“SKI FOREVER” by Scott Donnelly #MicroTerrors
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At Jiffy Lube, we car about cars. In fact, we're kind of obsessed. That's why we've been taking car business with quick quality oil changes and service for over 40 years. And with things like our Carful Vehicle Review, where our experts will check, fill, clean, and inspect your vehicle, you'll know we'll car for your car like we car for our own. Jiffy Lube. Car more. Visit JiffyLubeDC.com to find a Jiffy Lube service center near you.

At Jiffy Lube, we car about cars. In fact, we're kind of obsessed. That's why we've been taking car of business with quick quality oil changes and service for over 40 years. And with things like our carful vehicle review, where our experts check, fill, clean, and inspect your vehicle, you'll know we'll car for your car like we car for our own. Jiffy Lube. Car more. Visit JiffyLubeDC.com to find a Jiffy Lube service center near you.

Welcome to Micro-Terrors. Scary stories for kids. Where it's always the spooky season. Full of chills. Thrills. And spine-tingling spooks.

Micro-terrors are family-friendly frights for those ages 8 and up. And while our stories are for younger ears, we are still talking about things that go bump in the night, and some children may not be able to handle what others can. Parental consent is recommended. Now, for tonight's Micro-Terror. Ski Forever by Scott Donnelly.

"Dear Mr. Anderson, I'm writing to you because of a strange incident that occurred at my house this past weekend that left my dad in the hospital, still incoherently blabbering on and on about some giant monster covered in white fur. As I cannot yet attest to seeing this actual monster, I can confirm the series of events that led up to it. Let me start by introducing myself.

My name is Blake Macklin. I live in Southern California where the weather is usually very warm. We live about a block away from Vista Del Mar Beach, and let the record show that in my ten years of life, I have never seen snow outside of a TV screen. Snow is something that just doesn't happen here. I'm an avid gamer. One day I hope to be good enough to travel the world and compete in circuits and competitions.

My games of choice are Minecraft, Fortnite, Rocket League, and I've dabbled a little in Roblox. My interest in games recently had an effect on my dad. His name is Drew.

He'll sit and watch me play games like Minecraft and Fortnite and immediately start to reminisce about how back in his day he used to be a tour de force in the gaming community – which, if I understand correctly, was basically maybe just the best gamer in a group of four or five friends at a sleepover, and not a world-ranked position like they have today.

There were no online rankings, vast virtual communities. What my dad seemed to be referring to were basic bragging rights among friends. Anyway, he was telling me about all the games he used to dominate when he was younger. Then he told me war stories about the games he struggled with, calling them his "White Whales." I had to look up that analogy since I had no idea what he was talking about.

In his fever dream of a past, one that seemed to plague him like a horror of war, was a game called Ski Forever. I'd personally never heard of it, but he said it was a game that came pre-installed on most desktop computers back in the day, along with the likes of Solitaire, Minesweeper not to be confused with Minecraft, please don't confuse it with Minecraft, and Chess.

He described Ski Forever to me as "a simple, crudely animated and simplistic game where you're a character that is constantly skiing down a snowy mountain, trying to avoid obstacles like trees, stumps, rocks, and flags."

He said the game would eventually pick up speed the further down the mountain you got, but at some point, no matter what, a hairy beast would come crashing through the trees at warp speed, eat you, and the game would end, restarting you from the top of the mountain. My dad insisted that it was an impossible-to-win game, although when I looked it up afterwards, I couldn't find anything that completely backed up that claim.

The vast majority of the online community agreed that it was a frustrating, irritating and repetitive game that was easy to rage-quit, but it also seemed like there were many variations of the same game. Others were called "Ski Free," "Mad Slopes," and "Surf," a version that included a surfer, not a skier.

Even though I presented him with claims that people had beaten the game and made it down the mountain, my dad assured me they were all lies and they must have all played one of the different, winnable variations of Ski Forever. Well, this "Ski Forever" talk really sunk into my dad's head. It's all he could think about. It's all he talked about. He mentioned it to his old friends, people he worked with, even my teacher at a parent-teacher conference.

They all vaguely remembered the game but didn't seem to hold onto the same suppressed aggression that my dad did for it. Well, Dad did next what Dad does best. After he scoured eBay and other online stores, he found someone who was selling an old desktop computer from the early 90s that had "Ski Forever" pre-installed on it. My dad purchased it from the guy for nearly $500 and paid extra for overnight shipping.

The next day, our family was the proud owners of a three-and-a-half-decade-old desktop computer. My dad booted it up and immediately found "Ski Forever" from a strange start menu in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. He pulled up the game and I was finally able to lay my eyes on one of his infamous white whales. The game was rough to look at. It was simple, crudely animated. It was just as he said it would be.

My dad was also just as rusty as the game looked. He crashed and burned several times immediately, but after a solid 45 minutes or so he had finally gotten the hang of it. "Now watch, son," he said. "Watch for the Yeti. You never know where he's gonna come." Suddenly there it was. "There it is, son! See it? He's coming!"

Rushing from the tree line in the top right corner of the screen, a Yeti looked to have been drawn by the game programmer's newborn, frantically charged down the mountain, grabbed my dad's skier and gobbled him up. It rubbed his belly, belched, and then the game reset with my dad's skier starting all over at the top of the mountain. My dad sneered at me. "See what I'm talking about?"

"Want me to get Mom?" I asked. "No," he said. "She doesn't care. This is gonna be up to us now. Up to me. I need to finish this game once and for all." I patted my dad on the back and said, "You got this, Dad." For the next week, from anywhere I was in the house, I would hear my dad abruptly shout and yell any time the Yeti would rush and eat him. I was starting to believe his initial claims of it being an unbeatable game.

Either that, or my dad's game-playing rust was now just a permanent layer of him and his glory days were long gone. Then, two days ago, something happened. Something completely unexpected. My dad actually beat the game.

He exploded into a chorus of squeals and shrieks, clapping, hoots and hollers. It woke me from sleep at 2 in the morning and I had to be up for school in four hours. It woke my mom too and she was not very happy about it at all. But I knew how hard my dad had worked, how many hours he'd spent, how many vacation and sick days from work he had used, and how many pounds he had gained.

So, being the supportive son I was, I walked into the computer room to congratulate him on his nearly impossible feat. After a high-five, the first strange thing happened. A cold breeze trickled in through the open window. And keep in mind, it was 80 degrees out that night. The next day when I got home from school, our house was freezing cold. Literally freezing cold.

Almost all of the surfaces had a thin, sparkling layer of frost over it. My dad said it was because we had the best air conditioner on the West Coast, but I wasn't so sure of that. That night I was woken up by a tiny cold flecks of something touching my face. I turned on my light and was stunned by what I saw. It was snowing in my room.

I climbed out of bed and stepped in a cold, wet dusting of powdery snow. I rushed out into the hallway and saw the floor throughout our house was covered in it and it was still falling. I had no idea where it was even coming from. "Mom! Dad!" I called out. My mom rushed out of her room, wrapping her fuzzy robe around her body. Her breath plumed out in front of her as she spoke. "What in the world is going on here?" she exclaimed. "Drew!"

That's when we heard the struggle. There was a crash from downstairs in the computer room, a loud thud followed by a deafening shatter. My dad let out a painful howl and then silence. My mom and I rushed downstairs, careful not to slip on the snow and ice. When we slid into the computer room, we saw my dad, roughed up and haphazardly strewn across the bookshelf and computer desk. The computer itself was destroyed, laying in the snow in several broken pieces.

And, strangest of all, in the clenched grip of my dad's hands were tufts of matted white hair. My dad is currently recovering in the hospital, telling the nurses and doctors all the same inconceivable story about how he was blindsided and rushed from behind one of my mom's fake trees in the far corner of the computer room by a giant yeti, beaten to a pulp and left to suffer.

Of course they don't believe him. My mom doesn't believe him either. I do find it funny, though, that she'll refuse to even try to explain away the snowstorm we had in our house. I, on the other hand, believe my dad. I believe Ski Forever is more than just a game.

I think it's an experiment in some kind of advanced digital reality practice that only my dad, so far, has been able to unlock its true nature. If there have been others, I really hope to discover them soon and discuss their stories with them to help me build my case. I'm doing a lot of research now, and from what I've found, I believe you to be the creator of the game. That's why I am writing to you, Mr. Anderson.

I want you to know that whatever Yeti black magic was programmed into your pre-installed early 90s computer game is unacceptable. It's bruised and damaged my dad's body, rearranged his face and has made him the laughing stock of the hospital. But I have the tufts of Yeti hair to prove it. I have home security footage of the in-house snowstorm. And I was able to fix the computer enough to make Ski Forever work again.

My plan is simple. I plan to play the game myself. I plan to beat the game. And when I beat it, I will be ready for the Yeti. I will trap it, film it, and I will show the world what actually happens when you beat your unbeatable game.

Then I'll train the Yeti in revenge tactics that I conjure myself and come for you. No one does this to my dad. See you on the slopes, Mr. Anderson. Signed, Blake Macklin.

Thank you for listening to MicroTerrors. Join us each Saturday for another scary story. For more fun, visit our website at microterrors.com, where we will also have spooky games you can print out and play, like wicked word searches, mysterious mazes, and more. MicroTerrors.

Microterrors.com is also where you can find us on your favorite social media and even send in your own scary story for us to tell. Plus, you'll learn more about our author, Scott Donnelly, who has other horrors for both young and old. I hope you'll join me again soon for Microterrors, scary stories for kids.

At Jiffy Lube, we car about cars. In fact, we're kind of obsessed. That's why we've been taking car business with quick quality oil changes and service for over 40 years. And with things like our Carful Vehicle Review, where our experts will check, fill, clean, and inspect your vehicle, you'll know we'll car for your car like we car for our own. Jiffy Lube. Car more. Visit JiffyLubeDC.com to find a Jiffy Lube service center near you.

We all dream, but for some people, what should be a time for their bodies and minds to rest turns into a nightmare from which they cannot escape. Our next Weird Darkness live stream is Saturday night, December 28th on the Weird Darkness YouTube channel. And during the live broadcast, I'll share some of these chilling nighttime stories.

Tales of shadow people, sleep paralysis, and demons who stalk their victims in that place between dreams and reality. I'll share true tales of prophetic dreams, some joyful, some not. Sleepwalking incidents that are both amusing and disturbing. I'll also share real stories of night terrors so horrifying that sleep

became something to fear and dread for those victimized by the night. You might not want to sleep after joining our next live stream. It's Saturday, December 28th at 5 p.m. Pacific, 6 p.m. Mountain, 7 p.m. Central, 8 p.m. Eastern. On the lighter side, I'll also be responding to comments and questions live on the air and doing a giveaway of some Weird Darkness merch.

Prepare yourself for our next live scream for chilling tales of what some people must endure in an attempt to get some sleep. Find the details on the live screen page at weirddarkness.com.