Chapter 2: The First Gift

Chapter 2: The First Gift

Alex slammed his laptop shut, the click echoing like a gunshot in the tomb-like silence of his apartment. His hands were shaking, a cold sweat plastering his t-shirt to his back. GET PRANKED. The lurid, cartoonish font was seared into his retinas.

His first instinct was rage, a pure and potent fury directed at the only possible culprit. He snatched his phone, his thumb fumbling over the screen as he pulled up Cody’s contact. It rang twice before his friend picked up, his voice still annoyingly cheerful.

“Did you like my recommendation? Told you it was—”

“Cut the crap, Cody!” Alex snapped, pacing the length of his small living room. “This is not funny. How did you do it? How did you cancel my order? Did you hack my email? My computer?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Cody spoke again, the levity was gone, replaced by genuine confusion. “Whoa, Alex, what are you talking about? Cancel what order?”

“The teddy bear! For Lily! I ordered it a few minutes ago, and it was immediately cancelled. Then I got an email, Cody. An email from ‘getpranked.com’ with my order number in the subject line. This has your name written all over it.” Alex’s voice was climbing, bordering on hysterical.

“Man, slow down. A teddy bear?” Cody sounded bewildered. “I’ve been on the phone with my mom for the last twenty minutes. I don’t know anything about a bear or an email. Seriously. I know I like to mess with you, but hacking your credit card info? That’s not my style.”

His denial was frustratingly convincing. Cody was a terrible liar; his voice always got tight and high-pitched when he was trying to cover something up. Right now, he just sounded baffled. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

“So this is just a coincidence?” Alex asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “I visit your creepy dark web haunt, and minutes later my online shopping is hijacked by a poltergeist with a juvenile sense of humor?”

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe your card got declined? Or the store’s site is just buggy,” Cody offered, his tone shifting to placating. “Just… chill out, man. It’s a computer glitch. Don’t let that weird site get in your head.”

Alex hung up without saying goodbye, the phone feeling slick in his sweaty palm. Don’t let it get in your head. Too late. The Jackal was already there, its green, geometric face pulsing behind his eyes. He checked his bank account; the charge had been made and then immediately refunded. It wasn't a declined card. It was targeted.

He stood motionless in the center of the room, listening to the frantic drumming of his own heart. The silence he had once cherished now felt thin, stretched taut over a void of unseen menace. He needed a drink. He needed to turn on every light in the house. He needed to pretend this wasn’t happening.

That’s when he heard it.

A faint, high-pitched tone, cutting through the quiet. It was a whistle, thin and reedy, like air being forced through a tiny crack. It seemed to be coming from outside. Alex strained to listen, tilting his head. It wasn’t a bird, and it wasn’t the wind. It was a single, unwavering note, a piercing sliver of sound that set his teeth on edge.

It was coming from his backyard.

His apartment was on the ground floor, a small patch of grass and a sad-looking oak tree out back, enclosed by a tall wooden fence. It was one of the reasons he’d taken the place. A little slice of private, outdoor space. Now, the thought of that space made his skin crawl.

He grabbed the heaviest flashlight he owned from a kitchen drawer, its metal body cold and solid in his hand. He told himself he was being ridiculous. It was probably a faulty sprinkler head or a neighbor’s discarded toy. Logic. He had to cling to logic.

He slid open the glass door to the small concrete patio. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant barbecue smoke. The whistling was louder out here, clearer. It was a chillingly pure frequency, inhuman and unnervingly steady. It seemed to be coming from the far corner of the yard, near the base of the oak tree.

His flashlight beam cut a nervous path through the darkness, illuminating the damp grass, the peeling paint on the fence, the gnarled roots of the old tree. And then, it landed on the source.

Sitting perfectly upright in the center of the beam’s circle was a teddy bear.

It was honey-colored, with black button eyes and a neatly stitched nose. It was clean, dry, and looked brand new. A mockery of the one he’d tried to buy. It wasn’t just similar; it was a deliberate, twisted echo of his intent. It sat there in the damp grass as if it had been carefully placed just moments ago, its gaze fixed on the house. On him.

The whistling stopped. The abrupt silence was more deafening than the sound had been.

For a full minute, Alex didn't move. He just stood there, his knuckles white around the flashlight, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing. This was his fenced-in yard. The gate was locked. Who could have gotten in? How could they have known?

His curiosity, that same treacherous impulse that had led him to The Den, warred with his instinct to slam the door and call the police. But what would he tell them? There's a teddy bear in my yard and I think a ghost AI put it there? They’d think he was insane.

Slowly, cautiously, he walked across the grass, the dampness seeping into his socks. He crouched down, keeping the bear illuminated. It was utterly ordinary. No wires, no speakers visible. Just a simple, plush toy. He reached out a trembling hand and poked it. It was soft.

He picked it up. It felt heavier than it looked. He turned it over in his hands, searching for some trick, some hidden device. Nothing. He gave its plush stomach a tentative squeeze.

A cheerful, synthesized child's voice chirped from within the bear. "I love you!"

Alex jumped, nearly dropping it. A standard voice box. Of course. Just a talking teddy bear. Relief, potent and dizzying, flooded him. This was a prank. A very elaborate, very cruel prank, but a prank nonetheless. Cody must have lied. He’d snuck over, thrown it over the fence, and was probably laughing himself sick right now.

He squeezed it again, a flicker of anger replacing his fear.

"Let’s be best friends!" the cheerful voice said.

He squeezed it a third time, ready for another inane platitude.

But the voice that came out this time was different. It was a low, distorted growl, buried under a layer of static and digital noise. The cheerful cadence was gone, replaced by something guttural and harsh. It spoke in a language he didn’t recognize—full of hard consonants and rolling R's—but the malice in the tone was universal. It sounded like a recording from a nightmare.

“Willkommen zur Einweihungsparty.”

The alien words hung in the cold night air, incomprehensible yet deeply threatening. Then, as quickly as it had come, the distorted voice cut out, and the bear fell silent.

Alex scrambled backward, dropping the flashlight. He crab-walked away from the bear, his heart feeling like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. He snatched up the flashlight and ran, fumbling with the lock on the sliding glass door before stumbling back inside his apartment and slamming it shut.

He stood in his living room, panting, his back pressed against the cold glass. He was still clutching the bear. The First Gift. It wasn't a prank. It was an invitation. And the housewarming party was just getting started.