“Everything all right? You weren’t checking your e-mail, I came to see if you were OK. Why is it dark in here?”
“Can’t go online.”
“Excuse me?”
“I fear the Internet.”
“So? You’ve always feared the Internet.”
“That was a vague, almost subconscious fear. This is an active dreading.”
“And the Web is going to get you… how?”
“There are spoilers there!”
“Oh, the Harry Potter thing.”
“Yes, the Harry Potter thing! ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,’ the seventh book in the series. I’ve been waiting for this for ten years, I don’t want anything to spoil the ending for me. Or the beginning of the ending. Or any of the middle stuff. I don’t want anyone telling me what happens to Harry or Ron or Hermione or what Snape’s deal is or whether or not someone kills Voldemort. I want to read it all fresh and exciting and unsullied by hints and revelations from some loose-fingered blogger.”
“I thought they were guarding the books with, like, lasers and stuff.”
“It got out.”
“The text is online? Really?”
“Someone actually took photos of every single page and posted ‘em all online. I guess some people get really obsessive.”
“I’ve heard that. Why are your windows painted over?”
“But you can read it! Awkwardly, with lots of eyestrain, but you can read it. The ending is out there, and someone’s going to spread it around.”
“So don’t go to Harry Potter sites, big deal.”
“Oh, no, the fan sites are fine, most of those shut down their comments and new registrations this week. It’s everywhere else! Every forum, every news site, every MySpace page or LiveJournal entry could be a trap for the unwary. I can’t visit Digg, FARK, or Technorati for fear that someone will put ‘Harry loses both legs and starts a Celtic fusion band’ in the headline.”
“Is that what happens?”
“I DON’T KNOW! And I don’t wanna know.”
“It’s only a couple of days. The launch party for the book is Friday night, right?”
“Not going. Someone might get a copy ahead of me, read the last chapter, and yell it out. Or they might trip and it could fly open in my face. Someone could drive by with spoilery bumper stickers. Or wearing a t-shirt with the ending on it. There could be tattoos. Too risky.”
“Which would be why there’s no power on in here.”
“TV. Radio. Instant messages. It can all reach you, I can’t take that chance. Can’t go out, some stores might break the embargo and sell copies early. Last week a Canadian bookstore sold 15 copies by mistake. It’s out there!”
“So you’re in here.”
“I’ve got enough food to last me, none of it packaged in the last two months. I’ve got candles so I can finish rereading the other six books before the new one arrives. I buried my cell phone last night. And I’ve hermetically sealed the house, so careless passersby can’t interfere. I think my air should last, I ran the numbers twice.”
“That explains all the caulking. What, you buried… where, in the yard?”
“You think that’s too close?”
“And the windows…?”
“Skywriters.”
“Ah.”
“You never know.”
“Look, isn’t this a little extreme? I mean, you already know some of it. J. K. Rowling’s already said in interviews that two main characters will d—“
“LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!”
“Whoa, take it easy! Is that a gun?”
“You’re one of them! The ruiners. The bespoilers. The ones who take all that is good and holy and post it to Twitter to tear down the dreams of millions of innocent people. DON’T TALK TO ME! DON’T SAY ANYTHING!”
“Dude, calm down! I’m leaving! I’m leaving, all right?”
“Good. Get out! And hey?”
“What?”
“See ya Sunday.”
I feel a lot like that. Only, you know, in a less extreme way. 🙂
Heh heh, brilliant. You’re not kidding. I came inches from utter bespoilment yesterday because a neighbor in our building takes the Baltimore sun.