The Static Gaze

August 11, 2026

by Mustafa

I hadn’t posted in months, not since the last incident. I’d convinced myself it was a fluke, a trick of the light, a stress-induced hallucination. My therapist said ‘acute anxiety, possible sleep paralysis.’ I wanted to believe her. But last night, at my friend’s cabin in the woods, the truth came back with a vengeance.

We were deep in a game of ‘Phasmophobia’ on the old laptop, the only light in the room coming from the screen. My friend, Marcus, was laughing at a virtual ghost’s antics. I laughed too, but a familiar chill crept up my spine. I needed to use the bathroom. The cabin’s bathroom was down the hall, past the living room where the TV was permanently set to static ever since the antenna broke. We never bothered to fix it; the white noise was oddly comforting.

As I washed my hands, I saw it in the mirror. A tall, thin figure, blacker than the night outside, standing right behind me. My breath hitched. I spun around, but nothing was there. The mirror showed only my pale, terrified face. I told myself it was my imagination, just like before.

Back in the living room, the static on the TV grew louder, a hissing that seemed to pulse. I glanced in, and there it was again, standing in front of the screen, its form absorbing the light, featureless except for two pale white eyes that drilled into me. My blood ran cold. I felt a terrible urge to look away, but I couldn’t. Then it was gone.

I hurried back to the bedroom, my heart pounding. Marcus was still focused on the game. ‘Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ he joked. I forced a laugh. ‘Just need some air.’ I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t.

Then the temperature in the room dropped. Marcus shivered. ‘Did you leave a window open?’ He got up to check. As he approached the door, I saw it again, hovering just outside the doorway, but this time, Marcus walked right through it, oblivious. He returned, ‘No drafts. Weird.’ The figure was now in the corner of the room, its head tilted, as if curious. Only I could see it.

I tried to ignore it, focusing on the game. But the static from the living room grew louder, drowning out the game’s audio. Marcus didn’t seem to notice. Then, the figure began to move. It glided across the room, stopping directly behind Marcus. It raised a long, bony hand and placed it on Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus shivered violently. ‘Whoa, sudden chill. You feel that?’ My eyes were wide. I couldn’t speak. The figure’s head turned to me, and its mouth opened, not to scream, but to let out the static. The sound filled the room, and I saw Marcus’s eyes go vacant, his mouth open, and he started to convulse.

I grabbed his arm, shaking him. ‘Marcus! Marcus!’ He blinked, then looked around confused. ‘Dude, I just spaced out. You okay? You look worse than I do.’ The figure was now gone, but I knew it was just waiting.

I couldn’t stay. I made an excuse about feeling sick and left. As I drove away, the static sound followed me, fading in and out. In my rearview mirror, I saw the figure standing on the cabin porch, its white eyes fixed on my car. I didn’t look back again. I drove until the sun came up, and I vowed never to return. But I know it’s not over. That thing is still out there, and next time, it might not just haunt me.

Since that night, I’ve heard static in my own home, in the hum of my refrigerator, the buzz of my laptop charger. And in the reflection of my own screen, I sometimes see a shadow that drifts too slowly to be mine. It’s coming for me, and I’m terrified that one day, I’ll be the one staring back with empty, static-filled eyes.

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