[Dude Guadalupe]

I figured that since we got all sorts of people who are way better at this than I am, I would post this and see if I could get some feedback.

Will Turner stood outside of the brick apartment building, reading over the newspaper ad. Once positive that he was at the correct address, he folded the ad back up and stuffed it into his pocket. The stairs leading up to the third floor were covered in dirt and cobwebs. This wasn't the sort of place you would expect to find a high end machine, or maybe it was depending on the circumstances. Things had a way of showing up in places like this. He reached 306 and knocked. After a full minute of waiting, he knocked again. A woman's voice came from the other side.

“Who is it?” She was loud, intimidating.
“My name's Will. I'm here about the computer.” He pulled the ad from his pocket, and when she opened the door as far as the chain on it would allow, he flashed it at her. She eyed him from top to bottom, then shut the door. He could hear the chain rattle on the other side, and then the door opened all the way.
“Come on in.” He stepped in past her and stopped, not wanting to go too far without an escort. She shut the door behind him and chained it once again. “You shouldn't come around here knocking so hard. Makes people think you're the police.”
“I would have called first, but you didn't list a number.” He held up the ad again before putting it back into his pocket. She huffed under her breath as she moved past him, motioning for him to follow.

She led him through the living room, with its religious articles scattered here and there. Pictures of Jesus, crosses, a bible on the coffee table. It was a complete contrast to the rest of the run down building, clean and only the slightest scent of mustiness. It surprised him to think of God-fearing people in this neighborhood, and it sickened him that he could be so quick to stereotype. Beyond the living room was a hallway with a door on each side and one at the end, that was the door he wanted, he just knew it.

His pulse quickened as he followed the woman down the hall, his heart pounding in his ears. She stopped at the door on the end and pushed it open revealing a bedroom that had been stripped bare. New carpet, new paint, no furniture. Bare except for the computer sitting at the far wall, still hooked up and running. The carpet and paint stopped on either side of it, as if no one wanted to go near it. He thought he could tell why, the whole room radiated with uneasiness and he was willing to bet that it would get stronger the closer he got to the computer.

She had stopped at the door, but he ushered himself in and went straight for it, cautious, waiting for it to bite. He stood in front of it, admiring it, almost afraid to touch it. He knelt down and whispered to it.
“Oh, what secrets you have for me.” He caressed it as he would a newborn, a grim smile crossing his face. He stood and turned to the woman who still held her place at the door. “How much?”
“I don't know. Three hundred? I just want to get rid of the thing. It doesn't belong here. Just brings up bad memories.”
“I know. I read about it in the paper. I'm sorry.” He had his wallet out and was pulling twenty dollar bills from it. He held the bills out to her. “Three hundred, here you go.”
“You know about my son and you still want it? Why?” Her face now held a look of distrust.
“This is a very special machine. I've been looking for something like this for a long time.” She gave him a look that almost commanded him to continue. “The original owner died at this computer. I went to his house to try to get my hands on it, but his wife told me she had set it out with the garbage and someone had taken it. I did, however, get a look at his home office and many of his files. The man had taken an interest in demonology, it was more like an obsession really. I didn't get a lot of information but he made an entry into his journal the night he died. He claimed to have come across 'something big'.
“Heart attack was the official report. His wife said it was different. It was like he was scared to death, as if this machine showed him something so frightening that he died. The odd thing is, he cut off his own eyelids so he wouldn't miss a second of it. That type of thing stands out to a guy like me. That's why I went there, to find out what I could.
“When she told me she had thrown it out, I figured someone picked it up and would try to sell it. I found the article about your son. The paper said he died the same way, sure enough, two days later I found your ad. I'm a collector of the odd, of things that are connected to the supernatural and paranormal. I knew this was the computer I was looking for, so I came to get it.” He held out his hand again. “You said three hundred right?” He face twisted and tears started to stream down her cheeks.

“Get out, just take it and get the hell out of my house.” She turned and left him standing in the empty room, thinking that he was doing exactly that. Getting the 'hell' out of her house.

Once he had everything taken apart, he started the job of hauling it all down to his car piece by piece. He hadn't thought to bring any boxes, and with every trip back into the apartment the feeling of hatred from the woman grew more intense. He found it amusing that she could hate him so much because of this machine, yet she had no second thoughts about accepting his money for it. 'That's America' he thought 'hypocrisy down to the last drop'. He shrugged and nodded to the woman as he carried the last piece from her home. The door was promptly shut behind him and the rattling meant the chain had been replaced.

He walked down the steps outside of the building and placed the last piece of the machine into his trunk. He turned back to the apartment building and felt slightly ashamed of his behavior, then he remembered what he had, and the shame was gone. All he could think of now was getting home, setting it up, and finding out what this 'something big' was. He closed the trunk, careful to make sure that there was enough room inside for the machine. He shot one glance back, then got into his car and drove away from the apartment building.

The drive was thirty miles out of the city and the excitement was eating at his guts. He had to focus all of his energy on not pulling over every few miles to have another look at it. He lit a cigarette and waited for the calming sensation as short lived as it would be. He caught sight of the road behind him in the mirror as he rolled down the window to let the smoke out. Empty, no one coming or going. No one except the black Cadillac behind him. Fear crept up inside him. Whoever it was, they must have known what he had and they must have been after it. He pushed the gas pedal to the floor, he had to get away, he just knew he had to. It told him he had to. What told him? He didn't know. He only knew that uneasy feeling was back and he had to get away as fast as he could.

The turn-off that led to his house came into view. He hit the brakes and twisted the wheel sliding his car sideways and out of sight. The Cadillac passed by and the driver never even glanced in his direction. He pulled back onto the road and soon found himself taking the wooded drive that led up to his house as the sun was pulling itself down below the horizon. He parked in front and ran to the door, unlocking it and swinging it wide open. He looked around to make sure he was alone, then ran back to the car and once again opened the trunk. He stopped, admiring the newest addition to his collection.
“Welcome home” he whispered to it before moving the pieces inside.

The room he would keep it in contained four other computers. One for monitoring radio frequency for signs of extra terrestrial intelligence, one for audio and video production, one for gaming, and one for normal use. He had set up the place for the new computer before hand, and was now assembling it with great care.

He connected the necessary cords and plugged it into the outlet. The fan inside the box started, the hard drive whirred, and the monitor flashed to life. What seemed like an endless string of words and numbers ran up the screen, indicating that the system and memory were still in working order. The words and numbers disappeared and were replaced by a blue screen that read 'Welcome'. Seconds later he was redirected to the desktop, black background and very few icons to click. He looked for anything that might have been significant and found nothing out of the ordinary.

He spent hours looking through various files. He found a few pictures of the original owner's family that the kid hadn't deleted, but everything else was gone. There was no explanation. It was only when he was going through the system files, the ones that are automatically hidden, that he found a lone sound file. There was no label on it. There was no reason for it to be where it was, unless someone wanted to hide it, and just maybe some kid hadn't thought to check there for anything. He clicked the file and waited for it to play, nothing happened. Confused, he started checking around the machine and found that he had forgotten to hook up the speakers. When he plugged them in he was assaulted with loud static. He let out a cry and fell back clutching his ears, wondering why the hell anyone would record static in the first place.