Beyond the Screen

****

The story I want to tell still keeps me in fear. I can’t vouch for its truthfulness, but I heard it from a fairly reliable source. This is how it went.

About five years ago, an ordinary family lived in the city of N.: a mother, a father, and their 15-year-old son. For a long time they had been cramped in a communal apartment, until at last they were handed the keys to their own place. It’s hard to describe how thrilled they were. What does it mean to have your own corner for people who have spent most of their lives in tight conditions? It’s pure paradise! They enthusiastically began moving their things and fixing up their new living space. Their son—let’s call him Igor—was thrilled as well. Finally, his own room with a TV! He had dreamed of it since he was seven, but since his parents weren’t well-off, they couldn’t afford it.

And so the moving day arrived. In high spirits, the family entered the apartment, once again admiring how good everything was. Igor, however, upon crossing the threshold, felt a vague sense of unease, but he chalked it up to the nervous tension that had been following him for several days. “It’s all because of the hustle,” he thought.

That first night he couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, unable to understand why. Igor felt terribly tired, but sleep wouldn’t come. Tossing and turning in bed, he noticed that the little light on his brand-new television was flickering nervously. Getting up, Igor pulled the plug from the socket so the blinking wouldn’t keep him from concentrating on sleep. But before he could lie back down, it was as if icy water had been poured over him. Why was the light flickering? Power outages? No, the building was new. Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t have the strength to figure it out, and the boy finally fell into a deep sleep.

Waking up in the morning, he began replaying the memories of the night before, but in the light of day everything that had happened no longer seemed so frightening or strange. Leaving his room, he noticed that the apartment was unusually quiet, with no sounds except those coming from the television in his parents’ room. Peeking in, Igor saw his parents watching some kind of program with interest. After standing behind them for a few minutes, Igor coughed, but even that didn’t attract their attention. Walking around the couch, the boy looked at his parents. What he saw left him numb with horror: they were staring at the screen with empty, expressionless eyes, and their lips were moving rhythmically, as if they were uttering some kind of spell. Shaking off his fear, Igor reached the couch in a single leap and shook his father by the shoulder. His father turned the same empty gaze toward him and, without saying a word, stared back at the screen. After standing in terror and stupor for a couple of minutes, the boy ran to the television and simply yanked out the cord. For several seconds nothing happened, and Igor stood there with his back to his parents, afraid to turn around. Then he heard his mother’s familiar voice behind him:

“Igoryok, why are you up so early? We haven’t even had time to make breakfast yet...”

There it was—relief! With a trembling smile, the boy turned around and rushed into the arms of his confused mother.

Igor soon regretted telling them what he had seen. Of course, no one believed him. His parents insisted they had been watching an ordinary talk show and that he must have dreamed it all. The only proof was the cord lying near the outlet. But for that, the boy was simply scolded—he had interfered with their TV watching, apparently.

Until evening, Igor walked around in fear. He tried to find something unnatural in the apartment, but found nothing. And in the evening it all happened again, only much worse. Now his parents weren’t just moving their lips—they were shouting some kind of curses, and it felt as if someone was watching from the corner of the room. The same trick helped again. As soon as the television screen went dark, Igor heard snoring behind him. Turning around, he saw his parents peacefully asleep, their heads thrown back. He didn’t wake them. Not a single coherent thought came to him. He didn’t understand how any of this could be stopped. Change apartments? As if his parents would agree—especially since no one believed him. All that remained was to wait, to wait for something unknown, and to hope that whatever it was wouldn’t seriously harm his parents.

A week passed, and the boy noticed that his parents’ behavior had changed: they went outside much less often and completely stopped communicating with friends. And their looks… their looks became vacant. They looked at their son as if he were a stranger, and only ordinary politeness kept them from throwing him out of the apartment.

The climax came a month later—if it can even be called a climax. Igor woke up at six in the morning because he felt uncomfortable lying down. Trying to move, he realized that something was holding him—holding him tightly. He forced his eyes open and saw that his arms and legs were tied to the bed, and the apartment was filled with an oppressive silence. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Igor began calling for his parents, then for the neighbors, then for anyone at all. He screamed, tried to break free, but it was all in vain…

Igor was heard and found only two days later—pale, emaciated, tormented. His parents were never found. After a long period of rehabilitation, he was called in for questioning. There he told what he had seen, with little hope that anyone would believe him. That’s exactly what happened. He was listened to and let go, but later, when he was at home, they came for him. Igor is now in a psychiatric clinic. Doctors say there is no visible brain damage, but despite this, the boy is panic-stricken by televisions. And where his parents are—no one knows. There is nothing that could lead the investigation to their whereabouts.