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Ssh.   She’s turning out the lights.

She already checked and locked the back door.   Lucky she didn’t do it a few minutes earlier.   Just stand here behind this wall a minute while she passes.   Don’t want to be seen yet.   She’s clicking the final light switch – hear her climb the stairs.


Do it now.

Eerie, isn’t it?   Room bathed in flickering blue-grey light, the uncanny angry buzz of white noise and the glowing box of black and fluorescent pixels swarming fiercely.

Turn it up a bit.


Hear that?


Uneasy feet feeling their way back down the stairs.   Cautious, irregular, trying instinctively not to be heard.   Still advance.

Step back in the shadows.   Fall back.   Slow motion.   Here – in this doorway, through the kitchen – wait.   Look around the corner.

There she is.   Herself an unearthly white figure, washed out by the stuttering light against the black hallway.   Foot of the stairs, animal caught in the deadlights, on pause as brain works on the puzzle – why is the TV turned on?

Then her station tunes in as the realization comes into focus, and she’s looking this way, but too late to see the blur of fast forward as the monster moves impossibly swiftly from out of the dark, and the white noise obscures the black horror of it, until the show is over.

The show is over.

Press stop.






  1. Creepy! I’ve been hearing strange noises late at night, too. Now I’ll never get to sleep.

    Uh, is it true that you can’t come in w/o an invite?

  2. Goodbye Jonathan.

  3. Didn’t he already say that’s not true?

    • He did say it’s not true, but he lies.

  4. yep, he said it’s not true, and he said he lies

    I’m glad I read that in the morning, I’m always the last to lock up!

    Hey Jonathon, do dogs in a house bother you? not that they’d stop you, but warning people?

  5. Thank you, Jonathon for the nightmarish, surreal visions that will slither into my psyche and fester (and replay). You’re a sly and inventive creep.

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