Your typical 'LOL GUIZE WUT IS SUICIDEMOUSE' thread had just popped up on the first page, just the OP and nothing else. I quickly moved to sage the thread, as any reasonable person would do, and left it at that. After making the post, however, strange things started to happen. Instead of the usual "Post Successful!" screen, I got a message in red text which read: "Post Accepted...". I thought this might have been something m00t or the other admins were toying around with - with all the modifying of 4chan lately, I thought it was just a dumb prank on /x/ to add to the paranormal feel of the board. What I would see next, however, sent chills down my spine.
Instead of being returned to Page 1 of /x/, with the blue background, I was taken to a page with white. The links which lead to the other boards had disappeared on this page, and the writing of the headings and text were all illegable. Even the URL was all screwed up - instead of your www.xxxx.com format, it was just a series of symbols, numbers and letters mashed together in no particular order. Both confused and slightly disturbed, I grabbed my mouse and dragged it over to the back arrow. However, clicking it did me nothing, and attempting it only greeted me with the Windows error noise. The same applied as I attempted to close the window, open another one, write in the address box or even shut down the computer. It seemed as though I was trapped on this foreign page.
There was, however, one area which I was able to type in - the little box where you write the captcha in order to make a post. This is where things really got interesting. The box read "heY yOu," - really, not scary by itself as it was a pretty likely phrase, but in this context it was pretty confronting. This is where I let my curiosity get the better of me. If I had one shred of intelligence I would have manually unplugged the computer, or at least left it there and called in a tech expert to do something. But no, I had to be better than that. Fingers trembling, adrenaline rushing, I repeated the phrase into the box and hit 'Submit'. Instead of being take to the '"x" Uploaded' screen, my browser took me straight back to the same page, as if it had just refreshed. This time, the passage read: "check cool". Usually, the lack of grammatical connection between the words of the captcha are nothing to be concerned over, and often they evoke a laugh, but this message seemed somewhat crude and disturbing as I read it. Regardless I felt there was no turning back, and I retyped it and hit submit.
The next box read: "159-174, rubley". Judging by the numerical sequence, and the presence of what appeared to be a name, I could only guess that it recorded the death dates of individuals throughout history. I was both fascinated and disturbed by the concept, yet eagerly I continued through the process. Various obsecure names and dates through time flashed on my screen, but it was two of them - the final two - which cause me to worry. The first one, and the second last one I saw, was titled: "afrolu 1992-2011". 'Afrolu' was the screenname of my neighbour and best friend. At this point it occurred to me that this was more than an elaborate prank by m00t and the 4chan admins, and that this might be a serious matter. Shaken up after seeing my friend on the website, I moved on to the final captcha, one which only read numbers and symbols - (1993-2010!). There were also what appeared to be writing before it, but it was unreadable. I knew, however, what it would say - it was my date of birth. Without me giving it a prompt, the browser took me to a blank webpage which read "20 hfrutinf YOU". I could only presume my death would come on the 20th - it occurred on the 16th and today is the 18th. After that, Windows rebooted and everything seemed to return to normal.
I have spent two days looking for an answer to this, and without any success. My senses are jacked - I hear the slightest rustle outside and I'll jump into hiding. I have all my windows covered and bolted. Yet somehow I still know that, come the 20th, I will meet my fate.