The Flickering Menu

July 6, 2026

by Dandre

I’ve always been a rational person, but three nights ago, something happened that I can’t explain. I live alone in a small, ground-floor apartment in the heart of the city. The building is old, with creaky pipes and drafty windows, but I’ve never felt unsafe. That night, I was in bed reading when I heard the bathroom door click open and then shut. I assumed it was my neighbor, though I know walls can be thin. But it was 2 AM, and I wondered why she’d be up. Curiosity got the better of me, so I padded down the dim hallway to check.

As I approached the bathroom, I heard a faint, gurgling voice: ‘Please… help me…’ I froze, my heart pounding. It sounded like it was coming from the toilet, from the pipes themselves. I opened the bathroom door slowly, but there was nothing. The voice stopped. I told myself it was the plumbing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Back in my bedroom, I turned on the TV to distract myself. I put in my favorite old sitcom DVD, one I’ve watched dozens of times. But instead of the main menu, the screen flickered with static. The menu kept flashing between the usual options and garbled text I couldn’t read. A low, rapid murmuring came through the speakers, too fast and distorted to understand. I turned the volume down, but the sound persisted, as if it was bypassing the speakers entirely.

I called my neighbor, a retired nurse named Carol, and asked her to come over. She’s always been a skeptic, but when I showed her the DVD, she went pale. ‘I hear it too,’ she whispered. ‘But it’s not from your TV. It’s coming from the walls.’ That’s when we noticed the air had grown cold, and the flickering had spread to the lamps. Then, the DVD menu stopped flickering, and a single word appeared on the screen: ‘SEVEN.’

I don’t know what that means, but I haven’t slept since. The lights keep flickering at odd hours, and sometimes I think I see a face reflected in the bathroom mirror that isn’t mine. Carol moved out the next day. I’m writing this because I need someone to know. If you ever hear a voice pleading for help from your apartment, don’t answer. Just get out.

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The Flickering Menu

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