The Dark Web

What's really behind the hidden internet?

Image by Bill Adler

The view of London through Miles Chapman’s wall of windows was so breathtaking that whenever he brought a woman to his apartment, the universe preordained that she’d stay the night. The Thames, the Eye, Big Ben, Westminster, they gasped. Some wanted to stay longer, but Miles, a thirty-three-year-old investment banker, wasn’t ready to settle down. 

The only problem with his apartment was the painfully slow lift. Miles clocked it at one-point-three seconds a story, an interminable minute made longer by the invariable comings and goings of other residents. Each extra stop added five seconds, even longer if it was a parent navigating a stroller, an elderly tenant, or, worst of all, school-age kids, who continued their conversation with one hand against the doorstop: “Arsenal’s going to whip Liverpool Saturday.” “I think Jamie kissed Eva at Stephan’s party.” “Gawd, Mr. Joseph assigns enough homework to last until the end of time.”

Just get off the bloody lift! 

Through dogged determination and clever internet strategies, Miles found the solution to his lift woes. His search took him from Google to Reddit to TorLinks to CryptRepository, finally landing at Amatsu Osiri, a guru who spent all day and night on a secret site called DarkSnowLand. Osiri’s information cost Miles half a Bitcoin, six thousand pounds at the current exchange rate. 

Shadows cast by a flickering street lamp obscured the enigmatic Osiri, who stood beside a rusted dumpster halfway down an alley in Southwark. Even if it had been midday, Miles would not have been able to make out Osiri’s features because his head was covered by a large hood. As Miles approached, Osiri pressed a finger against his lips. He handed Miles a single sheet of paper. 

Miles' heart raced, and his hand trembled. I have the code! 

At home, Miles carefully unfolded the paper as if Shakespeare penned it himself. He held the single sheet of Hammermill twenty-four weight A4, brilliant white with red handwriting, and reviewed the instructions.

Within three seconds of entering the elevator, press the door open button twice, then the following floors in sequence: 11, 7, 5, 1, 3, then door-open three times, your desired floor, then door close twice.

The elevator will bypass every floor and go directly to your destination. 

“Elevator, not lift,” Miles thought. “Osiri must be an American. No matter, as long as he lives up to his hacker reputation.”

The following day, Miles rushed through coffee and breakfast, burning his tongue multiple times. He grabbed his keys, briefcase, and umbrella and dashed down the carpeted hallway floor, fomenting a static electricity storm that sparkled blue and gold around his shoes.  

A shuffling sound struck his ears. Oh no! Another effing passenger. How do I stop them from riding the lift with me? A faux hacking cough? A bottom burp? Miles pivoted to the noise, but it was only the old woman who lived in the apartment across the hall. Miles resumed breathing when he saw she was wearing a bathrobe and slippers and holding a trash bag.

“Morning, Mr. Chapman.”

“Morning, Ms…” Whatever your name is. 

“You have a good day now."

“Yeah.”

The lift announced its arrival with a bing, sounding like Ringo Star hitting the cymbal at a song's zenith. The door opened, and Miles scooted in. 

He kept one eye on his watch to count off three seconds and the other on the lift buttons. His fingers tingled as he pressed the buttons. Miles followed Osiri’s instructions precisely, and the lift began its downward journey.

He chuckled with giddiness as the lift passed forty-one, where, through the window, he saw a look of frustration on a resident for whom the lift did not stop. He laughed loudly when the lift skipped two teens with backpacks on thirty-eight. Miles let loose an exuberant “ya-hoo!” and shot a fist into the air every time the lift—his private car—skipped a floor on which somebody had pressed the call button.

By the time the lift reached the twentieth floor, Miles was certain nobody would be riding with him. He counted down the last part of his ride: five, four, three, two, ground.

The LED floor indicator above the doors stopped on G, but the lift continued descending. Miles glanced at his Rolex. Five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen past the ground floor. A rattling and the whoosh of acceleration told him the lift was still in motion. He bashed the G button, but nothing happened. He stabbed the door open button multiple times to no effect. He rang the alarm, but it didn't engage.

Miles picked up the emergency phone. “I’m trapped in the lift. Hello? Hello, is anyone there?” 

A clicking came through the receiver, but no voice responded.

A high-pitched whine stung Miles’ ears. He levitated. Sweat dripping from his forehead hovered weightlessly with him. The whining grew louder, like a jet engine spooling up. A sharp, intense pain shot through his chest.

The lift abruptly stopped, and Miles tumbled to the ground.

After catching his breath, Miles wrapped his hands around the lift’s support bar and hoisted himself up. 

The doors opened—finally! 

But where am I? Outside the doors was a desolate landscape of charred and smoldering trees, steam rising from cracks in the earth, and sizzling boulders. 

The heat burned Miles’ face like he’d fallen asleep on a beach under the noon sun.

A wolf with an alligator’s head and a long, reptilian tail skittered across the ground. There was a howl, and without warning, a raptoresque dinosaur with two heads and teeth that belonged in a shark’s mouth snatched the creature in its jaws. The two heads fought over their prey as they snarled, ripping the animal apart and swallowing the bloody halves. 

Miles covered his eyes with his hands, removing them only when he heard his name. 

The man outside the lift doors stood seven feet tall. He had jet-black hair, a stout pug nose, cleft chin, and, most notable of all, black eyes with bright red pupils. He smiled and flicked a forked tongue. “Hello, Miles,” he said, “I’m Amatsu Osiri.” 

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If you enjoyed The Dark Web, I think you’ll also like my story, Flying on Ambien.