A minute after I opened my computer, it started screeching. The three loud alarms were accompanied with flashing mushrooming blobs. I felt my heart clutch.

No. No. NO-O-O-O-O! I was sure it was a crash. The end of my laptop. The last time my blood ran that cold, was when my previous computer bit the dust. This turned out to be only a dastardly mess but I didn’t know that for the first 45 minutes of panic.

Supposedly, my primary security software was demanding that I use their program. But I already had their program! What is this? I followed the directions because I had complete faith in their reliability. I still can’t believe I was that gullible, but that’s how nasty these cyber attacks are.

The little “X” in the upper right-hand corner was available for closing the pop-ups, as usual. But no matter how many times I hit that little x button, another message popped up blocking the right side of my screen. There was no getting rid of it.

“Your machine has been invaded by 5 viruses. Follow the instructions.”

“Your machine is at potential for losing all of your contacts.”

“Your machine has been attacked by 7 viruses.”

“Your machine will lose all of your Word documents.”

Each one of these flashing orange notifications upped my anxiety level as I tried to ensure that everything was safe. They kept coming. When they finally slowed down, almost an hour later, they still showed up every 2 to 3 minutes – still blocking my screen.

Eventually, I was able to run two complete scans of my computer – from two other security companies. They both reached out, held my hand, and said, “Everything is OK, Marcy. Your life, including your writing life, is not going to end. Not today, anyway.” I decided right then to run my full scans every day. The scans were clean, but still the invaders kept coming. Delete. Delete. Delete. Click. Click. Click.

When I walked away from the computer for an hour, it took at least five minutes to close the 30 to 40 bright-flashing blocks when I returned. Click. Click. Click.

At night, when I completely shut down, the alien invaders almost stopped. I only needed to erase a few dozen when I booted up the next morning. On day two, I noticed that the return address was a gobbledygook of letters and numbers followed by the words “clientorientation.” Then I noticed that while the 10 or 12 numbers/letters combo kept changing, “Clientorientation” remained constant. The boiler room that was running this scam was really persistent. When I began to notice poor English grammar in the instructions, I realized it was foreign. Click. Click. Click.

Our computer guru friend in Florida tried to rid me of the non-stop monsters. I called him because it was hard to accomplish much with the right side of the screen constantly occupied by pop-ups. Even he, master of all mysteries, couldn’t shake them. I finally called the Geek Squad for a Friday appointment. Friday was Day 5 of the invasion. I was battle-weary. Click. Click. Click.

It was hard for me to believe that I had to give up a half day drive to rid myself of these computer pirates. But it was either that or my sanity, and I didn’t know how much Medicare would allow me to spend on a shrink for a new unnamed condition. Laptop panic attack? Computer bowel strangulation? Hewlett-Packard hysteria?

I arrived at Erie’s Best Buy early, and Braedan, my appointed Geek, was a breezy, helpful guy. It took me longer to explain what was going on than it took to plug in the computer, boot it up, and log on to his in-store Wi-fi. He quickly checked the little buggers hogging the right side of the screen.

“Don’t worry. I can get rid of this quickly.” The best words I had heard all week. I was very worried that they would need to keep the machine for their 3-day fix. I had already decided to write my column on Dear Richard’s computer if necessary. Emergency plan abandoned! Yay!!

Braeden did say that this particular corruption was new – one he hadn’t seen. I was beyond grateful that he made the spam disappear in 5 minutes. The 136-mile round trip was a small price to pay.

Our computers, phones, and interconnected systems all require constant vigilance. But constant vigilance is not my default setting. With these barbarians continually banging at the gate, I might have to fill the moat and order bigger alligators. Anything to avoid Delete. Delete. Delete. Click. Click. Click.

Marcy O’Brien writes from her home in Warren, Pa.