The Greatest American Neckbeard

    Given their contentious nature, Internet users will never agree who most deserves the title of the Greatest American Neckbeard, but Stryker Blackthorne of North Carolina is one of the strongest candidates. His early years were relatively normal. His parents, George and Kathleen Selfridge, worked for a computer firm in Durham. Their only child – then called Donald – had constant access to computers and grew proficient in their use, though his social skills lagged far behind. George and Kathleen did not care; being very busy people, they were pleased he rarely bothered them.

    Things changed when Donald’s grandfather died. Selfridge Senior had become quite paranoid in his old age, and used much of his fortune to build a hidden fallout shelter under his expansive home on the edge of Asheville. His remaining money went to George, who was able to retire and move with his family to the Asheville property. The mansion was old and run down but the shelter was as good as new and Donald immediately claimed it as his personal computer room.

    When his parents started renovating, Donald, who loathed manual labour, became even more introverted. His computer offered an easy escape and he began to cultivate new online personalities. He had no desire to make friends; he found it more exciting to win games and arguments online. By his eighteenth birthday his old self was a distant memory, but his new persona, Stryker Blackthorne, was a ferocious cyberbully who made every online interaction a contest only he could win. From the safety of his bunker, Stryker took great pride in this, though his real-world achievements were considerably more mundane. As an online entity he grew steadily more powerful, but this being remained bound to an increasingly sedentary and misshapen human form. Porn offered him some consolation but it grew stale over time. Only online victories brought him any kind of high.

    Stryker rarely saw his parents, and by his thirtieth birthday they almost lived in separate worlds. He slept by day, and they by night, though they always left him food. He went months without seeing them and realised he no longer cared. One night, however, everything changed. An extended World of Warcraft raid had drained Stryker’s Coke reserves, and with much sweating and heavy breathing, he climbed the stairs to the wine cellar underneath his parents’ home. When he opened the hidden door he found the wine collection gone, and when he climbed the next staircase, which led to the kitchen, he found this room had changed as well. The walls had been repainted, the floor had been retiled, and the appliances and décor had been entirely replaced. The effect was so alarming he feared his parents had gone mad, but when he opened the new fridge his alarm gave way to disgust. He saw none of the Coke he craved, only milk and orange juice, and nor could he find any pre-cooked and easily re-heated meals. As his clammy hands touched something that reminded him of vegetables he shrank away and hurried back to his underground retreat, where he resumed the safer tasks of casting spells and slaying dragons. The changes were no nightmare though; further upstairs forays proved something was very wrong. He did not dare confront his parents, but grudgingly resigned himself to a diet of two-minute noodles, cold cereal and museli bars.

    The truth, in fact, was very different. George and Kathleen had been killed in a mountaineering accident, and when Donald failed to come forward, their unscrupulous solicitor had simply written him out of the will. She sold the family property and moved to another state, knowing nothing of the hidden shelter or its reclusive occupant. The new owners, Mark and Lisa Morgan, were equally oblivious. At first they were very pleased with how little they had paid for their home, but in time they started to suspect the sprawling mansion might be haunted. Food sometimes vanished from the fridge, and when it did a fetid stench somehow lingered in the kitchen. Mark and Lisa thought they might be dealing with a petty thief, but the police found no signs of forced entry and new alarms were never triggered. They next tried hidden cameras, but Stryker, who by now had realised his parents were forever gone, used his electronic skills to jam them or erase their contents. When Mark and Lisa checked their recordings and found odd blips and bursts of static they grew more upset and afraid. In the small hours of the morning they distinctly heard low moans, smug chuckles and muffled curses coming from deep underground. Anxiety and sleeplessness encouraged them to call a priest, who said their home was possessed by a demonic entity. Mark and Lisa responded with some traditional means of defence, but these only made things worse. Stryker devoured the garlic cloves, which reminded him of pizza, and trampled all the crucifixes, for he took his disbelief very seriously. In desperation Mark and Lisa turned next to a medium. After spending time in every room she supported the priest’s claim of a malign influence, but through some greater insight – or knowledge of the Selfridge family – she told Mark and Lisa this being could be reasoned with. After further discussing the matter, Mark and Lisa felt their peace of mind was worth more than lost groceries. They stopped trying to catch their ghost, and on the nights when he seemed restless, they found they could placate him with larger offerings of food. All parties seemed content with this and in time it became routine.

    This changed when Mark and Lisa had a child of their own. Young John Morgan was intrigued by his parents’ talk of ghosts. In spite of their repeated warnings he got up and searched the house at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the being that had foiled his parents for so long. As he did not want to disturb them, he used a battery-powered lightsaber instead of the house lights on these adventures, and though it was a harmless toy, he gained some extra courage from its mythic resonance.

    There was a chance the destinies of John and Stryker would collide, and fate decreed they did one night. If Stryker was alarmed to see a small lightsaber-wielding figure clad in grey pyjamas, John was mortified to meet a hulking, evil-smelling form, swathed in black from head to toe, carrying a heavy blade. Although Stryker was confident he looked a very dangerous man, he was at risk of being exposed, and feared he could not change this without making a mess or noise. John was horribly aware of what little chance a six year old had against a full grown man but he bravely held his ground. In that moment both realised this would be a duel of wills.

    “Go back to bed,” said Stryker Blackthorne. “The Jedi Order isn’t real.”

    John held his opponent’s gaze. “Neither is My Little Pony.”

    For several seconds all was silent. Then one of these two mortal foes let out a heartbroken wail and ran from the room in tears.

    I’m sure you can guess who it was...