There never had been.
Then, the screen went black.
Leo dropped the controller. The console whirred louder. From down the hall—the real hall—he heard his sister’s door creak open.
Then it raised a hand. In its palm: a tiny, blinking orange light. The same light the PS2’s disc drive made when it was about to open.
She was supposed to be at a sleepover.
He’d found it at a garage sale that morning, buried under a pile of Madden ’02 and FIFA Street. The old man running the sale had just stared at it for a second, then waved Leo off. “Free, kid. Take it.”
On-screen, his avatar turned. Its face was his face, but the mouth was stitched shut with red thread. It pointed down the hall. Toward his little sister’s room.
Not off-black. The screen is dead black. Leo felt his pulse in his thumbs. He reached for the power cord, but the speakers crackled.