The Port

When I was twelve, I did something I’ve regretted ever since.

It was the summer of 2008. My mom had taken me to GameStop to look for used GameCube games. While she talked to the cashier, I wandered near the counter and spotted a small black USB drive with a yellow sticky note that read, in neat handwriting:

NOT FOR SALE.

I don’t know what made me do it—curiosity, boredom, or just being a stupid kid—but I slipped it into my pocket.

I didn’t look at it again until we got home. My family had an old Windows XP desktop in the corner of the living room. I waited until my parents went to bed, then plugged the drive into the USB port.

There was only one file at first:

nespcports.rar

I unzipped it, and a list of folders appeared, most of them empty. One folder caught my eye:

iceclimber.rar

Inside was a single NES ROM:

iceclimber.nes

I’d played Ice Climber before on an emulator, so I didn’t think much of it. But the fact it was hidden in this weird archive made it feel…different.

I loaded it up. The title screen looked normal. The music was unchanged. I picked “2 Player” out of habit, but the game froze, the music grinding into a metallic drone until I shut the emulator down.

I tried again, this time selecting “1 Player.” The level started as usual—Popo in his blue parka, smashing ice blocks. But when I reached Floor 10, the screen went black.

A figure appeared in the darkness: Nana, standing alone. Her sprite looked wrong—like it had been redrawn by someone who didn’t quite understand the original graphics. Her eyes were too wide, pupils too small, mouth slightly parted as if she were about to speak.

Text crawled across the bottom of the screen, letter by letter:

I’m coming for you, Brady.

I froze. My hands started to shake. That was my real name. There was no way the game should have known it.

Then, for less than a second, Nana’s sprite flickered—her parka stained red, her eyes ringed in black, staring straight out of the monitor.

I nearly closed the emulator right there, but some morbid part of me needed to see what would happen.

I kept climbing. At Floor 30, the game ended abruptly. The screen shifted to an empty sky. Nana stood in the center of the platform, motionless. A white bird flew past her, and without warning, her arm extended in a grotesque, rubbery arc. She seized the bird by the neck.

She squeezed.

I remember the sound more than anything—a crunch that didn’t belong in an 8-bit game. The bird’s eyes bulged and burst in red pixels. Its body went limp.

Nana turned to face Popo. She dropped the bird. Then she started to walk—then run—toward him, her hammer raised above her head.

The music had stopped completely. My heart was thudding so hard I thought I’d pass out.

I ran back down to the base of the mountain in the game, not knowing what else to do. When I reached the bottom, I pressed the attack button. Popo swung his hammer.

As soon as it struck Nana, the screen went red.

When it faded back in, I was standing on a dark, windowless floor. The ice overhead was solid, no matter how many times I hit it.

Popo turned toward the screen. He started to bang on the invisible walls, his sprite glitching and jerking.

Then I heard it.

A voice came through my speakers—small, tinny, and terrified:

Help. You’re my only hope. I miss my mom and dad. I’ve been stuck here. It’s so cold.

The game crashed to the desktop.

A text file had appeared beside the emulator:

README_BEFORE_IT’S_TOO_LATE.txt

I opened it.

Please. Delete this entire folder. If you don’t, she will find a way out. She will trap your soul in this file like she did to me.

My hands were slick with sweat as I deleted everything. I emptied the recycle bin.

But it didn’t stop there.

The next morning, I woke up to find something on my desk. A length of pink cloth. It looked exactly like Nana’s sleeve.

I threw it away.

A week later, I saw it again—this time, longer.

When I turned fifteen, the nightmares started. Every night, I’d see her arm, growing out of the shadows in my room. Reaching. Grasping. No matter how many times I turned on the light, it was gone by morning.

The last time it appeared, I was in the bathroom at school. I’d locked the stall, trying to catch my breath. I looked down and saw the hand—brown-gloved, pale-pink sleeve—slithering out from the drain toward my shoe.

I don’t know where I found the courage. I grabbed the plunger from the stall wall and smashed it down again and again.

A wet, pulpy liquid seeped across the tiles.

I flushed what was left.

The nightmares finally stopped.

I’ve never told anyone about this until now. And I still don’t know what that game really was.

But if you ever find a USB drive that says “NOT FOR SALE,” leave it where it is.

For your own sake.

THE END