The Ceiling Light

January 20, 2026

by Justice

In the autumn of 2002, I was living in a converted farmhouse on the outskirts of a small town in eastern Ohio. The house was old, but the previous owner had recently rewired it, and there were no known electrical issues. That night, I had just crawled into bed, facing the wall, with my back to the small TV on the dresser. I was still wide awake, letting my mind wander.

Suddenly, the TV blared to life behind me, volume cranked to maximum. A man’s voice, distorted and harsh, shouted a few words I couldn’t make out before the screen went black. The sudden noise made me freeze. My heart pounded as I slowly turned over, half expecting to see someone in the room. The TV was still glowing, that faint greenish-white afterimage that old CRT sets cast when they’re turned off. But it was dead. The remote had been missing for over three years, and the TV was well over a decade old, never once turning on by itself.

I sat up, trying to calm my racing heart, and that’s when I saw it. High up near the ceiling, just above the TV, a small figure, no more than a foot and a half tall, floated in the air. It was glowing with a soft, white light, almost like a reflection of the TV’s afterimage, but brighter, more ethereal. It had no discernible features, just a vague humanoid shape, seeming to hover without any visible support. I stared, my breath caught in my throat, as it slowly drifted sideways, then began to descend, moving with an unsettling, almost graceful motion.

I was paralyzed. The figure floated down until it was level with my face, barely an arm’s length away. It stopped there, hanging in the air, as if examining me. The room was silent except for the hum of the old refrigerator down the hall. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but no explanation came. The figure hovered for a long, tense moment, then, as if losing interest, it turned and drifted toward the door, passing through it effortlessly.

I don’t remember how long I stayed frozen in that bed, staring at the door. When I finally dared to move, I grabbed my phone and called my sister, who lived a few miles away. She came over and sat with me until dawn, but we both knew there was no logical explanation. The next day, I checked the TV’s power cord, the wiring in the walls, everything. Nothing was amiss. The TV never turned on by itself again, and I never saw the little glowing figure again.

But sometimes, late at night, when I’m lying in bed facing the wall, I listen for the sudden burst of static, and I wonder if the ceiling light was just a reflection, or if something else is waiting to reappear.

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