A monsignor crosses a square in Torino. Amid the sounds of pigeons on the cobblestones, he thinks he hears a whisper: “160GB 7200rpm Serial ATA hard drive.” He looks around, sees no one, shudders.

In a darkened bedroom in the Missouri countryside, a boy jerks upright and screams: “Dual-layer DVD burner.” His parents awaken and rush to his room, only to find their son sleeping peacefully.

In the middle of a segment on novelty wines, a Glasgow morning-TV host blurts, “One gig DDR memory.” She cannot explain why. All recordings of the program show only a half-second of static at the precise point when the incident occurred.

Two archaeologists in a cavern in Chile uncover what appear to be words hewn in the rock: “Decent Athlon 64 processor.” As one turns to ask the other what it means, tremors wrench the cavern. The archaeologists barely escape the cave-in with their lives, and never speak of the incident again.

A woman is pulled, unconscious, from turbulent waters off of Hokkaido. In bed at a nearby hospital, she suddenly opens her eyes, murmurs, “Open PCI-E slot, for upgrading to a better video card,” and expires.

Shadows are falling. Forces are shifting. Something dark and wet and affordable crawls onto the stage, groaning an unholy dirge of corruption. In a million nightmares at once, a single profane phrase echoes like the wild eep of the damned…”Acer Aspire T180-UA380B Desktop Computer.”

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