"Arthur," the figure rasped, its voice sounding like static on a dial-up modem. "I am the ghost of Jacob Marley, your former forum administrator."
Arthur awoke at his desk with a start. The sleet had stopped, and a pale winter sun was beginning to rise. The file sat innocently on his desktop.
The glowing green progress bar on Arthur’s monitor crawled forward, ticking up to 99 percent. Beneath it, the download label read: .
Out of the screen stepped a figure draped in heavy, rusted chains. But these were not ordinary chains. They were forged from old floppy disks, tangled IDE ribbon cables, and clacking mechanical keyboard switches.