Never Fear

by Heather Graham

  Don’t they know I’m her father?

  And a father can’t ever be too careful…

  12

  LOGIZOMECHANOPHOBIA

  FEAR OF TECHNOLOGY

  Holly Prentiss

  Her husband always said she played computer solitaire way too much.

  In spite of the fact they had been married to each other for over 20 years (or perhaps because of it), Dennis and Liz were very much in love. They were high school sweethearts and got married right out of school. They were a little bit old-fashioned for their generation, but they were perfectly suited to each other. So much so, in fact, that each often knew what the other was thinking and could finish the other’s sentence. They were never blessed with any children but they loved travel and sightseeing. They loved museums and mountain wildernesses. They loved the tall buildings and hustle-bustle of the big cities just as much as quaint, quiet, picturesque little hamlets. They loved to try interesting restaurants. They loved to go to the movies, concerts and the theater. They really enjoyed new sights and sensations and especially enjoyed them together. Dennis and Liz just really enjoyed each other’s company and spending time with each other.

  Dennis and Liz had such full lives that they had no need of gadgets and technological toys. In fact, they had no PC, DVR, GPS or other “frippery.” Dennis said they didn’t need anything that was computerized or an acronym. They did have a TV, which didn’t seem to be too technical or complicated and their one concession to modern technology was their cell phones, which were quite practical, given their love of road trips.

  That’s why it was so unusual when Liz came home with a laptop.

  It started out innocently enough. Liz convinced Dennis that it was only for keeping in touch with her brother overseas and some of their far-flung friends. Sure, she could write letters and send them “snail mail” (that term always made her giggle.) But her letter writing took forever because the letters always went on and on, so she often laid them aside to do other things and then they were never finished or were forgotten. A computer would be a much easier, faster way to communicate. At least that was her reasoning. What’s more, all their friends and family--in fact everyone they knew--had at least one desktop or laptop computer, tablet, iPod or smart phone. “Besides, we need to join the modern age, don’t we?” What Liz wouldn’t admit is that it was really a sudden impulse buy. What she couldn’t admit, even to herself, is that she almost felt compelled. So she bought the computer.

  That was only the beginning. Liz surfed the web and clicked on all the news “bits and bytes” as well as the human interest stories. She joined a social media site to keep in touch with friends and family and she “friended” dozens of people, even some she didn’t know. She watched kitten videos and listened to music. She also loved showing Dennis her favorite videos and internet jokes.

  “Dennis, check this out.”

  “Hey Dennis, you should read this. You’ll like it. It’s really interesting.”

  “This is a really good how-to video. You should watch this. We can replace that window ourselves. It looks really easy.”

  He dutifully watched all the videos and read all the news and human interest stories she showed him. She was right. Most of them were entertaining or instructive.

  Liz researched anything and everything, spending enormous amounts of time on the computer. (At least that’s what Dennis thought.) Any time a question came up, trivial or not, she would fetch the computer to look up the answer. “Whatever did we do before computers?” she wondered. This computer thing was amazing! It was fun!

  In the beginning, she taught Dennis how to use the computer. After that, she would sometimes “allow” him to use it, but he always seemed to have problems with it. At first it wasn’t too bad; it was merely inconvenient or annoying. Then the computer started acting more erratically; slow downloads, freezes, crashes and multiple errors became the norm. He would throw his hands in the air and shout, “I give up!” It seemed, however, that Liz never had any trouble. In fact, every time Liz took over after Dennis surrendered, the computer worked just fine. One time Dennis said jokingly, “Your computer doesn’t like me, I guess.” He only half believed it at the time.

  Then Liz discovered the many and myriad computer solitaire games, both online and off. She reasoned that playing these games would sharpen her mind. She was a little afraid of Alzheimer’s disease and had read somewhere that playing cards and doing puzzles kept the mind active and could help ward off the onset of dementia. She soon became addicted. At first the games were easy and she won most of the time, but then the games changed. It was as if the computer watched and made it more and more difficult to win which only kept her coming back for more. She had to better her time, her score. She would play the same game over and over until she won and then move on to another game and do the same thing over again.

  It became her consuming obsession.

  She rarely left the house now.

  Dennis couldn’t remember the last time they went on a day trip together. He loved their day trips. They would be-bop down the road, just enjoying life, listening to the radio and playing their own version of “Name That Tune.” He smiled to himself, remembering one particular trip when Liz was singing along to the oldies at the top of her lungs until he groaned, pretending that her singing was really bad and he changed the station.

  “Hey! I love that song,” she protested.

  “I know you do, but do you have to sing so loud every time it comes on?” He secretly loved her singing. He knew that when she was singing, it meant she was happy. She doesn’t sing anymore, he thought sorrowfully.

  That trip had been really fun. In fact, it was one of his favorite trips with her, although they all were pleasurable and memorable. They could discuss anything and everything in the car or at home. They talked about current events, going to Europe someday, their dreams of remodeling the house or the best pizza or ice cream they ever had. They even talked about such mundane things as home maintenance and gardening.

  “I want to plant a vegetable garden,” she announced one day last year. “I want to know where my food comes from. Besides, I read that locally grown food is much healthier for you. It can even help alleviate allergies.”

  “Where will you put it?” Dennis tended to be the practical one.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe in that sunny corner of the back yard.”

  “You can’t even take care of your flower garden,” he pointed out and then they planned what vegetables to plant when they got around to it. It wasn’t an exciting life but it was a happy life. A good life.

  But now, Dennis and Liz didn’t talk much anymore. She was always typing or “mousing” away on her laptop. He missed her.

  He was becoming a little anxious about this computer situation. Liz seemed so… absent. She had always been his rock; was always there. She had an inner strength. Except where spiders were concerned. She wasn’t afraid of snakes, worms or mice; but she was terrified of spiders. Big ones, little ones, hairy ones, even the beautiful colorful ones; it didn’t matter. If it had eight legs, it sent her running. Dennis would hear a screech followed by, “Honeeeeeeeeey! There’s a spider in here! Please come kill it! Pleeeeease!” Dennis wasn’t particularly crazy about spiders either but he knew he couldn’t resist her summons. “Fear not, fair maiden. I shall fly to your rescue. “And he did. Every time. When Liz was satisfied that the monster had been slain and she could safely re-enter the room, she would throw her arms around his neck. “My hero,” she would cry. He was her knight in shining armor and always would be.

  She always said, “Drive careful. I love you,” and kissed him when he left to go somewhere. Every night they would rub noses Eskimo-style, tell each other “I love you,” and kiss each other good night three times. It was their little nightly ritual. Now all he got was a hasty peck on the cheek because she was so engrossed. Night after night she sat in front of that “Great Unblinking Eye” until the wee hours of the morning when fatigue o
vertook her. Dennis was dismayed.

  She would occasionally leave the computer to do necessary things, but was always drawn back for some reason or other. It was as though she was tethered to the computer; like it had her on a leash. Whenever she strayed away too long, it jerked her back. There always seemed to be some reason she had to return to the machine with that glowing blue screen. She was mesmerized. Captivated. Captive.

  Dennis remembered hearing one of his professors in college singing the praises of computers, saying what a blessing they were. How computers have helped mathematicians solve enormous complicated problems, how they helped launch us into space, how they have helped us communicate with each other and even simplified our lives. If computers were really such a blessing then why were so many people becoming increasingly isolated, alienated by all that time spent on their cell phones, online or playing computer games? Television might be the opiate of the masses, but computers are crack cocaine.

  After a while, Dennis noticed that Liz started to look a little rough around the edges; a little haggard. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a week; in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw her in the kitchen. She used to cook the most amazing meals, but now she didn’t have time. She was always on that infernal computer. She used to make great chicken dishes. She would announce, “We’re having ‘experimental chicken’ tonight.” She called it experimental chicken because she used her imagination along with whatever was at hand. Dennis would make a face and say “Maybe I’ll order Chinese,” and she would whack him with the dish towel. She also made amazing omelets, delicious meatloaf, quiches and she made ‘killer lasagna’. He also recalled how she would yell, “Come and get it” when dinner was ready and how she laughed when he came in with his arms wide open, ready to embrace her, saying, “I came to get it.” And then, trying to look disappointed, “Oh. You meant dinner.” Then he would wrap his arms around her and give her a big bear hug. He heaved a sigh, wondering when those days might return; when things would get back to normal and he would have his Liz back again.

  He was really worried about Liz and he tried to coax her to come with him to restaurants for dinner, but she either turned him down--too busy--or told him, “In a few minutes, sweetie. I’m right in the middle of something,” and hours would go by, so he gave up and fixed something to eat and put a plate on the table next to her. Most times, he would check on her before he went to bed and the plate would be untouched. She wasn’t getting enough sleep either. He could see the dark circles under her eyes. Why couldn’t she tear herself away from that wretched monitor? Dennis was dismayed and disturbed.

  One night, when he came home late from a baseball game (Liz used to go with him, but not anymore), he heard her talking. At first he thought she was on the phone, but she wasn’t. She seemed to be mumbling to herself, but then he realized she was conversing with the computer. This really spooked him, but he passed it off as a onetime thing. Maybe she was half asleep? Maybe she was just anthropomorphizing this machine? Either way, it probably wasn’t good for her and he suggested she try to spend less time on the computer.

  “I’m really worried about you, Liz. You’re going to make yourself sick unless you get more sleep and eat more. That computer is taking up way too much of your time. You need to take a break. Maybe you should shut it down for a whole day. Let the computer rest and you can too.” He thought it was a reasonable request.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I don’t spend that much time on it.” She smiled coyly at him and added, “Maybe you’re just a little bit jealous.”

  “Just try, won’t you? Please?”

  She didn’t do it. Or maybe she just couldn’t. Dennis was even more dismayed and disturbed.

  Dennis was starting to feel a bit uneasy around the computer. He began to despise that unnatural blue glow from the monitor and the tick, tick, ticking of the keys on the keyboard as Liz typed away. He started avoiding Liz whenever she was on the computer and would offer some lame excuse that seemed to satisfy her. He stopped watching TV. There was no enjoyment in it, not only because he and Liz had always watched their favorite shows together (he really missed that), but also because the TV made him a little jumpy now. That big blue screen and the little red power light were vaguely unnerving. Of course! The TV looked too much like a computer and probably was one. It was digital.

  Then it dawned on him that there were other gadgets in the house with “computers” in them. It seemed that everywhere he looked there was something with a computer chip in it. Staring back. Mocking him. Even the LED digits of the clock on the kitchen stove looked almost like little red blinking orbs that seemed to say, “I’ve got my eyes on you.” It gave him the creeps.

  Eventually, he couldn’t even sleep because the clock radio seemed to be watching him, as if he were its prey. Those red numbers again. He smashed it. When Liz asked him about it, he said he accidentally dropped it. “I can replace it with a second-hand, wind-up alarm clock.”

  One day she asked him, “Where’s the coffee maker?” He had actually thrown it out but said he let a neighbor borrow it. “Besides, we can make coffee the old way--on the stove.” Liz was dubious. He also sabotaged the microwave and told Liz that he forgot to take the fork off the plate and it shorted out. He could tell by the look on her face she didn’t really believe him. He said he would shop for a new one. Of course, he had no intention of bringing another one of those watchful, waiting, devious, digital machines into the house.

  Everywhere he went, there were those blinking red digits, “I’m watching you.” Those glowing blue monitors, “I’m watching you.” He couldn’t get away from them. They were everywhere! He began to feel like he was being stalked by computers because, of course, there are computer chips in everything. “We’re watching you.”

  Then, one awful fateful night, as Dennis passed the doorway to the living room where Liz sat in the dark with the computer screen’s blue light casting an eerie glow on her face, he saw slimy black tentacles slithering out of the laptop, winding around her wrists, pinning them to the keyboard and twisting around her neck. Liz seemed not to notice. Dennis squeezed his eyes tight in disbelief, shook his head, looked again, and it was gone.

  He decided that he had to end this madness and he advanced toward the wall, intending to pull the plug on this fiendish machine, this slayer of happiness, but from the corner of his eye he saw the flicker of movement; a menacing dark shadow. It seemed poised to strike his throat. He jumped back to safety. He went wild with fear for Liz and tried to pull her away. She snarled, turned toward him and her face was contorted with such red and purple fury that it frightened and horrified him. Her eyes looked positively demonic. This was not his wife. This was some hideous, malicious, underworld creature: a monster. What had happened to her? This woman who had been so full of life and joy, humor and adventure, was now some sort of dark, twisted, malevolent, foul--only one word came even a little bit close to describing what she had become--troll.

  His beautiful wife, his lifelong companion, his very breath of life, was gone. He couldn’t live like this… with this… thing. He couldn’t bear to see what was happening to her. He was horrified. The sickly blue light from the computer monitor seemed to grow brighter, mocking him. He was terrified. His heart lurched in his chest and seemed to burst. He was shattered, split asunder. He knew he had to get away. Flee! Flee from this monstrosity that was both his wife and computer.

  He dashed to the bedroom and threw some clothes into his old duffel bag. Then he went into the bathroom for his toothbrush and razor and a few other toiletries. He decided not to take his credit cards. “Better not. They have computer chips in them.” He didn’t have much cash, but he would take some out at the ATM. “Another one of those computerized acronym things,” he thought in disgust. Oh well. It couldn’t be helped. The last thing he did was toss his cell phone into the toilet. “That’s exactly where it belongs.”

  When he left her, she was surfing travel websites and reading about London,
Rome, St. Petersburg and Vienna--all places they dreamed of exploring together that, sadly, she would never see in person and he wouldn’t either, because she couldn’t tear herself away from that blasted computer. He wanted desperately to kiss her, but he was afraid. This time there was no “Drive careful” or “I love you.” She didn’t even look up when he said good bye, she was so intent. Don’t look back, he told himself, but he found it almost impossible not to look back at this shell of a woman he loved so much, bathed in that vile blue glow.

  He turned and darted out of the house and into the garage. He slung his duffle bag into the back seat of the shiny black Jeep Cherokee. Then he got into the driver’s seat, put the key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing. It wouldn’t start the first two tries. He was puzzled. “I just had it in the shop and they said everything was fine.” And then, “Duh… I forgot that they hooked it up to a computer to read the engine status.” Computer again! This thought made him apprehensive, but he needed transportation. On the third try it started. He backed out of the driveway and drove down the street toward the city.

  He stopped at the first ATM he saw. He pulled a baseball cap down low over his eyes and hunching over, he approached the machine. “Can’t be too careful. Security cameras and chip readers.” He was nervous, fidgety. He tried to calm himself and act as casual as he could. Wouldn’t do to raise suspicions. He cringed as he followed the instructions on that hateful monitor. For a brief moment he thought he caught a glimpse of a message: “We’re watching you, Dennis.” He shook it off, grabbed the cash--he had requested the maximum--crammed it into his pockets and then fled to the Jeep. His card was still in the machine and the receipt was dangling from the slot.