Chapter 2 - All good things_The Glitched Archives - Book 1: Welcome to Eldoria

Tapping his fingers on the wheel of his car, Stephen Jacobs hummed along to the loud rock music blasting from his speakers. Just finishing a shift at his job, he was eager to get home, relax in front of the television, and watch something to get his mind off the drab, boring work of helping people solve their 'important' computer issues. As he drove, he sang along with the music—at least he tried to. At some points in the song, he mumbled random words that sounded like the lyrics, a habit his wife pointed out every chance she got. Today was a good day. It was Friday, and he was heading home. What could be better? he thought to himself as he pulled into the driveway of his house. The small, single-story abode was nothing special, a simple house for a simple family.

He got out of the car and fumbled with his keys, tossing them into the air and catching them as he walked to the door. It was something he did frequently, though he wasn't sure why. At first, it was because he thought it made him look 'cool,' but now it had just become a habit, like everything else in life. Motions he went through day in and day out. He put the key in the door, turned it, and walked inside, nearly bowled over by a large dog excited to see his master.

"Yeah, yeah, hello Duke," he said, reaching down to pet the dog's head and give him some scratches. Stephen smiled and patted the dog while kicking off his shoes. He stretched his back, feeling it crackle and pop as he rolled his neck from side to side.

"Where's mom?" he asked the teenage boy sitting in front of the computer playing a block game with his friends. The boy didn't even look, just pointed to the bathroom.

"Good to see you too," Stephen muttered, shaking his head as he flopped onto the couch. His legs bounced up into the air as he sat down. "Where's the TV remote?"

Stephen looked around, lifting up papers, moving cushions, and looking under the couch. This was the one thing he couldn't stand. He was ready to end his day watching some TV or playing a video game, but none of that could happen without the blasted remote. He glanced towards the bathroom.

"I need to find it before she gets out; otherwise, I will never hear the end of it." This was the routine. He would search high and low for something, and his wife would walk out, go straight to the object, and find it. It was their game. He would joke with her about calling it witchcraft, how she could find everything even if she had no interest in the object. Not today. Today would be different. Stephen hurried around the house, intent on beating this so-called power his wife seemed to have.

"Ha, found it!" he exclaimed, holding up the remote like it was some ancient artifact belonging to a holy order of couch-dwelling zealots. His son simply rolled his eyes and shook his head, ignoring his father's antics. The bathroom door opened, and his wife walked out, with a cocked eyebrow catching Stephen holding the remote above his head. She smiled and shook her head. Her brown, almost black hair waved side to side slightly. Her hazel, almost golden eyes shined with playfulness.

"What?! I found it!" Stephen said as he flopped back down. His wife approached and leaned down, giving him a kiss and a smile.

"Yes, I can see that. Was it on the table, under the books?" she asked.

Stephen's face dropped. How did she know? She wasn't even in the room.

"Maybe, but I guess we'll never know," he replied, pausing as his wife sat next to him. He turned on the TV while she lifted a book and began to read. This was their routine. They would talk sporadically as each went about their own hobbies or activities. They would eat dinner, talk about their jobs—or, as was often the case, complain—and enjoy each other's company. Occasionally, they would playfully harass their son to make him cringe while he played his games with his friends. It was a simple life, a calm life, a routine life.

As usual, Stephen now sat alone at night, watching TV in the dark as his wife, Abigail, and son, Luke, went to sleep. He liked it this way. He was always a night owl. The television droned on as his eyelids began to sag. The sounds emanating from the TV began to fade, and Stephen stood up, turning the TV off and tossing the remote somewhere he would forget about, beginning his search for it anew tomorrow. But for now, he needed to sleep. As he made his way to the bed, he took note of a low hum in the back of his mind, partially ignoring it as a sign of his need for sleep. His dog, Duke, jumped off the bed so Stephen could lay down before he would inevitably hop back on. As was the routine, day in and day out.

Stephen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his wife's body next to his. Her skin was smooth, her scent that of strawberries from the shampoo she used in the shower. He liked that smell. It was familiar and helped him drift to sleep. With an arm draped over her waist, he snuggled up and let the darkness of sleep take hold.