It starts with the hole in the wall—tiny at first, just a pinprick. You barely notice it until the draft seeps through. That night, your TV flickers on by itself, static humming in the darkness. You turn it off. The next night, it happens again. This time, you hear whispers buried in the noise.

Each night, the hole widens. The static follows you, leaking from your phone, your radio, even your dreams. Then, one night, you wake to find the TV showing a live feed of your room. In the corner of the screen, something moves—a shifting shadow just out of sight. You turn, heart pounding. The hole is bigger now, wide enough to see through.

You step closer, breath shallow, and press your eye to the dark opening. Something is looking back—a single, unblinking eye, pale and glassy. The static surges, warping into a voice, high and jagged, giggling through the distortion.

“I see you. I see you. I SEE YOU. ISEEYOU ISEEYOU ISEEYOU—”