My hands hovered over the keyboard. The footsteps grew closer.
I wasn't here for ghosts.
My uncle, a man whose sanity had always been a flexible concept, had left it to me in his will. No money. No land. Just a "fully operational personal computer from the late 1990s," as the lawyer had read aloud, barely hiding a smirk. The catch: I had to retrieve it myself. The estate was fifty miles from the nearest town, and no one else would take the job. karupspc
I’m his nephew. He left you to me.
What is the voice saying?
The cursor blinked, patient and waiting. My hands hovered over the keyboard