The Thing in the Static

The first sign was the silence. Not an ordinary quiet, but a deep, absorbent hush, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Then, the power died. Not with a flicker, but a final, decisive thump from the breaker box in the basement.

I was alone. My parents were at a weekend conference, and the storm that had been threatening all evening had finally arrived, lashing the windows with rain. I lit a candle, its small, dancing flame making the shadows in the living room writhe.

That’s when I heard it. A low, wet, rhythmic sound. Shhh-thump. Shhh-thump. Like someone wringing out a heavy, sopping rag. It was coming from the television.

The screen was dead black, but the sound was unmistakable. My skin prickled. I took a step closer. The candlelight glinted off the dark glass.

Shhh-thump. Shhh-thump.

I reached out, my fingers hovering over the power button. I pressed it. Nothing. I pressed it again.

The screen flickered to life. Not to a channel, but to a searing, frantic blast of white noise. The static screamed, a torrent of meaningless hisses and pops. And in the center of the chaos, a shape began to form.

It was a face, but not a human one. It was elongated, its features smeared and distorted as if seen through running water. It had no eyes, just deep, black pits that seemed to pull at the light. Its mouth was a slack, dark oval, and from it came the sound. Shhh-thump. Shhh-thump.

It was breathing.

I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs. The thing in the static turned its head. Slowly, deliberately. It was looking at me.

“Nnnnooo ssssiiignnnal,” a voice hissed, not from the speakers, but from all around me, a dry rustle like dead leaves skittering across pavement.

I turned and ran. I didn’t know where to go. The storm raged outside, and the thing was inside the house, inside the very wires. I scrambled into the kitchen, fumbling for my phone on the counter. No service. The screen was filled with the same frantic, screaming static.

I threw it down with a cry.

From the living room, the sound changed. The shhh-thump stopped. Now, it was a slow, deliberate drag. Something heavy, being pulled across the floor.

I peered around the doorframe. The television screen was black again, but the room was colder. And the shadow my reading lamp cast on the far wall was wrong. It wasn't the lamp's shape. It was tall, thin, and its head was cocked at an impossible angle.

It was the thing’s shadow. And it was no longer on the screen.

The dragging sound was closer now, just on the other side of the sofa. I could smell it—a metallic, ozonic stench, like the air after a lightning strike, mixed with the damp rot of a long-closed tomb.

I backed into the hallway, toward the front door. My hand fumbled for the deadbolt, my fingers slick with sweat. It was locked. I twisted the knob, my breath coming in ragged sobs.

The dragging sound was in the hallway with me.

I didn't dare look. I could feel it, a freezing presence at my back, sapping the warmth from the air. I finally got the deadbolt to turn and yanked the door open.

I fell out into the storm, the cold rain a shocking blessing on my skin. I scrambled to my feet, ready to run into the night, and risk the storm over the thing in my house.

I looked back, through the open door.

It was standing in the doorway, its form no longer distorted by static but horrifyingly solid. It was impossibly tall, its head brushing the top of the frame. It wasn't smiling. It was just… waiting.

The rain didn't touch it. The drops seemed to avoid its form entirely.

It took a step forward, over the threshold, and into the storm.

And I realized, with a terror so complete it froze the scream in my throat, that it was never trapped in the television. The television was just a window. And now the window was open.