Glitch [flash fiction]

The screen glitches.

The set looks like scrambled 1980’s porn, you cuddled up to the screen, volume off, watchful that your parents aren’t coming. You reach into your pants.

The screen glitches.

Static flares and the patterns swirl and taunt. Your monkey brain makes faces in the hash and you tilt your head like a dog. You begin to imagine – no, believe – you are in the scene in Poltergeist. Carrie-Anne…

The screen glitches.

The light in the house is on and the blinds are pulled. There’s music, and what appears to be dancing. A police car pulls up, leaves the lights on, and two cops get out. Their breath floats in the air as they check their holsters, look at each other, and walk up to the door.

They knock and nobody answers. One backs away and covers one ear, picks up his radio and you can see his mouth moving as his partner pulls on his belt and kicks the door just on the other side of the handle.

They walk inside.

The screen glitches.

The high-pitched groan screeches and you fumble for the volume, but it’s already down all the way. You twist it up and back again, but nothing changes.

The screen glitches.

You touch the screen and it glows around your finger and begins to hum. Laughter.

A woman with too-bright red lipstick is coming down the stairs on a cruise ship. She looks at no one. Which is to say she looks at everyone. Secretly.

She passes and you smell her perfume. You’re instantly transported to your second grade classroom and the schoolmarm’s smell as she walked past you.

You look down and see a trail of urine.

The screen glitches.

The cops are now inside the house, and there’s a long hallway that faces the street. The house smells… wrong. The rooms are lined up along the hall and each has its blinds closed.

There’s splashing and laughter and loud music, lights flashing. The cop knocks.

Nothing.

The cop calls out.

Nothing.

He opens the door.

Inside is a large hot tub. Six or eight people are in it, splashing around.

Something’s wrong. Terribly wrong. The second cop pukes as he holds onto the door frame and bends over. “God in heaven,” the first cop mumbles and reaches for switch.

The people in the hot tub are all dead, naked, propped up, puppets on sticks attached to a motor. They motor winds down and the dance of the dead stops. Their eyes are gouged out and their heads are fixed in place, staring at the door.

The screen glitches.

“This isn’t a dream. This isn’t a dream. This isn’t a dream.” The voice chants. Becomes almost musical. A high-pitched squeal starts up again. A shiver goes up your spine and you slowly look behind you.

The screen glitches.

Screaming from the alley and a man running, his zippered hoodie billowing behind him. This is too surreal, you think, and you start to believe that it must be a dream. You stand and watch horrors, hoping that it is a dream. Oh, God, please let it be a dream. It’s a dream, right? Right? Help?

The screen glitches.

Two women sit on a bench and look at each other. “One of These Nights” by the Eagles is playing in the background. The lights are low.

There’s a shadow creeping up behind them, and you shake your head and think, “No, no, no! Run!” It’s too late. The great American horror story unfolds in front of you and you just stare.

The killer looks at you. “This is good,” you think as the adrenaline fades, excited that you lost yourself in it for a moment. The killer’s hand reaches out and begins to press on the television screen. You fall back and the hand grabs your ankle and digs its fingernails into your flesh.

You kick at the hand and it lets go. You turn off the TV and the arm severs and wilts in front of you, leaving a black, powdery mess on the floor.

The screen glitches and turns back on.

 
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Author’s notes

Everyone says that you should never write in the second person. It’s awful and nobody likes it.

Challenge accepted.

I don’t think it actually came out badly, but I do see where people wouldn’t like it. I’ve never written this way before, but I’m stretching myself after not having written in over a month.

The screen glitching, in my mind, is like a channel changing to a channel that’s just static for a moment, like on old TVs where it would go all haywire for a fraction of a second. In that second, sometimes you could swear you saw something. Perhaps, in the wee morning hours, you DID see something, and you lost control of it…

4 thoughts on “Glitch [flash fiction]”

  1. Ooh, creepy! Great ending. And the glitching is probably yet another thing the newer generations will not experience. Hard to get a horror story out of Netflix bombing you out due to a phantom HDMI cable problem…

  2. Yeah, I suppose it starts to show my age that I’ve actually twisted a knob on an old TV. My kids have never used anything but a remote and would rather not watch than get up and manually change the channel!

    Maybe this just sets the stage for more ideas. What’s lost in the new tech? Phantoms? Portals? Demons? And where do they go once they’re obsolete?

  3. The short paragraphs did a great job of ratcheting up the tension. This is a great experimental piece. Second person is hard to pull off but in a short piece like this its possible and you made it work very well.

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