It started as a simple email. No flashy graphics or Nigerian princes—just a plain text message with the subject line: "Can you find a nickel?"
Inside, the email read:
"There’s a nickel hidden somewhere on your computer. Open the attached file to start your search."
It was an odd premise, but I’d seen weirder attempts at phishing. For some reason, though, curiosity got the better of me. I was working late, tired, and bored. Against my better judgment, I downloaded the attachment: FindANickel.exe.
The file icon was unassuming—a dull, silver coin with a faint scratch across its surface. I double-clicked it. My screen flickered, and a black window appeared, filled with glowing white text:
"The game begins. You have 24 hours to find the nickel. Look carefully, it’s hiding where you least expect it."
I chuckled nervously. Some sort of scavenger hunt? Before I could dismiss it as a prank, my desktop began to change. Icons disappeared one by one, replaced with little coin symbols. Each time I hovered over one, a message would pop up: "Not here."
My heart sank when I realized I couldn’t close the program. Even Task Manager was locked out. Panic set in as I noticed the timer ticking down in the corner of the screen: 23:59:12.
That’s when I got the first email.
"Hint: Nickels aren’t always silver."
I stared at the words, my pulse quickening. Was someone watching me? I glanced at my webcam and hastily covered it with a sticky note. I tried restarting my computer, but it booted directly into the same ominous interface. The timer didn’t even pause.
I began searching frantically. Every folder, every file. The program was relentless, embedding itself deeper into my system. My personal photos turned into distorted images of nickels, each one scratched in the same exact place. Music files played eerie, slowed-down jingles.
And then, the messages started to get personal.
"You always hide your secrets in plain sight. Check your photos from 2016."
The words chilled me to my core. That was the year my brother passed away. Hesitant, I opened the folder labeled “2016 Memories.” Among the warped nickel images, one photo stood out: a picture of me and my brother at a park. Except… it wasn’t how I remembered it.
The nickel was there, faint but unmistakable, scratched into the trunk of a tree behind us.
"Closer," the next email read.
I was losing track of time. The program grew more sinister as the clock ticked down. My mouse moved on its own, opening old documents I hadn’t touched in years. One file stood out: LastWill.txt.
I didn’t recognize it, but I opened it anyway. The text inside was chilling:
"You didn’t protect him. You let him die. Now it’s your turn to pay."
Tears blurred my vision. This wasn’t just a game—it was a taunt, dredging up the guilt I’d buried deep inside.
With just minutes left on the timer, I finally found the nickel. It was in a hidden system file, buried under layers of encrypted folders. When I opened it, a single message appeared:
"Too late."
The countdown hit zero. My screen went black.
For a moment, I thought it was over. Then, a final email arrived.
"Every nickel has two sides. Your turn to hide one."
My computer rebooted. Everything was gone—photos, documents, everything. All replaced with one file: FindANickel.exe.
The next day, I got an email from an old friend. The subject line read: "Can you find a nickel?"
And I knew it had already begun.
Written by Kaicey The Ultimate
Content is available under CC BY-SA