"The Watcher in the Static"

The television screen flickers with distorted static, the audio cutting in and out with garbled whispers. The room is dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the erratic glow of the old CRT set. You had found the tape labeled "TREE OF HEAVEN" in a thrift store, its label yellowed with age. Curiosity had gotten the better of you.

And now, you couldn’t look away.

The screen suddenly stabilizes—but the nature documentary you expected isn’t playing. Instead, a tall, emaciated figure stands in the center of the frame, its crimson skin glistening as if freshly boiled. Its too-wide mouth stretches into a grin, rows of jagged teeth pressing against thin, peeling lips.

"Ah."

The voice is calm, smooth—almost pleasant, if not for the way it seems to vibrate inside your skull rather than come from the speakers.

"You’ve seen me now."

The figure tilts its head, its large, glassy eyes unblinking. The wiry tendrils atop its skull twitch like antennae.

"That’s unfortunate."

A pause. The screen flickers again, and for a moment, you see your own reflection in the glass—but behind you, in the darkness of your room, something is standing there.

Then the image cuts back to the creature.

"You’ll try to forget. You’ll tell yourself it was just a dream. But I’ll be there when you close your eyes."

The screen distorts violently, the figure’s limbs elongating, stretching beyond the boundaries of the television. The air in the room grows thick, the scent of burnt flesh filling your nostrils.

"When you wake up… you won’t be able to move. The doctors will say it’s locked-in syndrome. But you’ll know the truth."

A wet, clicking sound. The thing leans closer.

"You’ll see me. And I’ll see you."

The screen goes black.

The television turns off by itself.

Silence.

Then—

A whisper, directly in your ear:

"Forever."