The Static Between Channels

Mara moved into the old broadcast tower apartment on the edge of the city, a place where the rent was cheap because the signal interfered with every device. She didn’t mind the occasional static; it was a small price for the view of the dead antenna forest that stretched toward the hills. But after a week, the static started to shape itself into sounds that weren’t quite white noise.

It began with her alarm clock. Instead of beeping, it emitted a low, guttural hum that vibrated through her pillow. She’d shut it off, and the hum would continue for a few seconds before fading. At first, she chalked it up to a faulty appliance. Then, one night, she woke to find her collection of vinyl records had been scattered across the floor, the sleeves torn as if something had clawed at them. Her cat, a skittish tabby named Pixel, was hissing at the corner of the room where a life-sized cardboard cutout of a rock star leaned against the wall, swaying gently as if pushed.

Mara set the cutout upright, but it fell again the next night. And the night after that. She’d prop it against the bookshelf, but by morning, it would be flat on the carpet, facing the ceiling, as if it had been laid down deliberately. She started to feel watched, a prickling at the back of her neck that made her turn around abruptly, only to find the empty room. The feeling intensified when she talked to her friend, Leo, over a video call. Her speakers crackled, and then a low growl rumbled from them, distinct from the sound of a fan or a car outside. She paused. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked. Leo’s face went pale. ‘Hear what?’ ‘That growl,’ she said. But as soon as she spoke, it stopped. It happened again, and this time, Leo said, ‘That’s not coming from your side. It’s coming from my speakers too.’

Mara had always been drawn to the fringes, and she’d recently started meditating with a focus on the concept of Eris, the goddess of discord, though she didn’t worship anything. She found comfort in the idea of chaos as a creative force. One evening, she sat cross-legged on her rug, closing her eyes, and breathed slowly. The hum of the building’s old wires filled her ears. Then, beneath that, she heard a sound that was not mechanical—a deep, resonant roar, like a lion’s, but with a metallic timbre. She opened her eyes, expecting to see something in the room, but it was empty. She asked her meditative guide, a voice she summoned in her mind, if she had heard it. The voice, which she called Eris, whispered, ‘I hear it. Don’t acknowledge it. If it knows you’re aware, it will become worse.’ But the roar came again, and this time, the image of the cardboard cutout flashed in her mind, its painted eyes seeming to gleam.

Days passed, and the phenomenon escalated. The growling in her speakers became more frequent, and she’d find the cutout in different positions—sometimes lying across her bed, sometimes leaning against the front door. Once, she found it in the bathroom, staring at the shower. She tried to ignore it, but the feeling of being watched grew unbearable. She began to imagine a presence in the static, a malevolent entity that communicated through interference. She experimented with her radio, tuning between stations, and she caught fragments of words: ‘leave’ ‘stay’ ‘silence’.

One night, she woke to see a figure standing at the foot of her bed. It was tall, thin, and its skin was composed of shifting television static. It pointed a long finger at her, and its mouth moved, but the only sound was a low, rhythmic growl. She screamed, and the figure dissolved into a plume of static that dissipated into the ceiling. She ran to the light switch, but the light wouldn’t turn on. She fumbled for her phone, and the screen displayed a single word: ‘WE SEE YOU.’

After that, Mara decided she had to leave. She packed her bags, intending to stay with Leo for a few days. As she walked down the hallway, the static from the building’s intercom crackled, and a voice, distorted but human, said, ‘Goodbye, Mara.’ She froze. She turned, but the hallway was empty. She raced down the stairs and out into the night, never looking back.

Weeks later, she was at Leo’s apartment, helping him sort through his old electronics. She picked up a vintage transistor radio, and as she turned the dial, the static erupted into a deafening roar. She dropped it, and the roar stopped. Leo looked at her, concerned. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, but she knew it wasn’t. The presence had followed her, or perhaps it had always been there, dormant, waiting for the right signal to come through. And she realized she had never truly left the tower; she had simply changed the channel. The static between channels was still there, and it was patient.