The TV in your room, , hasn’t worked in years.
No cable. No antenna. Just static.
But last night, a face appeared in the fuzz.
Mouth open. Silent scream.
You blinked. It was gone.
You turned the TV off. Unplugged it.
Still, it powered on at 3:00 AM.
A voice whispered, “Don’t adjust your set.”
You checked your phone. No WiFi. No bars.
The screen showed your room. But empty.
The remote didn’t work. Nothing did.
You tossed a blanket over the screen.
A burn mark appeared through the fabric.
Shape of a hand. Fingers twitching.
It started spelling your name in ash.
From the hallway, you heard the TV: “Where are you going?”
You smashed the screen. Silence.
Until your reflection in the glass blinked… twice.
That night, your laptop glitched too.
Static, then the same face appeared.
“You brought me here,” it said.
Your phone vibrated with 10 messages: all blank.
Every screen now showed flickers — your face, distorted.
You covered mirrors. Smashed devices.
But the static crawled into your dreams.
You couldn’t wake up. Trapped in pixels.
The voice followed: “You’re not watching. You’re watched.”
Your friends called. Said you sent them a video.
They watched it. All had nosebleeds after.
One hasn’t woken up since.
The video was titled: “EXIT.”
You tried recording a message: “Don’t watch.”
When you played it back, it said: “Keep watching.”
You saw your eyes turn black on screen.
And you smiled — but you don’t remember smiling.
You unplugged everything. Moved to the woods.
No devices. Just candles. Books. Silence.
Then a reflection in the window — your TV.
You turned around. No TV there.
But the static sound started anyway.
This time, it came from inside your head.
You screamed, but the sound distorted.
Your voice became garbled, pixelated.
You looked in the mirror. Static grin.
Your skin was flickering now.