Spells

Foreword: It seems I'm writing again! Well, I have written again. It's short, and probably accidentally a copy of someone else's creepypasta. But here it is. No real editing, it is a creepypasta after all. Nobody knows when I will write the next one.

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She was going on about something again, and I was barely listening, being distracted.
- It's just like... the world has these bugs, right? Just like in video games. And if you know how they work, you can exploit them. People have been doing it for millions of years, I'd imagine.
- We're not that old a species.
- Well from dawn of time, then. Many bugs aren't even that difficult to find. Say, you lost something, like your keys, and you keep looking for them everywhere, and they are nowhere to be found. Until you tell someone you can't find them. It takes less than a minute at that point. That's a bug - a spell. It ties the lost object more tightly to your person, and brings your strings together, or something.
- What strings? And isn't that really just your brain being better able to focus on the thing?
- Ever tried just focusing real hard on your keys when looking for them?
- Uhg, I guess.
- So spells exist. And they can be used for one's benefit. I'd wager my next paycheck that most of them are not discovered by rigorous trial and error, but by accident.
- I'm still not quite buying this "spells exist" nonsense. And you didn't explain the strings.
- Well whatever. Can you think of anything that might possibly close that?

By that, she was referring to the vantablack, very interdimensional-portal-looking, gaping hole beneath our feet - where the bedroom rug had been just minutes ago, before I started turning my alarm clock to winter time while reciting a line from Paradise Lost.

She never did explain to me what she meant by the strings.