Beware. Friend Request Accepted.

”Beware the Friendly Stranger”
”In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country”

Boards of Canada

Going off-grid is magnificently liberating. You’ve thought about it at least once.

Imagine logging off and never getting back online...

Last seen—a long time ago.

Some of your digital profiles are going to auto-delete; others will turn into artifacts, telling the story of someone who was once an active user.

How many digital tombstones are there?

Digital ghosts.

Do you know John Doe?

You do.

You also know that he went off-grid back in 2017.

Add Friend?

That request is just gonna float there. Why even bother. You’ll forget about it in a couple of weeks.

...

Suggested for you: Jane Doe

This one is actually dead.

How many accounts like these do we stumble upon while scrolling our socials?

You tap an app icon.

You are on the For You section.

You see a short video.

It’s amusing.

You like it.

You open the author’s profile and spend half an hour binging their content.

“They seem pretty chill.”

“We’d vibe if we met IRL.”

That won’t ever happen.

Jane Doe persists only digitally—in the form of web artifacts. You can see her dance, watch her eat, listen to her trying to sing karaoke.

You can take things up a notch. Feed Jane’s content to an LLM. Create an AI replica.

You can now talk to the dead.

Is it really that different from how our grandmothers used to flick through family photo albums, reminiscing, talking to the deceased?

People don’t need a Ouija board. We don’t need a séance.

We interact with phantoms and take no notice.

Now, an LLM emulating a loved one is certainly a lot more potent than a fetishized relic that helps you bring out vivid imagery and memories. And so what?

It’s never been easier to get caught up in the spirit realm, nor has it been easier to stay away from it. You have so much you can clog your brain with—why bother talking to ghosts?

Sometimes voices from the past remind you of it—your past, that is.

In eerie confusing ways.

It’s been 5 years since you broke up with your ex.

A sudden “like.” It’s not on a recent post either. You get a like on something you posted back then—when you already knew you would break up but were too irresolute to do it.

How do you react?

Sometimes you notice an oddly familiar face in the comments section. You tap their avatar, but their profile has only three posts. No people. There’s a cat picture, a shabby country house giving pastoral horror vibes and a city that may well be your hometown but you are one piece of evidence short of being able to state so for a fact.

Who is that? I swear I know them from somewhere...

“Hey! Remember me? :)”

An old schoolmate sends you this message. The last conversation you had with them was in 2009.

You’d have gotten suspicious at this point.

Another user has fallen victim. The account was hijacked by scammers.

What do you know.

Should you dig up their number and tell them?

Naw.

Besides, you haven’t spoken in more than a decade; what’s going to be your conversation starter?

“Seems like you’ve got a case of Updog.”

What’s “Updog”?

Not much, wbu?...

Good thing you are off-grid now. You don’t have to deal with this petty nonsense.

Your social accounts are beginning to slowly decay. The follower count is steadily declining.

Nobody ever cares about someone’s account going inactive. There are so many other online friends, so much media noise—there’s never a breather.

The guy hasn’t posted anything for an awfully long time. The guy?

A guy.

Subway Surfers. This’ll help lock in.

You are a homeowner now. You have your land, your little farm, maybe even some livestock. Good.

Where are your friends?

Good thing you’ve got a significant other to share this experience with.

It’ll take time.

But a coherent mind will begin to disintegrate.

What’s worse: going mad by yourself or with someone?

Sharing experiences, you say.

Hmm...

There’s a smartphone stashed somewhere—I know it.

The rural life isn’t what you expected to be. Away from the noise of people, submerged in the noise of malevolent Mother Nature.

You toss and turn at night—you hear the centipedes crawling under the floorboards.

The silence here is not serene, it’s saturated with violence. Birds of prey drop field mice onto your land. They fall with a thud. You feel the vibration.

Omens?

There’s a terrifying droning hum throughout the night. It’s the very land you live on, moving deep below—the tectonic plates. When did your hearing get so sensitive?

You crack.

You hop off your bed in the middle of the night, eyes manic.

Where’s that damn thing?! I should check on Mom!

When was the last time she was online?

You feverishly yank drawers and cabinets open, emptying them chaotically onto desks and the floor.

There it is!

Your smartphone neatly stowed away in the back corner of a desk drawer. The charger is right next to it. Good.

Quickly! Plug it in!

Come on... come on! Why is it taking so long to load?!

Enter PIN.

It’s on!

It’s getting a signal; thank God!

Notifications start firing.

You tap the social network icon. Huh?...

Your friend request got accepted.

“John Doe accepted your friend request.”

Wait, I’m not here for this... Mom. Mom! I need to check when she was last online!

You smash the interface with your fingertips and finally open the chat with Mom.

“Last seen March 20, 2017.”

Wait, what? Who’s just accepted my friend request?