Chapter 1: The Black Flicker

It was a cold evening, the kind where the air outside felt sharp and uninviting, but inside, the warmth of my small apartment was comforting. The only light in the room came from the flickering television screen, casting a soft glow on the worn furniture. I’d been looking forward to this moment all day: a quiet evening alone with a new movie I’d purchased from a second-hand store. The title promised a chilling psychological thriller—a movie that would keep me up at night, questioning everything.

I settled onto the couch, the blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The film began, its opening scenes simple, establishing the setting and characters, as most thrillers do. The old film grain danced across the screen, adding a nostalgic feel, like I was watching something from the past, something that shouldn’t have been so accessible in the present. But then, something strange began to happen.

At first, I thought it was a glitch—just a flaw in the DVD, maybe a scratch or imperfection in the transfer. It happened in the corner of the frame, a strange flicker that appeared to be… a figure? No, that couldn’t be right. I rubbed my eyes, blinking to clear the fuzziness. The figure didn’t go away.

It was a shadow, a black streak that seemed to move slightly, but only in the corner of the screen. I paused the film, my fingers trembling as I reached for the remote. The image froze, but the figure didn’t disappear. It lingered. For a moment, I just stared at it, confused.

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. It wasn’t a part of the scene—no, this figure wasn’t supposed to be there. It was out of place. I rewound the film, hoping that it would reveal itself to be nothing more than a glitch. I needed an explanation, something rational.

I pressed play again, and the film resumed, the figure still there. It wasn’t just in one scene—it was in every scene. Always in the corner, always at the same spot. The film continued, but I was no longer watching the story. I was watching the figure. It moved, imperceptibly at first, as though it were waiting for something.

Maybe it was just a flaw in the film, I thought again. Maybe it was just the disc, maybe it was nothing. I convinced myself to keep watching, trying to ignore the feeling creeping up my spine. The figure was still there, always in the corner. I could barely focus on the plot anymore. My mind kept returning to it.

It was there during the tense moments, when the characters were in peril. It was there during the quiet, intimate scenes. It never moved into the center of the frame, never became the focus. But it was there, lurking, like it had always been part of the film, like it belonged.

I squinted at the screen, trying to figure out what it was. A reflection? A shadow from the room? But the angles didn’t match. The lighting didn’t fit. The figure didn’t belong. It was something else, something darker.

My heart began to race. What the hell was it? I took a deep breath and grabbed my phone. Googling the film, I hoped someone else had seen the same thing, that this was some sort of known issue with the DVD. Maybe a manufacturing error. But nothing came up. No reviews, no complaints. I found only positive comments about the film’s atmosphere, its slow burn. No mention of a shadow, no mention of the figure.

I felt my breath catch in my chest. This wasn’t normal. I shut off the TV and sat in the dark, the glow of the screen still faintly illuminating the room. The figure lingered in my mind, even though the film had ended. I rubbed my temples, trying to shake the feeling. But it wouldn’t go away.

I stood up, pacing the room, trying to shake off the unease that had settled deep in my bones. “It’s just a movie,” I muttered to myself, trying to convince myself that it was nothing. That I was just tired. That the figure was a trick of the light. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just a glitch. It was something else. Something more.

I sat back down, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV back on. My fingers hovered over the play button. The thought of watching the film again, knowing what I had seen, made my skin crawl. But I couldn’t stop myself. I had to know what it was. I had to prove to myself that it was just a defect.

I pressed play, and the movie began again. But this time, I wasn’t watching the characters. I wasn’t even watching the plot unfold. My eyes were fixed on the corner of the screen, where the figure had always been. And there it was again, just as before. A dark, human-shaped silhouette, barely noticeable, but undeniable.

The figure moved.

I froze. It shifted in the corner, just slightly, like it had noticed me watching it. My heart pounded in my chest, and I turned off the TV again, too quickly this time. The screen went dark, but the image of that shadow lingered in my mind. It wasn’t just a film defect. It wasn’t a glitch. It was something real. Something alive.

I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t know what it was. But it was no longer confined to the screen. It was with me now. Always at the edges of my vision, just beyond my reach.

As I sat there in the dark, the figure’s presence lingered. Not on the screen, but in the silence of my apartment. And I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that turning off the TV hadn’t made it go away.

I’d been watching it. But now, it was watching me.

Chapter 2: The Whispering Dark

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains seemed almost mocking. It was too bright, too normal. I hadn’t slept a wink. The shadow, that figure, lingered in the back of my mind, refusing to let go. I could still see it in my head—its shifting form, the way it moved ever so slightly when I wasn’t looking directly at it.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. The room seemed darker, even with the sunlight pouring through the windows. And when I tried to focus on other things, the figure was there, hovering just beyond my vision, like a stain on my consciousness. I was exhausted, mentally and physically, but I had no choice but to go to work. Life couldn’t stop just because I had watched a movie the night before.

I grabbed my coffee and sat down in front of my laptop, hoping the usual routine would ease my mind. But no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept drifting back to the movie. I checked my phone, hoping for a distraction, but all I saw was an unread message from my best friend, Rachel.

“Hey, watched that movie you recommended. Kinda creepy, but I liked it! What did you think?”

I stared at the message for a moment. Rachel had been the one to suggest it in the first place, telling me that it was a hidden gem of a thriller, just the kind of eerie, atmospheric film I loved. She had always been into obscure movies, the ones that pushed boundaries, and I’d trusted her judgment. But now, seeing her words felt like a slap in the face. Did she see it? Did she notice the figure too?

I typed back quickly.

“Yeah, creepy… but it’s nothing, just a glitch. I’m sure it’s fine.”

I sent the message, hoping to convince myself more than Rachel. But the doubt that had crept into my mind made me uneasy. I had to confront it. I had to go back and watch the film again. Maybe, just maybe, the figure would be gone.

That evening, I came home to an empty apartment. The quiet felt oppressive, suffocating almost. I tossed my keys onto the counter, my movements automatic, as I reached for the remote. The TV flickered to life in front of me, and I stared at the black screen for a moment, a shiver running down my spine. What was I doing? Why was I doing this to myself?

The disc was still in the player, untouched since last night. I pressed play, telling myself it was just curiosity. That it would be different this time. The movie started, and I braced myself for what I knew would happen. The figure was still there, lurking in the corner of the frame. But this time, it wasn’t just there. It was… different.

It was moving more than before. Not just a slight shift, but a real, deliberate motion, as if it was becoming aware of me watching it. A part of me wanted to turn off the TV immediately, but I couldn’t. I had to understand what it was.

And then, something happened that made my stomach drop. The figure didn’t stay in the corner anymore. It moved across the frame, sliding slowly from one edge to the other. I blinked rapidly, my mind trying to reject what I was seeing. I must have imagined it. It was just a trick of the light, a shadow on the screen. But as the figure continued to move, it became clear that this was no accident.

It wasn’t part of the film anymore. It wasn’t a visual glitch. It was… watching me.

I froze, unable to breathe. My heart was racing, and I could feel the pulse in my ears, ringing like a loud drumbeat. The figure shifted again, this time closer to the center of the screen. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. The silence of the room felt like it was suffocating me.

Suddenly, the TV flickered, and the image distorted, warping into static. I jerked back, my hand instinctively reaching for the remote to turn it off. But before I could press the button, a cold chill ran down my spine, and I heard it. A faint, almost imperceptible whisper, coming from the TV. It wasn’t from the speakers. It felt like it was coming from inside my own mind.

“You can’t escape…”

I slammed the power button, cutting off the connection with the screen. The room fell into complete silence, but the whispering didn’t stop. It was inside my head now. I could feel it, pressing against my thoughts, forcing its way into my consciousness.

I backed away from the TV, my hands trembling. Sweat clung to my skin as I tried to process what was happening. It couldn’t be real. There was no such thing as ghosts or curses. It was just a film, a freak coincidence.

But it felt real. Too real.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers shaking as I typed out a message to Rachel.

“Rachel, I think something’s wrong with that movie. I keep seeing this figure in the corner of the screen. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s… it’s like it’s alive. I need to talk to you.”

I stared at the message, waiting for a reply, but there was no immediate response. The seconds dragged on like hours. My gaze shifted back to the TV, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in the black screen. I quickly looked away, my breath shallow and uneven.

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus, and worst of all, I couldn’t get rid of the figure. It had become a part of my life now, no longer just confined to the movie. It was here, with me, in my apartment. Watching.

The phone buzzed, and I snapped out of my stupor, looking at the screen. It was Rachel.

“That’s weird, Mark. I didn’t see anything like that in the movie. Maybe your DVD is just corrupted? Why don’t you try another copy? Or you could return it.”

I read her response twice, trying to make sense of it, but something didn’t sit right. Rachel had watched the same movie. So why didn’t she see it? Why wasn’t she as freaked out as I was?

The phone buzzed again, this time from an unknown number.

“You’re starting to notice now, aren’t you? You’re not alone anymore.”

I froze. My blood ran cold. It was the same voice, the same whisper from the TV.

Who was this? How did they know?

I ran my hand through my hair, fighting the rising panic. The figure wasn’t just in the movie. It had moved beyond the screen, into the very real world I lived in.

And it was coming for me.

I turned off the phone and sat in the dark, the silence closing in around me. But no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, no matter how many times I told myself it wasn’t real, deep down I knew the truth. The figure was real. And it wasn’t just a shadow on a screen anymore. It was coming.

And I was trapped.