadn’t been so upscale, that fact wouldn’t have bothered me so much.But I had to wonder what someone who could afford over a grand a month on rent was doing using a computer from ’05 in 2014. Ends: am [4 mins] Starts: am Client requests that I kneel on the bed and expose my butthole to the camera. I’ve never considered myself a particularly perverse guy but there was this surreal quality to the dry tone of Enid’s logs that fascinated me.