The Static in the Hallway

When I was twelve, my cousin Mira would freeze mid-play, her eyes wide and unfocused, then bolt to Aunt Lena sobbing. We lived in the same house, a sprawling Victorian that had seen better decades. The adults dismissed it as a phase, but I was different. I’d been devouring library books on the paranormal, convinced Mira saw something we couldn’t. I told Aunt Lena that Mira was ‘sensitive,’ but she laughed it off, patting my head and saying, ‘Kids and their imaginations.’

Mira’s episodes grew more frequent, always at odd hours. She’d point at corners, whispering about ‘the tall man with the hollow eyes.’ But then, she started kindergarten, and the incidents stopped. I figured whatever had been there had moved on. I forgot about it, until two years later, when Aunt Lena called me over, her face pale. She said, ‘Mira might be sensitive, after all.’ I couldn’t resist a smug ‘I told you so,’ but then she explained.

Last night, Mira had fallen asleep in her bed, but woke up around 10:30, crying. She said she’d dreamed the television in her room turned off by itself, and it scared her. Aunt Lena soothed her, tucked her back in, and headed to the living room. But not even five minutes later, the TV in the living room, which had been on, powering down with a soft click. Aunt Lena thought it was just a glitch. But then the hallway lights flickered, and she heard a faint static, like a radio between stations, coming from the direction of Mira’s room.

She walked down the hall, and the static grew louder, shaping into a whisper. It said, ‘I see her.’ Aunt Lena froze. The door to Mira’s room was ajar, and inside, the room was bathed in an eerie blue light from the TV, which was off. And in the corner, a tall figure stood, its outline rippling like heat. It turned its head, and its eyes were hollow pits, and it whispered, ‘She can see me, but I want you to know.’

Aunt Lena screamed and ran to grab Mira, but the figure was already gone. Mira woke up, confused, and said, ‘He said he’s been waiting for me to be old enough to play.’ I knew then that the sensitivity had never left. It had just been waiting for Mira to grow into its game.

Now, I’m the one who watches the hallways, listening for the static. And I know, one day, it will speak to me too.