Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep124: Episode 124: TV Channel Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 12, 2023

First up we have ''There's a Reason We Can't Watch TV After 8:30 PM And It’s Not Because of Watershed'' by Deacon Clarke, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. u/DeaconClarke/   Our second story is ''The Channel'' by Meatzone, again read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Channel https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Meatzone We follow that with ''Paranormal HQ TV'' by Lyra Alluse, once more read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:LyraAlluse https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Paranormal_HQ_TV Our penultimate tale of terror is''The Cable Box'' by Malcolm Teller, AKA Kryptonovich: read here with the author’s express permission. r/libraryofshadows/comments/6aps29/the_cable_box Our final story this evening is ''The Children's Show'' by Rainy Windows, read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Rainywindows https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Children%27s_Show

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Our television. That one invention that enables you to be entertained in your own living room by people you would never dream of having in your home. So we will see in tonight's five tales of terror. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution.

Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, Then let's begin. There's a reason we can't watch TV after 8.30pm. And it's not because of the watershed. If someone is reading this, and I hope someone is because I'll be lobotomized soon

and forced to forget everything. I want to prove my innocence. I spent so many years locked in this sanitarium and awe for protecting the children from that monster of a man. But now it seems I've fallen into the hands of his creation. Please get this out so the children will be safe from the man of a thousand faces. Back when I lived in the small town of Arkham, Massachusetts, it was little I could do at ten years old other than indulge my love of TV. Oh, I loved it so much. It's a shame that it was muscled out by the internet.

I remembered my miss spent shodder days just sat there in front of the beautiful box. Whether I was watching my favourite weekend cartoons or tuning into game shows right after school, you'd be hard-pressed to find a day when I wasn't in front of the set. However, like many other children around the area in which I lived, I was forced away from my precious TV at 8.30. The main reason was due to the watershed ending. Now I'd argue bordering on straight up fighting with my mum to let me watch until 10pm, but I was always told no, and if I kept on watching the TV past that time,

The man of a thousand faces would find and kidnap me never to be seen again. I personally didn't believe in the urban legend, but both my parents and even grandparents were adamant of his existence. I go to school and feel left out as my friends would tell me of the cool shows that were broadcast past watershed, like the outrageous Saturday Night Live or WWF, yet none of them had ever seen the man of a thousand faces. On the 20th of February, I remember walking to school and seeing a woman. The flyer stuck to a post, and as always the flyer was a missing person report. This wasn't uncommon, sadly, but I developed a passion for collecting these flyers. Missing.

Kelly Rune disappeared on the 15th of February, last seen watching TV at her dad's house. I grabbed the flyer and shoved it into my pocket to present to my friends at school. I had, after all, sat next to Kelly all of last year and felt it only right to get her disappearance noticed. I guess I understood why. A small girl who was known to have an alcoholic dad and attempted to run away before might not seem like the work of a fairy tale man living in the TV, but, well, this felt off. A few children had disappeared from around our town and were usually found departed just outside the industrial estates. The first few disappearances went under everyone's radar.

But when a child named Tyler McMolley, rest his soul, was taken, Then, it shook the town. Tyler was the first child who was found alive, if he could call it that. His body was covered entirely with puncture holes that led into his veins. His veins themselves seemed all but collapsed, but he was missing both a kidney and his liver. Apparently his very last words were, Don't let the man of a thousand faces get me. But this was from an unreliable source, so take that as you will. I overheard the stories that circulated and soon they gave birth to the urban legend of Tyler McMolley. One of our popular story that kids told on the playground went that one night Tyler was watching his favorite TV show marathon cartoon network.

When the clocks turned to 8.30, Tyler was sent to bed, angry and defiant. Well, Tyler waited for his parents to go to bed and then he made his move. Like a ninja, he silently slipped out of bed and threw the crack in his door, softly tiptoed. down the stairs and into his living room where he turned on the TV. Tyler sat down with a remote in one hand and a few chocolate bars that he dashed away and he began searching the channels. After a while Tyler kept seeing a character that was dressed in the same suit but had a different person wearing it that corresponded to the show. A prime instance was the black and white checkered suit that was worn by a news anchor and then in the next program there was a children's show

with a person's head replaced with a puppet. Tyler became more and more discomfited by this, but continued looking through the shows until the early hours of the morning. When Tyler's parents woke up at 7 a.m., they were in fits of panic. Tyler had vanished from the house. The only thing left of him was the TV remote, a few chocolate bars and his imprint in the chair. The neighbours and the police were no help either. Everyone just assumed Tyler had run away until they found his barely living body that was. The story did its rounds with a playground like any normal horror story would.

From that day on, I began collecting the flyers. When I presented the flyer to my friends and told them the man of a thousand faces had captured another child, they all laughed at me. No one more so than my best friend. My best friend was a guy named Robert, and he for one definitely didn't believe in the man of a thousand faces. In fact, he would actively scrutinize me for even talking about him. Robert was what you call a no-nonsense person with a very forceful attitude to boot,

so much so that the nickname he had until his untimely passing was bossy Bart. As part of a plan to show me this man of a thousand faces was a fabrication, Robert invited me to a sleepover at his house. Once I'd arrived at the house, we began watching TV up until we were told to turn it off by his parents. Robert, mockingly said, oh we know we'll risk being kidnapped by the man of a thousand faces Robert scoffed his parents and continued to proclaim that we were adults now and we should be able to watch the good post-watershed programs

when his mother became adamant I'm not wanting to be sent back home myself I dragged Robert to his room though be it through his angered gritted teeth as we sat in the decent-sized bedroom I decided to recite a horror story based on my interpretation of the man of a thousand thousand faces. I believe he must have been a former TV personality who one day upset the wrong people by calling a family irresponsible or something. Then, as he left his show set, he was kidnapped. The people who jumped him drove him out to the now empty industrial district,

where they beat him and left him in a blood heap, but alive. Fate, however, had a different idea. A large, loose piece of roof fell onto his neck, severing his head. Now in death his spirit takes children away from irresponsible parents to show them a better future, and those who would rather return home would end up dead and stripped of their organs for the other children to eat. Word for word, Robert says, What a load of bull. That's put me right asleep. The unimpressed tone ringing from his voice.

I angrily turned to face the wall to sleep. I didn't need to talk to him during this sleepover after all. Just before I did fall asleep, I saw Robert stand up and mutter something like, I'll prove it's false. I was woken violently by Robert shaking me. Through my haze, I could see his face looking twisted and distorted through the dark. He almost looked like he was about to die from fear. In my sleepy state, I attempted to ask what was going on,

but all Robert did was begin to rock back and forth, crying about the man of a thousand faces, and just how really was. Before I could do anything, a large snapping sound rang throughout the house, and Robert went still. The once fearful boy that was Robert now stood up, completely frozen.

Without making a sound, Robert quickly walked to his door and slipped through, first to the landing and then down the stairs. He silently moved into the living room where his giant TV shone a disheartening static around the room. As Robert approached the TV, a program began to play through the heavy static of the screen. The show looked like something from a network access channel, which seemed strange as Robert's family had satellite TV. The TV showed a shot of a table, seating around ten children, four on each side, two sitting opposite each other on the ends.

Robert, seemingly bewitched, began to climb through the living room window, walking towards the industrial district that was just. just beyond the highway behind his house. As I watched my best friend mindlessly walk through the darkened hours of the morning, both in his PJs and barefoot, I knew he had to be hypnotized or something. After staying a safe distance to Robert, we came to a small storage building that sat nestled behind the much bigger-looking corporate warehouses.

Robert entered and began climbing through a metal-trap door that lay open on the back wall. As I walked forwards, I could see the door slowly closing, so I made a dash for it, sliding under the door I fell about five feet onto a lush felt carpeted floor. The area I'd landed in resembled a long fun-house-style corridor, with multiple morphed doors that radiated different bright colors and had neon lights peeking from the cracks. I could see Robert entering a door at the far end of the corridor, and I began to run as fast as my legs could take me, but the morning, I ran the further the corridor seemed to stretch. I stopped running and claps from exhaustion. The taste of copper filled my breath as my lungs heaved back and forth. As I raised my head to assess how far the ever-extending corridor would become, I fell forward and landed on the door.

The door itself was designed to look like a rainbow, having all the colors converge into a white circle in the center of the door. Above the door was an off-red bulb, and a sign that the door was a that said, when lights turned red, no admittance. I opened the door and slowly entered a large room, roughly the size of a school gymnasium. In front of me were two giant bleachers filled with what looked like crudely cut out children and their parents. A loud buzzer filled the room and in a panic I rushed underneath the closest bleachers. I looked over the large area between the cutouts and saw an area that resembled that of an old TV kid show. The show's setting was of a large birthday party with a long white table splitting the set in half.

Set at the table were ten kids, all of who were dressed up smartly like they were adults. A lanky man in a black and white chequered suit swiftly walked from out of the dark and back walls towards one of the four cameras that were stationed around the area. I knew instantly that this was the man of a thousand faces. yet his head looked normal, almost indistinguishable to any other person you'd meet in the streets. It was almost too normal. The man of a thousand faces looked directly into the camera and began to speak. His voice was unnervingly soft, and I could only describe it as sounding like the actor Crispin Glover.

Welcome, children, to today's episode of Frankie's Fun Time. This episode is called Sharing is Caring. A loud comical jingle began to echo through loudspeakers set around the area. The music began to loop as the man of a thousand faces began to dance along. The music stopped and a can-lifter track of children began to play. The man of a thousand faces stopped dancing and once again began to address the camera. Children, today we have a new friend joining my party table. Let's hear some noise for young Robert Powell.

The can claps and cheers once more filled the area, almost deafening me. I was forced to cover my ears or risk permanently damaging them. A large, multicolored prop door was quickly rolled from the darkness behind the set to just behind the table by a man dressed like a 19th century clown. And Robert burst from the door, his arm stretched open wide as if ready for a hug and with a wide, purposeful smile stretching across his face. More can cheering began that was even louder than before. how could no one notice this noise?

I tried to focus on Robert, but then I noticed something was off. He'd been given a new set of clothes, instead of the pajamas he'd worn when he came in. He now wore a suit that looked professionally tailor-made and resembled something you'd wear to perhaps a wedding or a formal gathering. The man of a thousand faces walked over to Roberts and began speaking into his microphone. Well, Roberts, we're very happy to be able to. have you here on the show. Now as you can see the party table is full so it's time for someone to go home but first the decision game. What shall it be? The microphone was pushed in front

of Robert who looked almost in pain from his smile. Oh, duck, duck goose shouted Robert. The speakers erupted again with hundreds of children shouting duck, duck goose. The man of a thousand faces twisted his neck, sharp. and removed his head. A cloud from earlier clumsily ran onto the set and attached a taxidermy goose head onto the stump. I felt my stomach tight and a sick bubble began to form from the sight of this monster, removing its head and replacing it with the goosees. And to top off the messed up factor, the goose head began to move and talk. How could a man not only remove his head, not die and then? then attached a stuffed goose head.

Nothing here made any sense to me. The man of a thousand faces stood firm and looked to the children at the table, and with my attention transfixed on the man, I hadn't noticed them. Every one of them was a missing charge from the local area. At the foot of the table sat Kelly Rune, dressed as a stereotypical flower girl. The man of a thousand faces began walking around the town. table slowly patting the children's heads going duck duck every time he passed over a child i could see the fear in their eyes fear that was locked behind a forced fake smile the man continued doing circles until he

stopped a little girl roughly three seats from the left at the middle she must have been no older than six years at the most she wore a pretty pink dress with a flower and had a short blonde crudely done ball haircut. The man backed away and the girl's face dropped as she began to cry. The clown picked up the girl and threw her over his shoulder, strolling off into the darkness. Once the girl was out of sight, the man turned to face the camera, saying in a deep, almost dead voice growl, goose. I began to inch over towards the direction the clown had dragged the girl.

I might not have been able to save Robert, but I might be able to save this girl. When I found the concrete wall, I felt around for a metal door, keeping my back to the wall, hoping no one on the set had seen me. I slowly opened it, making as little noise as possible. I took one last glimpse of Robert, and I squeezed through the door. As soon as I entered the hallway, an overpowering stench, similar to a hospital, assaulted my nose.

Everything smelled so clean and sterile. The corridor in front of me was far different from the one I'd entered. Across the walls were white tiles and the ceiling lights were now fluorescent light bulbs. As I walked down the corridor, I came across two doors opposite one another. My curious mind decided to peek inside, but I wish I hadn't. Inside were medical fridges all labelled with organs and ages. Hearts, ages 5 to 9. liver's ages 7 to 13

What was this place? Was it some kind of surgery or something? A low metal clunk drew my attention from down the hall. At the far end of the hall sat a set of double doors with the name of a theatre above it. A reasonable person would have run far away by now

but I wasn't a coward and I didn't want that girl to die just like every other child. I peeked my head past the doors and nearly screamed. The clown was now wearing a doctor's scrubs, a sheet of plastic as an apron. The clown was midway through cutting open the girl who lay on a metal table. He began taking out her organs and placing them into different freezer buckets next to his feet.

As I leaned in closer, I lost my footing and fell through the door landing hard on my knee. The clown looked up from his work and we locked eyes. At moment, everything felt slowed. My adrenaline was pumping overtime, and my brain was trying to think of what my best action would be. The clown began to scream a deafening high pitch, and the sound of heavy boots outside the corridor alerted me that it was now time to leave. I turned and ran through the double doors, only to see three headless bodies, one dressed in the signature black and white checkersuit,

and the other two naked but smooth all over, similar to a Kendall, standing blocking the hall. The sound of a motorized sawblade behind me forced my flight response and I slid under the legs of the middle man. Running through the metal door, shoulder first and bolting it behind me, I ran onto the sound stage

where I was bombarded with hundreds of booze from the artificial audience. The set was now empty of children and the man of the thousand faces. I didn't get enough time to look over the set properly as the three headless men kicked the metal door from its hinges. I ran into the hall with all the misshapen doors and got to about midway down the hall

before I realized I was running still on the spot. As I looked down, I noticed I was moving backwards towards the door to the set. I ran as fast as I could, jumping the last stretch, barely making it onto the solid floor. Behind me I heard the door smash and the three headless men pushed themselves through it. As I looked back, I saw one of the headless men dig his fingers into the roof and began crawling towards me. The other two men began simultaneously crawling across

the side walls parallel to each other. I reached up for the hatch on the roof of the hall, but felt a snag on my shirt. One of the headless had grabbed me. As I twisted to free myself, I could now see inside the hole of one of the headless men's neck. Inside were hundreds of metallic-like tethers, and what I could only describe as blinking red lights. I used all my power to kick my feet free of the headless man's grasp, sending him on to the moving floor and flying to the other side of the hall. Using this confusion, I climbed out of the hole and bolted the hat shut before running home, stopping only to throw up from exhaustion. I frantically banged on my front door multiple times begging to be led inside to the warmth and safety of my home My very understandably angry dad swung open the door clenching the aluminum bat he kept next to his bed

He swore bloody at the top of his lungs at me and dragged me inside to bombard me with questions We both settled down as my mother calmly walked downstairs seeing what the commotion was about I explained my story in full multiple times to my sleep-deprived parents, but all they did was brush it off as my overactive mind, coupled with my friend's undoubted involvement. I was sent to bed thoroughly annoyed that no one believed me, and I just failed at saving Roberts, only the following days would tell. I was forced into the police station the very next day. I was left in a small room with a mirror and a grimy-looking table. table after a few minutes a rather unhealthy looking cop entered followed by a man in a grey business suit the cop spoke first hello son I'm deputy Barnard and this is Dr Steen

he's a psychologist from the local hospital I looked into that doctor's eyes as he reached to shape my hand those eyes that I'd seen before last night they belong to the 19th century clown who was butchering that poor girl. I was asked to tell them everything from last night, which I did, apart from mentioning the clown, although I guess that part didn't matter anymore. My story was laughed out at the station near enough by the deputy. As for me, I was to attend therapy from the man who'd started all of this. Going to the session was a horrible ordeal, but I had to for my parents' sake. How could they trust me if I didn't go? On the first day I attended, I sat opposite the doctor,

his face contorted into the smile of the clown. He asked me to recount all of the details of the night from start to finish. Reluctant as ever, I did, and all he did was take notice. He didn't threaten me or hold me captive. He just wrote down everything. The more I attended the therapy, the easy it became to explain my story. until I accidentally let slip about seeing the clown. The doctor's grin grew ten times over hearing this, and he almost demanded I'd tell him more, but I stuck to my nerves and I refused.

Week after week it was the same thing. I'd sit with the doctor and talk about that night, and once I'd finished, he'd demand I'd talk about the clown, even going as far as to grab my shoulders and shake me. Eventually, the pressure of the doctor getting in my face had gotten too much for me, and I broke down and told him everything. I told him what had happened with the clown and the headless men. It felt so good to get it off my chest.

The day I did spill everything, the doctor stood from his desk, walked in front of me, his eyes fixated on me, looking me up and down. He assured me that our next session would indeed be the last after he'd made some calls. For the entire week I became jittery and uneasy. I couldn't eat or sleep or really do anything productive. My fears of returning to the doctor had begun to ruin my life. Sadly, as is always the case, I had to return for my last therapy session or convincing my mum had been futile since I started going there,

so changing her mind now was out of the question. I sat in the doctor's room alone. It seemed odd he wasn't sat behind his desk, as he always was. But as I thought it over more, The door behind me opened. I twisted quickly in my chair, hearing my back crack as I did. And as I watched who'd entered the room, I so wished I hadn't turned around. Standing in front of the door was the doctor, the clown, and the man of a thousand faces,

all of them looking directly at me. Everyone pulled up a chair and formed a circle facing me. The doctor introduced me to the men sat opposite me. After our conversations, I did some digging and found out who the two individuals were who claimed kidnapped you. Friend, these two people are actors from the TV show Party Time at Frankie's. The man of a thousand faces stood up and introduced himself. Hello there, Slugger.

My name's David Agnew. You must have seen me play my titular hosting part Frankie. and yeah I know about those silly stories and rumors about me but as you can see they're not true his voice was the exact same as from when I'd heard him back at the set as a man sat down the clown stood up and did a little jig as he introduced himself well hello sonny my name is Alan Smithy and I play bongo in the TV show party time at Frankies he finished his speech with a honk of his foam nose but I I know this wasn't the clown I'd seen from that night, although his body and face were pinpoint accurate, his eyes weren't the same.

The doctor placed a table in front of me and placed a metronome on it. His words went something like, Look deep into the metronome and hear my voice. What you saw was the backstage of a children's TV show, one your friend was on. He ran away afterwards because he was so upset. You then saw a clown and he scared you and you ran into some mannequins and now you're deathly afraid of them. After that he began saying a series of unconnected words. Frankie.

Clown. A thousand faces. TV show. Party. After that I blanked out. Unable to remember anything. I did, however. start to scream and cry as I saw a clown sat opposite me.

After attending the therapy, I was diagnosed with two new fears. Automatoneophobia, which is a fear of human-like figures that were not alive like mannequins or robots. The other being, cullerophobia, a fear of clowns. I couldn't walk past shop windows without becoming afraid, nor could I attend the circus or risk breaking down at the sight of the colourful entertainers. most of my time from then on was spent inside my room away from my fears trapped and alone but safe nearly an entire decade passed on with my mind scrubbed whole years believing something that just wasn't true children still occasionally went missing snatched out of their homes but now i felt as if it wasn't my problem i'd just finish my senior year at high school who was on the lookout for a job when i came across something in the local paper Headless body identified as Robert Powell. The body of Robert Powell, who's been missing since 1988, has been found outside the long-abandoned miscatonic storage warehouse.

After an autopsy of the body commenced, the blood and fingerprints were an exact match to Robert's medical profile. The autopsy was conducted by M.D. Stuart Stein, a day after the recovery. More on page 12. I began to remember, Roberts, how he ran away after. appearing on a TV show years ago. I just couldn't remember what it was called, so I went to the only place I knew that would have some record of it, the library.

I spent days, almost a week, pouring over the periodicals in hope of finding something or anything. I looked over the newspapers and TV guys just hoping for a single reference to the show. Every time I thought I drew closer, I hit a dead end. Well, I thought I'd hit the jackpot

when reports of a killer dressed as a clown was spotted. but to my annoyance it was just an article on killer clown sightings in dairy. I sat huddled in my corner of the library, away from prying eyes, as the last patrons of the day shuffled out and the night watchman began to close on me. I slammed down my fist in frustration, as I did, a horrible breeze softly slipped past me. The breeze must have knocked one of the last newspapers I couldn't reach off of the shelf somehow, as if intended for me to see. The front page lay sprawled on my lap, mocking me.

My locked and troubled heart began to beat uncontrollably. There on the page was the man of a thousand faces, Frankie, and the clown. The adrenaline in my veins forced me to clutch the newspaper tight as the watchmen began to usher me out. I guess they didn't care too much about the newspapers because I still held it in a vise-like grip. I ran home, not stopping for the weather nor the traffic. I was completely oblivious to the world around me. When I reached the safety of my room, I locked my bedroom door with a deadbolt

and pushed my cabinet in front of it. I didn't want to be disturbed by anyone. I placed the newspaper onto my desk, and began studying it from every angle. To a normal person, it would just be a normal copy of the Arkham Gazette. but to me it held answers. The picture on the front was of Frankie and the clown standing among doctors and nurses in the children's ward of Denver's State Hospital.

The caption underneath read, Rugal doctors celebrate as the first child heart transplant is a success. Dr. Stein West, nephew of ostracized Dr. Herbert West, proved he was indeed nothing like his uncle, have been donated a heart from a donor. Dr. West modified and then inserted the organ into a woman. pacemaker and successfully transplanted the organ. To help with the festivities, both Dr. West and head nurse Michael Morgan dressed up as the children's

favorite TV show characters from Party Time at Frankies. Nurse Morgan dressed up as host Frankie, who children nicknamed the Man of a Thousand Faces, and Dr. West dressed up as Bongo the Clown. The TV show, as anyone who's around in the 60s would know, was called Party Time at Frankies. It was a weekly show where children would compete for Prime. Unfortunately, due to the sad passing of Frankie's actor Randall Yates, the production was shut down and the studio was sold off to Miss Catonic University. I put down the paper, trying to comprehend what I just read. Stranger still, as I read certain words, my head began to throb. I made it a painful note to write down the words that hurt.

Frankie, clown, thousand faces, TV show. a party. I then recorded my voice on tape and began playing the words back. Everything I thought I knew was pushed away for the truth. That night I spent at Robert's house and how he'd been mesmerized by the TV show. The TV show, it's where everything that went bad had begun. That night I stayed up late flicking through the channels on my mini TV trying to find the Craig Station. It must have been a few minutes past three when I came across the horribly made opening for the show. The obnoxious music blared from the speakers. Welcome boys and girls with the greatest show in the world. Put your hands together for party time at Frankie's. As soon as the

show began to play, I knew something was wrong. The set looked far more professional and was shot almost like it was on a 16mm camera. When Frankie and the clown appeared, I felt shocked, as they were both, most definitely not the two I'd encountered years ago. In fact, this felt like an entirely different show. Every now and then I'd see a brief clip spliced into the footage.

It bugged me so much that the next night, I carefully took my parents' VCR and copied the show. As I watched over the tape, I became more and more aware that there was a single frame image there. With great effort I managed to get the single frame on pause. It was something I'd seen before. A single metronome sat mid-swing with a line of text reading. Come to her studio to appear in an episode of Mischatonic Storage Depot.

This is how they'd done it. How they'd hypnotized any child who'd watched the show. But that was going to stop now. I would make it stop. The following night I made my way to the now Darylick. industrial district just off Derby West Street. The industrial buildings all now looked hollowed and abandoned. Over the course of a few years, Arkham's industries have begun to migrate to cheaper and closer places. The only true industry left here was the surprisingly bountiful fishing trade.

I walked in the shadow of corporation warehouses long since forgotten by their owners until I reached it, the overgrown and crumbling ruins of Miscotonic Storage Depot. Once I found the hatches, to the set, I began attempting to move it, but with no luck. It felt almost welded shut. Thinking back, I suddenly got a horrible thought. What if the way forward only opens for children? The notion left me with two viable options. Number one, I could come back with explosives and blow my way inside, but I would let everyone know I was coming. The second idea was better, but it would force my morals to be questioned. I'd have to send a child here. Two weeks slowly dragged by until I found a babysitting job,

nothing special or spectacular, not a celebrity or anything of the sort. What happened next? It felt like a daydream. It was the exact opposite of anything I would have normally done. I let the child watch TV until the show came off, and just like Robert did so many years ago, the child went stiff and began walking out the front door

and towards the industrial district. I kept a nice pace with the child and followed him to the, the trap door, which opened as the child walked towards it. As I dropped down the hole, I hoped to land on the soft carpet, but instead I landed on hard concrete and shreds of ripped carpet. The hallway had not fared any better than the building outside as all the doors of different shapes and sizes had now all but fallen apart or rotted away. I looked at the child who gleefully skipped across the floor with no resistance.

I thought I wouldn't be so lucky, but as I walked I found the floor. slightly shift and then jammed to a stop. My older brain finally clicked on to what had been happening. The corridor was actually a large treadmill, most probably made to stop unwanted visitors. But like the rest of the area around me, it had withered and broken with age. I entered the already decrepit set of party time with Frankie.

Time had fared no better here either. The set looked decayed and rotted. The only things that look new, with the table and chairs that sat the children. I hid behind the now rotting bleachers. Frankie walked forwards to address the cameras. He looked impossible, by which I mean he hadn't aged a day in well over nine years. He seemed almost perfectly preserved.

The loud cheers of children that serenaded my ears and all but become horrifically distorted as if they were the screams of the trapped souls of the dead children. Frankie began his opening line, his voice still sounding the same as it did so long ago. Welcome, children. Today's episode is called We Can Be Friends. A place to set of ear protectors over my pounding ears and endured the screams of the artificial audience. Children, today we have someone new to play with. Let's welcome Christy Gills. Christy, the child I was tasked with looking after, slowly walked through the large door at the back of the set and stood next to the table.

Christy had also had a wardrobe change and now stood in a frilly red dress. So, Christy, tell us what game we should play. Christy thought for a minute and then asked to play hide and see. Frankie removed his head and replaced it with one that left me in an angry but sad state. his head was now an older Robert dressed to look like a pirate in a rough version of Robert's voice Frankie said ah we play hide and seek then but first we be needed to remove a crew member I watched as the clown grabbed a boy around about 12 years old

and dragged him to the metal door I knew what had to be done silently I waited and then followed the clown a few moments later the medical hallway looked so clean and well kept definitely not like the rest of the set. The smell of cleaning fluid and canistered oxygen still assaulted my nose, only this time I knew what it was. As I peeked through the doors down the corridor,

I could finally understand what was going on. It was seeing the good doctor was harvesting children's organs, possibly to sell on the black market. The other door I hadn't looked in, now lay a jar, and inside lay the three headless bodies and a large collection of heads in jars. The heads sat all motionless with their eyes closed.

They almost looked like they were sleeping. The liquid looked thick and a green luminous tinge to it, given off the feeling it was some kind of mucus. As I circled around the bodies, I got a perfect look into the hole where the heads would have been attached. Inside was a mesh of human organic tissue and metallic pipes connecting everything. But I guess, I'd say it was an augmented body.

I followed two large cables that dug deep into all of their chests towards the far wall. The pipe connected to some kind of power generator that was supplying them with energy and another pipe was plugged into a vat of the green liquid, pumping it into the bodies. I don't know why, but I pushed the lever on the tank down, depleting the vat to roughly a quarterfall. The headless ones began to violently shake uncontrollably until their chests burst open, ejected the green liquid all of over the room. Next I began dragging the jars off the walls and stamping on them, a selection of different heads, both human and animal. Well, I didn't stop and couldn't stop. I stood motionless in the rooms, the door flung open. Standing there, with an expression of shock, was Dr. Stein still

dressed in his clown gear? I watched as Stein began to laugh maniacally as if some sort of joke could just be told. Without thinking, I grabbed one of the tubes and thrust the pipe into his chest. Stein shrieked in pain, trying to grab at the pipe, but it was too late. The green liquid had begun pumping into his body. With his last words, Stein looked at me and said something, a single word. Ah, Leon. My line cast back to when I was a child in therapy.

Dr. Stein had stood next to me and whispered these words into my ear. Kill the headless. Kill them all. Then you will kill me, and finally you must present me at the table where you shall sit and wait for the police. Stey's laughter dragged me out of my days as he exploded in a shower of blood and the green liquid. I felt like a puppet on a string as I dragged all four bodies through the metal door and onto the set. all the children lay dead in their seats having had their necks snapped as for frankie he was nowhere to be seen i heard the sirens outside but didn't stop doing my task i was unable to

as i sat at the table the entire police force pushed through the entrance door guns at the ready and no amount of explaining in the world would get me out of this i was sentenced to life in prison for being a copycat's stalker, as well as murdering over ten children. My saving grace, however, wasn't much good. I was given a pardon from life in prison, but instead placed into Arkham Sanitarium. It's been nearly 30 years since then, so I decided to write this, and, well, why now you might ask. As you know, I'm scheduled for a lobotomy from my newly assigned therapist. The strangest thing is that he looks at.

looks so similar like a friend I had as a child. And every time we have a session together, he only says two words to me. Headless, Zoom. The Channel. Around mid-October, my television started to make a noise. Not all the time, just when it was set to a specific channel. Well, the noise it may caught my attention. The channel appeared one day with some weird code in the corner.

I figured it was a glitch due to it just being made available. Most of the time it was just static, and since my TV, being quite old, can hardly pick up the decent channels. It was no surprise to me that this new channel would cut in and out like it did. I don't have any sort of television provider. I just use an antenna.

I'd been meaning to get one for a long, long time, but I hardly watched TV anyway, and I didn't feel like paying the outlandish costs. In the beginning, the new channel didn't play anything I was familiar with. I couldn't make out most of the shows because the signal was sporadic, but when the waves made it through, he'd show images of people. I think they were stills and never saw them move. And these people would be shown one at a time, standing in black space.

I figured that whatever show was playing had to do with strange diseases. All of the people that were displayed had these grotesque-looking growths on them. Some looked like simple boils and others, I guess the more developed stages, had their skin on. was peeled back from their muscles. It'd just be hanging there. I never caught a glimpse of any of the people's faces, but I assumed that they were just as bizarre looking as their bodies. The noise that the channel made, it's hard to describe.

It's like when you had the volume on your speakers turned up too high, that background buzz. I checked my volume whenever I flipped to it, and it was fine, so I blamed the signal. When nothing good was on, the few channels I could pick up, I flipped to the new one, and sure enough, the noise was there. Whatever the show was, it was interesting enough to wade through the static to try and make out what was happening. After a couple of weeks, the people in the images started getting closer to the screen.

They'd be more detailed, and they seemed to be decomposing further. They'd lose more and more of their skin as they crept forward, and after a while it looked like they were coming towards me. They started to discolor. It was like the air was getting. getting to them. And the noise started getting louder as well. We began to cross over into the other channels I could pick up. And so did the images. I thought it could be a fault of my television, so I stopped watching it for a while. Not too long after, out of curiosity, I flipped on my TV

and turned to the channel, but it wasn't there. I went through all the available channels three or four times, and it was nowhere to be found. The noise had stopped too. A few days ago, I woke up in the middle of the night. All I could hear was the noise. I went into my living room and sure enough my TV was on and up in the corner was that code. The images though were right up against a screen like they were pressing on it. They were flickering between one another. I ran over and turned it off and I stood there for a while making sure everything was okay. Eventually I calmed down enough to go back to bed. Oh, the channel hasn't been on since. My TV is fine and all the old channels work. Lately though, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the people. It just as decayed as when

they were on the screen, but one thing's different. They move now. And I can hear the noise too. And it's getting louder. Paranormal HQ TV. We used to watch this year. YouTube channel about paranormal topics all of the time. He had a weird name like Paranormal Headquarters Television or something like that. Just what you'd expect a YouTube channel of that genre would be called. When I was working on something on the computer, I'd always have the narration of the videos going on in the background. I even talked about this channel with family and friends.

Of course, many of them just rolled their eyes and didn't give the channel a watch. They didn't share my interest at the paranormal, but they always supported my strange obsession with it. I've always been into learning about the mysterious and unexplained mysteries of the world. The weird of the topic, the better. You might say I've had a lot of paranormal experiences in my life, so learning about people who've gone through similar things was a bit of a comfort. I continued my ritual of logging into YouTube and listening to this channel for a year. I learned about every topic possible from the Martha Lights to the Skunkake.

Not one paranormal topic went untouched. At the beginning of the new year, the channel narrator started a new series about paranormal experiences he'd personally gone through. It had its own little playlist, so I started listening to that more than the main channel, because, well, I love hearing people's personal paranormal stories more than anything else. I listened to him talking about all sorts of things from lizard men to spotting Bigfoot in the woods. But one day, logging into YouTube and going about my usual ritual of listening to his playlist, I immediately noticed that something was amiss. The new video didn't have the same audio quality as his other videos. It was grainy and scratchy, and there were parts of the audio that could not be heard at all.

In the audio that did get through, sentences like, I may not return again after this, and I found something I shouldn't have, peaked through the noise every once in a while. I figured that this was just a jump scare video or something, so I didn't pay much attention to it. This was a channel that focused on the scary end of things, after all. The next time I went to find the channel, it had completely disappeared. No matter where I searched for it, on YouTube, on Google,

on every search engine I could think of, it was just nowhere to be found. Even the website that I would visit occasionally had completely disappeared. It was like it had never existed. The weirdest thing was that when I talked to people about the YouTube channel in a vain attempt to get some information from others about what had happened to it, no one knew what I was talking about. Even the friends and family I'd shared the YouTube channel with had no idea what I was talking about when I brought the topic up. Eventually I gave up trying to find the channel.

I thought that maybe I really had just imagined the whole thing. I try not to think about it, but then when I was browsing for new paranormal channels to watch, a video with the narrator of paranormal headquarters popped up in one of my search results. I clicked the video right away without even reading the caption. The video played and turned out to be a news story. It was dated, having been broadcast the previous year. In the news story, the lady on screen talked about the narrator who I had learned was named Corey Felton in real life. Corey had apparently gone to a party with some friends and disappeared shortly after.

They launched an investigation into his disappearance, but as of the date of the broadcast, no one had seen or heard from him. It must intrigue me so I looked for follow-up news stories about Corey Felton. They progressed throughout the year talking about how, no matter how many search parties are set out to find Corey, no one could find him. The last news story said that due to the length of his disappearance, it was assumed that Corey might be dead. but they were still keeping up hope that they would find him.

All of this information was almost too much to process. While Corey was supposedly missing, I'd somehow been watching a YouTube channel morated by him. Could it have been that he ran away and was making the YouTube channel from an unknown location? Did he already know his life was in danger before making the channel? Questions like this rushed through my mind. I thought that I should share what I knew about Corey with the family.

They had a website which reached out to the internet community and pleaded for people to give them any leads they could think of to get their boy home safely. I sent an email talking about everything I've been watching on YouTube for the past year including his personal playlist about the paranormal. I didn't get a response for a while but then Corey's mother called me one day out of the blue. She sounded quite excited on the phone

and asked me to meet up with her and her family in Bangor, Maine. She said she'd pay for the plane ticket as I lived in Paris, Texas, and insisted that I visit their family, being that I was someone who had information about her son's disappearance. So that's what I did. I flew out to Maine to meet Corey's mother and the rest of their family. When I arrived, his family greeted me with warmth. You could see that they all looked tired and worn out, as if Corey's disappearance had only just taken place yesterday. After settling in, I went over all of the details again. Corey's mother explained how the only object missing from Corey's room was indeed his laptop.

He'd been researching all sorts of paranormal stuff for over a year and kept insisting he was going to spread his knowledge to the world. So it made sense he'd make a YouTube channel. What he'd run away to make it was still yet unknown. It was obvious that he had a very loving family, and from what I gathered reading his journals, he really had no problems in school or with other people that would make him. make him want to run away or skip town for any particular reason.

I comforted the family the best I could when I was there and told them that they could always keep in contact with me if they needed someone to talk to. They were grateful for that and even after I left a week later, I kept in contact with Corey's mother, his father and his older brother through email or Facebook. Unfortunately I was never able to find anything else about Corey Felton again. That YouTube channel was the only connection I had with him

and that had long since disappeared. However, a few years later, Corey's mother sent me a lengthy email explaining how Corey had returned to them, seemingly lacking any sort of memories from his past or recollection of what had happened to him over the time he'd disappeared. He only showed up at the house

because he'd been dropped off there by a white van. The local police were looking into the case but were not coming up with much of anything that could help the family. Corey was slowly adjusted. to being home again, but he wasn't the same teenage boy that had gone missing. He wasn't interested in paranormal stuff anymore. In fact, he intentionally stayed away from it or insisted that that stuff wasn't real.

He didn't like any of the foods he'd liked in the past. All of his clothing preferences had changed. It was like he was a whole different person, but honestly this didn't bother the family. They were just happy to have him home. The final email was the last connection I had with the Felton family. They got busy with their own life and trying to help Corey adjust

to being part of their family once again. I went back to listening to paranormal shows like usual as I worked on homework from university or building one of the websites I did as a side job as I was going through school. But the strange nature of Corey's disappearance always stuck out in my mind. I would never forget the YouTube channel he made

and his final message, talking about how he didn't know if he'd return after finding out whatever he had about the unknown. It always made me wonder what he'd found that would make him fear for his own life and why he'd run away from his family in the first place. I only know one thing. After seeing what happened to Corey, I'm keeping my paranormal experiences to myself. I mentioned before that lots of weird things have happened to me,

but you won't find me talking about them, at least not here. Because the internet is the place those people who took Corey are watching, ready to erase the memory of anyone who knows more than they should about the paranormal. If you're a person who likes paranormal things and sharing them with other people like me, let this story be a lesson to you. Keep your stories to yourself. You never know if the men in the white van are watching your every move. And if you say too much,

erasing your memories might not be the only thing they do to you. Andrew turned on the cable box. It was brand new. straight from the company. He'd read up on this model from the internet, and being the tech junkie he was, he was absolutely taken in by the rave reviews. He'd read of it from fellow geeks on the internet.

He didn't know quite what to expect, but he knew he'd enjoy it. It cost a pretty penny, though. It made him grateful he worked at the major company that he did work at, which in turn made him grateful that he'd focused entirely on what had mattered, excelling in high school and then in the Ivy League college he'd attended it took its sweet time

to load up though he tapped his knee with his index finger impatiently come on come on he thought what could he say he was eager to watch his shows only after an hour it was still loading by this point it was midnight and he was tired of hell from his day at work mumbling angrily to himself he went into his room changed into his pajamas and got into bed it was just his luck that after not just a hard day at work but the whole week he'd been waiting for the new cable box to arrive it would go and pull this shit oh well nothing to be really done about it he was asleep soon enough the next day arrived Fucking finally.

Getting up, strolling eagerly out into the living room and sitting down on the couch, he grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. Sure enough, it was the news. Now, he'd never been a news guy, so his initial reaction was that this was boring as hell, when something caught his eye. The picture on the TV was amazing, simply amazing.

It was like high-deaf, but better. The image quality was so sharp, and the color so bright and vivid. A wide smile slowly appeared on his face as he kept watching the news, just soaking in the fact that, yes, he'd made an excellent choice buying this. So, there he was watching the news, just enjoying his new cable box that he'd plugged into his TV. But he noticed something odd happening. One of the main anchors, his eye kept twitching. First, just a tiny bit, barely perceptible.

But then more frequently and more noticeably. About 20 minutes after it started happening, he was at the point where he was twitching his neck and jerking his head. Andrew's brow furrowed with confusion as he watched this thing happening. This didn't make any damn sense. Why would a news anchor be acting like that on live television? That wasn't the weirdest thing, though. What was far, far weirder was that his partner didn't seem to notice what was happening.

She kept reading the news, smiling, and when she passed the reading off to him, he spuddered and barked out the news while jerking his head and neck violently. At this, she simply smiled warmly at him, and then back into the camper. At this point, Andrew was getting pretty damn freaked out. So he turned the TV off and decided to go and do something else. What the hell was wrong with this? Must be some issue with the station. He did feel bothered, though, especially given that he spent all his money on the damn thing.

Still, he went about his day. He made himself breakfast, did some work on a major report for the AGM of his union local, and then headed out, having remembered that he had to drop off some government forms at various offices downtown. So, he left. In his living room, the still warm cable box sat snugly beneath the TV. As he went about his day, though, he felt chilled. This nagging tension eating at the back of his neck that made his hair, rise on end. He got home seven hours later. The sun was low and red, shining a soft yet dull

orange glow across the landscape outside his home. He got inside, took his shoes off, and casually moved over to the couch, and plopped down, switching the TV on with the remote as he did so. What happened to be on was one of his favorite cop shows, the ones where they were rough, tough and gritty and always got their guy in the end even if they had to cross all the lines to do so for the next half hour or so he watched the hour-long show enjoying the hell out of it as he did so and then something weird happened in a tense serious interrogation scene the lead detective couldn't stop giggling and glancing at the camera an idiotic grin plastered on his face.

The interrogation continued as normal. The criminal started yelling that he'd never snitch. The detective's partner screamed that he'd go away for 20 to life. But by that point, the lead detective was laughing his ass off,

staring directly into the camera. No one else in the scene noticed. At this point, Andrew was getting bothered by all this. way, way bothered. His heart started to race and subtle yet raw fear

crept into his heart and began to nest there. His hand trembling he turned the TV off. After it was off he quickly stood up and walked into his bedroom trying to put all of this behind him climbing into bed without changing

into his bedclothes. He reflected on how this was an incredibly freaky situation that he had to get away from for the moment and try to figure out. He didn't think of what was happening though. He actively tried not to think about it. In that he succeeded, drifting off to sleep quickly. Before he fell asleep though, something happened.

His mind drifting to what he'd seen on the TV through the cable box. He found himself groggy, so much so that he wouldn't remember when the next morning light. Giggling uncontrollably at what he remembered from the news and the cop drama. As an odd sort of fog descended over his mind that was in no way related to him falling asleep, he found himself utterly entranced by what he had seen. Getting up the next morning, he went through the usual morning routine, shower, breakfast, getting dressed, the whole deal. He specifically avoided turning the TV on.

He wasn't going anywhere near that damn thing. He'd seen enough horror movies to know that you don't fuck with shit like that. Maybe it was an issue with the station. Maybe the damn thing was haunted. Even still, he specifically avoided turn the TV on for the next few hours. Just something about it and the cable box kept him away. That didn't last. He went about his day.

He thought about it and finally told himself he was being ridiculous. After all, it was probably an issue with the station after all. So, that evening, relaxing on the couch with some popcorn, he turned the TV on and controlling the cable box with the TV remote. switch the channel to one of those golden oldie stations. The ones that played TV shows from decades back, he landed on one of those family dramas from the 50s, the kind with the picturesque and perfect upper middle class nuclear family. This was the one where the Clyde family,

headed by Mr Arnold Clyde and his wife, Mrs. Jean Clyde, raised their two sons Bobby and Bill, teenager and preteen respectively and weaved through the trials of middle class america in the 1950s andrew had watched it a number of times it was wholesome in a way that he liked anyways in this episode jean clyde was alone in the kitchen cleaning the floor she was wearing one of those 50s dresses with an apron and had her hair done up in an extremely well-kept style the kind that only people in fictional TV shows ever had in day-to-day life. She had a sharp but kind face,

beautiful in that movie star kind of way. As she cleaned the floor, she was muttering somewhat angrily, but not too angrily. This was the 50s. About being left to do all the work by herself. Then she stopped and stood up, slowly turning to face the camera.

Andrew blinked. This was it. He'd had it. He reached for the remote, grasped it, and lifting it, moved his finger to press down on the power button. He was stopped, though, as the lady on the screen started to speak. Hold it right there, hon.

She said. grinning somewhat wickedly as she rested her hand on her hip. Andrew froze, his eyes widening. He blinked a few times, trying to see if he was just dreaming or seeing things. Sure enough, when he opened them again, she was still there. She laughed a tiny bit as she apparently witnessed this, running her free hand through her hair. she then continued speaking

now if you're done acting like a scared little goose we can have a nice chat she then smiled sweetly the way an archetypical mother would smile to her five year old as Andrew witnessed this his heart wasn't beating hard in fear

chills weren't running down his spine Oddly enough, he found himself drawn in by all this. He felt a blissful joy rising up inside of him. He wanted to see this and wanted to hear her out. Sure enough, that's what he did, letting out a relaxed sigh as he laid back on the couch. Jean Clyde clapped her hands together excitedly as she saw him relax himself. well ain't that a nice cold glass of lemonade now where to start

she paused for a brief moment her eyes running across the ceiling and then quickly refocused them on Andrew again smiling even more brightly she said sweetly but with a dash of fire in her voice all right See, hon? I'm about to start moving on, but before I do, I'd like to get to know you a little more.

See, and I'm just going to be honest here, I like you a lot. I also think I can really help you out. Show you things you've never seen before. As she said that last sentence, her voice got lower and huskier. It was at this moment that Andrew. his eyes connected with Clydes, noticed that she was staring intensely at him and breathing very heavily. He then noticed that and he didn't know how this was possible. She was staring into him, if that makes sense. He didn't know how to feel honestly. A part of him deep down,

a core part was screaming at him to turn the cable box off and get rid of it drive it out to the ocean smash it with a hammer into a million bits on the pier then dump them into the water get into the car and never look back he didn't though he didn't because he wanted to hear what she had to say as she looked into him he felt giddy inside he didn't know how or why but he felt that this was good that she was good and that this was something he had to see through jean clyde continued okay now we can get started she spoke firmly as if she had a mission she then casually moved over to the knife drawer as if she was getting ready to cut a pie into various pieces and opened it she deftly plucked a knife out of the drawer and turned to face the

camera smiling at Andrew she smiled brightly as she held the knife in front of her she smiled brightly as she lifted it and she smiled brightly as she began to cut hard and deep into her neck tracing the blade into a wide cut across the entire front of it as the blade sliced the skin open just as if it were butter blood splashed and rushed out of her neck all over the front of her in a violent cascade as Andrew watched the one thing he couldn't forget later on but never left him was that she was smiling the entire time this was too much. There was the part of Andrew that wanted to keep him watching that made him feel like

he needed to keep watching. More than that, he felt a strong urge, a near, overwhelming drive, in fact, to touch the cable box. That's all it'll take, that voice inside of him said. Just reach out and touch the cable box. You will see you. then, you will absolutely see. He stared hard into Clyde's eyes as the pressure built inside of him. Soon he was thinking it would be fine. What harm could there be? Wasn't it worth it to take the risk to see what this person wanted to show him? Before he knew what was happening, he found himself pushing himself off the couch and taking small, slow, steps. to watch the TV and cable box.

Then, out of nowhere, shoving forcefully from deep within him, the part of himself, from deep down, finally wrestled itself into his main consciousness. As Andrew stood there before the couch, his mind screamed, Get it off! Through his entire body.

With that, he desperately grabbed at the remote, and stabbed his thumb down on the power button as hard as he could. The picture on the TV disappeared into a sea of darkness, as the cable box's front lights dimmed as it shut down. A few moments later, his blood racing and tension tightening his nerves. He got up and paced back and forth. This wasn't good. This was not good.

What the fuck was that? His mind was racing a million miles a second. Why was he about to touch the cable box? As he paced, he felt terrified shudders race through his body. Whatever it was in that thing had nearly got him. It nearly fucking got him. tears of pure fear welling in his eyes he stopped and glanced at the cable box there it sat small black and compact with the company logo on the front side of it he knew he had to get rid of it he knew this by the end of the

evening the cable box was dropped beside the dumpster outside his apartment good fucking riddance Andrew thought as he walked away from the box back into the building he went to bed early that night that night he dreamed of Jean Clyde smiling as the laughing

detective from the cop show put his gun to her head as he pulled the trigger and the bang of the pistol firing exploded into his ears he awoke his eyes shooting open The next day was a work day. It was easy, very boring and routine to be honest.

Andrew spent most of the day going through his sales reports, compiling them into a report for his supervisor. In the break room during his lunch break, he sat by himself and ate his lunch alone, as Brenda and Ryan from accounting gossiped about Jenny's out of wedlock pregnancy with her boyfriend, and how they had no idea she'd break the news to her husband. the news to her husband. It was that kind of day. Something ate at Andrew, though.

Ever so gradually, as he was working on his reports for most of his day, his mind kept drifting to the cable box. His initial feelings of horror and terror aimed at the cable box were now subsiding and being replaced by curiosity.

He shouldn't have felt curious, given what he experienced, not in the slightest. Yet he did. At first it was just idle curiosity, and he, rightly, shoved it down and ignored it. Then it came back again, harder, stronger, and more fiercely. After an hour, all he could think about was the cable box. Thoughts of what was on it, and what Jean Clyde had to show him besieged his mind. His mind kept going back to Jean Clyde, and of how wondrous what she had to show him was. This was all quite illogical,

but something had seized in his mind, something that even he could somehow vaguely perceive was alien to said mind. By the time another hour had passed, his mind and body flushed with the feelings of giddiness and fogginess that had migrated into his brain the night he watched television on the cable box for the first time he had left work early to race home desperately hoping that the cable box was where he had left it it was jumping out of his car he raced over to the cable box

and picking it up checked it for damage none soon after his car was parked and he was in his living room, reconnecting the TV to the cable box as quickly as he could. His hands trembling with sheer excitement and anticipation as he did so. Minutes later, he turned the TV and the cable box on and appearing on the screen was Gene Clyde, smiling lovingly down at him.

I knew you'd come back, sweetheart. Of course you would have. I need to show you something as Andrew stared up at her he could vaguely feel the tears running down his face as her soft loving gentle voice cascaded over him he knew what he had to do he knew he reached forward and laid his hand on the cable box at that moment Clyde saw it and her eyes lit up as a wide excited his inverted smile appeared on her face. As he noticed her smile brightening even more, with even more sheer excitement, he felt something. Not just the ecstatic joy and bliss that had come to him

from Jean Clyde and his connection to her now. No, not just that. What he felt most of all was an icy chill, slowly migrating from his hand up his arm, and then through his body. At first it was just cold, like an icy breeze in the Arctic. Then it started to turn to pure bliss, as if it were morphine. The beautiful, lovely wave of good feeling radiated throughout his entire body. As he sunk deeper and deeper into bliss. He looked into the eyes of Jean Clyde. Seeing her return that same blister him in her eyes. Andrew never showed up to work the next day, nor the next, nor the next. No one else heard from him either. Eventually, a missing person's report was issued. When the police entered his apartment the week after he disappeared, they didn't find him

there. They didn't find anybody. They did, however, find a living room carpet soaked with dried, rotting blood. The room stunked to high heaven from it. Also missing, though the police didn't know to notice this, was the cable box Andrew had purchased some weeks back. The police did launch an investigation into Andrew's disappearance and investigated the possibility of the possibility of foul play, but they could find no evidence of anything, nor any leads. So, it went nowhere. Andrew was never seen again. A week later, in Moscow, Russia, Alexander Korolev, a 19-year-old hacker taking a break from fishing credit card numbers from gullible Americans, was leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk.

In his lap was a bowl of chocolate ice cream as one of his favorite episodes of his favorite program finished downloading. As it started, he smiled in a satisfied fashion. Jean Clyde was angrily cleaning the floor. Then something weird happened, stopping abruptly and then standing up and facing the camera. Jean smiled. speaking in perfect Russian with a sweet, kind-natured voice, she said, Hello, Alexander, we need to talk. The Children's Show.

My family moved to the rural town I grew up in to escape to a quiet, calm atmosphere. Acres of land separated the neighbours' houses from each other, and grass meadows were spread out hundreds of yards. I couldn't invite over any of my old friends from the town I formerly lived in, and the houses were too far from each other to approach any of the neighbour's homes on my own and meet any other children. So I spent most of my time in the first few weeks living there in the front yard of our house, sitting on the lawn and playing with my toys as my mother sat on the porch watching me. Although most of my memory from our short period living in that house is hazy, I distinctly remember a few events that transpired while I was five. It began while I was sitting in front of the television, flipping through the channels and searching for my favorite show. The children's program featuring singing and talking animals.

It was only on in the afternoons and I couldn't find any station playing an episode, so I continued to search the channels. We didn't receive an abundancy of channels in that town, but I could find a couple of popular stations. I landed on a show I was familiar with. I remember glancing at the corner of the screen and discerning it was a children's station broad. broadcasting various well-known shows. My eyes glanced up at the bright flesh in television screen. Cartoon-drawn animals were helping children learn how to share. A joyful melody played through the episode.

The following week, I was sitting in front of the television and I stumbled across the children's station again. But it was broadcasting a different program. I can't remember the title of the show I found, but I can vividly remember everything that happened. A group of children were gathered around a tree. They were all holding hands and gazing up with cheerful smiles on their faces. They were singing a song in unison.

I don't remember the words of the song, but I remember it involves something about the Lord, and contain words and phrases like happiness and love. It sounded like children's gospel music, and the children singing together on the screen resemble the groups of children singing in the pews at the church my parents had taken me to before. I heard the sound of footsteps approaching towards the living room. My mom's chipper voice asked me what I was watching. I don't remember what my reply was, but a puzzled expression grew on her face,

and she announced that lunch was ready and gestured me into the kitchen. A short while after, I stumbled upon the show again. Something immediately began to unsettle me as I watched. There wasn't anything overtly strange about it, but something seemed wrong. Began to feel anxious. and a firmly a lump grew in my throat, accompanied by a knot in my stomach that I felt growing whenever I felt nervous about a situation at school or with my friends.

But the uneasiness developed into something I hadn't recalled feeling before, like I was watching something I wasn't supposed to be seen. A voice narrated the importance of sharing, and the camera focused on a group of children sitting on a carpeted floor. Toy spread out before them. The film appeared to be of poor quality. An intermittent bursts of static distorted the screen. Three of the children sat in a circle playing with alphabet blocks.

Two girls talked to a doll, about the size of a baby, with medium-length blonde hair and a pink shirt and denim jeans. Another group of children were filling in coloring books at a table. The girls were acting out some sort of story with the doll. It seemed like a normal game a child would play with their dolls, but every so often, between their sentences, I heard something that didn't sound right, like a strange word or phrase. I can't remember what they were saying, but I remember feeling disquieted.

The bursts of static between each glit began to increase, the image and the audio becoming more distorted. It only lasted a fraction of a second, but I caught a glimpse of an image flashing across the screen during each interruption. It was so fast that it couldn't be discerned if you weren't paying close attention. I only called a glimpse of red as the image flashed across the screen for the last time. Suddenly, the image returned to normal. The audio was smooth and there were no interruptions in between clips. The children continued to play with their toys. I recall having a nightmare when I went to sleep that night.

I remember that it was so vivid that I wondered if it had really happened for a long time. I was playing in a playground that I remembered visiting in my old town. I ran around underneath the warm sun. The sky was bright blue and the leaves of the trees gently rustled in the wind. I climbed up the stairs at the playground and rolled down the slides. I climbed onto the platform and gripped the edge of the slide. I'd just pushed myself through. I was preparing to roll through it again.

Just as I let go at the edge, I felt my body slowly sliding down the cool surface of the slide. I saw a face at the bottom of the tunnel. It was red, its eyes were black with no visible pupils. It was sitting perched at the bottom of the slide, just staring at me through the tunnel. I was overwhelmed by impending fear. My mouth opened to form a scream, but no sound escaped. My eyes flooded open and I tried to adjust my vision to the darkness. I was in my room, in my bed, underneath the princess-themed comforter.

The red illuminated digits on my alarm clock. read 3.34 a.m. My body was drenched with cold sweat and my face was stained with tears. I reached out my hand into the pitch black darkness to turn on the light. My hand caught hold of the string and I jerked it down, my heart thumping so loudly I could hear it in my head. I sighed in relief when the light turned on. But the face of that figure never left my head. As it stared at me I could feel the malevolent nature it emanating. Everything seemed to be normal the following morning. Our neighbours visited for the first time and we sat down for lunch together at the table as they asked me questions about school and my favourite toys and movies and television

shows. My mum explained that I hadn't begun preschool yet and she was planning on finding a school soon and they had a conversation about local schools. After the guests left, the show was playing when I turned on the television. The same group of children were playing a game of hide-and-seek, and the camera was following them. A song was playing in the background, an animated and whimsical tune.

The camera followed their steps as they ran through doors, hid behind corners, crawled through tight spaces, and crouched behind furniture. A boy leaned against a wall and covered his eyes with his hands. He began to count to 30. A young girl with brown

hair pulled back into a ponytail, wandered down a long hallway. All of a sudden her movements became very slow and the music ceased. That was a deafening silence and you couldn't even hear the sound of her footsteps. The camera began to shake and appeared as if it was gradually teetering from side to side. And I felt nauseous as I looked at the screen. She stout through a door at the end of the hallway and into the room. There was a small door in the corner of the wall. She crouched down and began to crawl towards it.

The hand rested on the miniature doorknob, and the door swung open. The camera was lowered, and the lens was fixed forward, as she crawled through the narrow passage to the other side. I couldn't discern what was on the other side, but I could perceive a glimpse of a room. There appeared to be nothing inside. It was entirely absent of furniture, or doors or windows. The walls were painted red, a garish, intense red. As soon as she reached the end of the passage, the door to the entrance shut behind her.

The camera displayed a different room. The boy, his forehead pressed against the wall and his hands covering his eyes. The sound of his counting was audible again. 27, 28, 29, 30. He jerked away from the wall and his hands fell to its sides. Began to explore the house, searching for the other hidden children. He knelt down beside a table. A little girl with curly blonde hair leapt out from underneath.

He peered into rooms, swung open closet doors and peaked behind furniture. Random children appeared, popping out of their hiding places. The show then came to an end. I remember the thought lingering in my mind. They'd never showed the little girl with the brown hair being found. I was having trouble falling asleep the following nights for some reason. Every time my mum turned off the light and left the room and I watched the door swing shut behind her, I was filled by this strange sense of unease and dread. I knelt down beside my bed, my hands and knees pressed into the floor.

I tentatively leaned forward and peered underneath the bed. I could hear the sound of my heavy, trembling breaths and my heart racing in my chest. My cheek touched the cool hardwood surface of the floor and my eyes frowned. frantically searched through the darkness. My stuffed rabbit lay splayed out on the floor underneath the bed, enshrouded by black shadows. I didn't bother to reach out for it. I stood up onto my bare feet and staggered into my parents' bedroom. I asked them if I could sleep in their bed, and my mum offered to escort me back to my room.

As I lied down in the darkness, I heard the sound of a knocking at the window. I couldn't bring myself to turn around. heart hammering in my chest. I heard the knocking again, like the sound of fingertips wrapping against the glass pain. I glanced up, feeling the urge to scream, but unable to form any sound. A black shadow appeared behind the window, standing in the frame. Then the door swung open. My parents rushed in, my mother kneeling by my bedside. She asked me what was wrong. I tried to explain to her with tears streaming down my face that I'd seen someone outside my window. My mother explained that I'd had another night terror, stroking my hair after my father gazed

out of the window. I strolled outside and searched the yard, but there was no one there. The next time I watched the show, a group of children were sitting at a table. A little girl with black bangs was reading from a book. These pages were covered with rows of small black letters. It sounded like the Bible, but there was something different about it. She passed the book to another child. As the boy began to read, the sense of uneasiness in my stomach increased. The words resembled the passages of the Bible, but there was something abhorrent about them. There were subtle nuances and deviations.

In the scene that followed, the same group of children were sitting in a classroom. Their glances were fixed ahead in their seats. A faint dull voice spoke in the background. Underneath it, I could hear this weeping sound. As the disembodied voice continued to deliver their speech to the class, it grew louder into a ceaseless, wailing noise. I could hear the sound of pounding and banging. Images flashed across the screen for a brief second in between the tape with the school children

sitting in their seats. Well, I couldn't discern the contents of all the pictures, but as they reappeared, I caught a glimpse of an image of a hand, appearing to belong to a child, the wailing noise growing louder in the background. The hand reached up from an outstretched arm, fingertips scraping the wall, scraps of paint peeling on. The schoolgirl in one of the desks stood up from her seat

and approached the front of the classroom with unsteady footsteps. She knelt over and vomited onto the floor. the stream of yellowish liquid emerged from my mouth and propelled towards the ground and then the tape ended and the regular broadcast on the station resumed I woke up the next morning to dissonant voices outside and the sound of my mother sobbing I don't remember much of what happened but my parents brought all of our clothes and belongings outside and carried them into a moving van before we returned to our former town I only caught a few words and sentences from their conversation before we left as we gathered outside of the house. My parents were speaking to the police, and the police officer explained something to my mother with a solemn expression on his face,

nodding in between every few seconds. I remember him talking about something regarding a children's television show being broadcast in the town. I didn't understand everything he was saying, but I remember he spoke about the neighbours and a religious gathering in the town. He explained that the families administered the local preschool, and he mentioned the words, underground tunnels and hidden rooms. I didn't understand why, but I could feel my heart sink to my stomach when I heard him say the words red painted room. Well, we returned to the comfort of our former town, and I met with my friends and went to my favourite nearby parks again. For a long time I forgot about the isolated town. but when I grew older it returned to my mind again

sometimes I try to believe that most of it was just a coalescence of dreams and childhood delusions but the images still fill my head and all the feelings return memories are something I couldn't understand and still can't comprehend and so once again we reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you.

Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.