(Year One, Episode 9 — Hogwash Affiliate Academy)
The night began like any other at Hogwash Affiliate Academy: badly. Barry had accidentally left a cauldron of “Instant Funnel Formula” bubbling in his dorm, and now the whole East Wing smelled faintly of desperation and burnt pixels.
He collapsed onto his creaky bed, muttering,
“Just one normal day. ONE. Is that too much to ask?”
Hermoney, ever the optimist, replied,
“Yes. At this school? Absolutely.”
As Barry drifted off, something pinged.
DING.
DING.
DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING—
His inbox was exploding.
He sat up so fast he headbutted his headboard.
“OW! …But also: YES! Subscribers!”
Hermoney leaned over, eyes widening:
“Barry… you’ve gained 9,673 new subs overnight!”
Barry grinned so broadly he looked mildly possessed.
“I’m going to be legendary. This must be what going viral feels like.”
Ron Weaselist muttered,
“Feels more like spam with extra steps.”
Barry scrolled. Thousands of new names. Thousands of new leads. Thousands of new possibilities.
And then he saw it.
One name repeated.
Not thousands of times — just once.
But the name was unmistakable:
B. Profiter
Barry frowned.
“That’s… me. I didn’t opt into my own list. Did I?”
Hermoney raised an eyebrow.
“You once signed up to your own newsletter to test the confirmation email and forgot you’d done it.”
“That was ONE TIME!”
Ron: “Mate. It was four.”
Barry opened the subscriber card.
And the castle went cold.
A whisper slithered through the dormitory:
“Send… the email…”
Hermoney shrieked.
Ron hit the floor like he’d been hexed.
Barry’s laptop glowed an eerie green.
The “Email of Eternal Echoes” had awakened.
A forbidden artefact of marketing lore…
A cursed auto-responder sequence that never ends, copying itself, resending itself, and haunting its owner until they lose their mind, their list, or their will to live.
Barry squeaked,
“I thought this thing was a myth!”
Hermoney snapped,
“Everything is a myth until YOU accidentally activate it!”
The laptop began typing on its own.
The Curse Unleashed 💀📨
Words formed eerily:
“Hey there! Just checking in again… again… again…”
It sent itself.
Then again.
Then again.
Lines of code exploded across the screen like caffeinated spiders.
Barry slammed every key, button, and function he could find.
Hermoney slapped his hands away.
“Don’t click RANDOM buttons! That’s how we got exploding coupons last week!”
Ronald screamed,
“IT’S REPLYING TO PEOPLE, BARRY. LOOK!”
Indeed. His subscribers were already responding:
“Unsubscribe!”
“Stop emailing me!”
“Mate, this is harassment.”
“I liked the first one but this is borderline psychological warfare.”
Barry whimpered.
“I’m going to be expelled from the internet.”
Hermoney paced.
“There MUST be a way to break the loop. All curses have rules.”
Ron shrugged.
“Except that time Barry summoned the Dragon of Burnout. Still not sure what the rule was there.”
Barry ignored them, frantically searching the inbox.
Emails were multiplying faster than rabbits on energy drinks.
But then—
a flicker on the screen.
A clue.
A tiny note hidden in the footer of one cursed email:
“To break the Echo, you must face the Sender.”
Barry squeaked,
“What sender?! It’s ME! …sort of.”
Hermoney gasped.
“No… it’s your shadow subscriber.”
Ronald gulped.
“You mean… Evil Barry?”
Hermoney corrected him.
“No. Worse. Automated Barry.”
Barry shuddered so hard his glasses nearly flew off.
The Confrontation ⚔️💻
The laptop warped, twisted, and then—
A spectral, glowing duplicate of Barry burst out of the screen.
Identical robes.
Identical wand.
Identical hair (tragically messy).
But with an emotionless, automated smile.
It spoke in a hollow monotone:
“Hey there! Just checking in again…”
Barry screamed.
Hermoney gagged.
Ron fainted (again).
The ghostly Auto-Barry attacked, firing identical marketing emails like hexes:
“Have you seen my offer?”
“Did you miss this reminder?”
“Seriously, why haven’t you bought yet?”
Barry ducked behind a desk.
“I SOUND LIKE THAT?!”
Hermoney yelled, “YES! We keep telling you to stop emailing people like a clingy ex!”
Barry needed a strategy. A mirror? A counter-spell?
A meme?
A cat video?
In desperation, he grabbed his wand and shouted the only thing that made sense:
“UNSUBSCRIBUS MAXIMUS!”
A blast of brilliant light shot forward.
Auto-Barry fizzled, sputtered…
and dissolved into glittery unsubscribe dust.
The inbox stopped.
The emails ceased.
The dorm’s warmth returned.
Barry collapsed, exhausted, trembling.
He slumped back on his bed, chest heaving, sweat sticking his fringe to his forehead.
Hermoney checked the laptop, tapped a few keys, and sighed with relief.
“The curse is broken. The loop is gone. You’re safe.”
Ron poked the unsubscribe dust with his foot.
“So… no more ghostly you sending clingy emails?”
Barry gave a tired smile.
“No more. Thank Merlin.”
Then—
PING.
One new notification.
Everyone froze.
Hermoney opened it slowly… cautiously…
And there it was:
“Welcome, new subscriber:
Alban Bekuar — Albania.”
Barry groaned, face-planting onto his pillow.
“You’ve got to be joking. I didn’t target Albania!”
Ron shrugged.
“Looks like the curse left you a souvenir.”
Hermoney held up the laptop so he could see:
“Message from Alban…”
Barry peeked through his fingers.
The message read:
“Përshëndetje Barry! I received 37 of your emails last night.
I didn’t want to be rude… so I subscribed properly.”
Ron burst into hysterical laughter.
Hermoney snorted.
Barry let out the world’s longest, most exhausted groan.
He muttered into his pillow:
“Brilliant. I’ve gone international. I’m a global nuisance.”
To be continued…
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