He sighed, reached over, and unplugged the monitor from the wall. Some ghosts, he decided, were worth more than a stable frame rate.

The screen went black. A single, flat beep echoed from the speakers—the digital heart stopping for a beat.

Leo didn't flinch. He’d seen this before. He placed his index and middle fingers together, a soft prayer to the machine gods, and pressed a hidden chord on the keyboard.

Leo stared at his reflection. The driver had reset. The GPU was talking to the display again. Everything was working perfectly.

Then the screen crackled back to life. The taskbar was solid. The icons were crisp. The nightmare pixels were gone.

In that absolute darkness, Leo saw her. Not on the screen, but in the black glass of the monitor. His late wife, Clara. She was sitting in her favorite chair, knitting something that looked like starlight. She looked up, smiled, and for a glorious half-second, the world was quiet.