Free Experiment in Terror 05 On Demon Wings by Karina Halle

certainly in no shape to go anywhere, let alone
    with…a man.”
    “But that the last date you went on, nothing came of that.”
    “With Brock? Mom, he was a meathead.”
    “He seemed like a nice young man.”
    “You never met him!”
    “He got you to lose weight.”
    “Mom…,” I warned.
    “Perry,” she retorted in her clipped voice. She turned her
    attention back to the show, where vapid American model
    wannabes were bitching about each other. “You are a pretty
    young woman. You could be on this show, if you lost enough
    weight-”
    “And grew eight inches,” I interjected.
    “And found some confidence. You deserve to have a
    nice man in your life. Someone stable, who wil take care of
    you, put up with you-”
    “Thanks mom!” I rol ed my eyes.
    “-and love you. Your father and I, it hurts us to see you
    like this. For the last few months you’ve just been…
    sleepwalking through life. You’re not yourself anymore. I’m
    glad you’re finding friends where you work but it’s time that
    you start finding that right person for you.”
    I crossed my arms and tried to focus on some bald
    model cal ed Raquel. “I’m only twenty-three years old, for
    crying out loud.”
    “And life goes by far too quickly than it ought,” she
    finished in a tone of voice that signified that it was,
    thankful y, the end of the conversation.
    She went back to watching her show, instantly drawn into
    the drama, while I was left pondering what other weird
    wrench could be thrown into my life. As if I didn’t have
    enough things to think about.
    The erratic thoughts about my tumultuous love life
    fol owed me into my sleep, where I lay tossing and turning in
    my bed, half awake in a delirious state. Final y I had enough
    and rol ed over, forcing my eyes open. It was 2:42 in the
    morning but I was lucky I had one more day off before I
    returned to work.
    I sighed at my restlessness and let my eyes adjust to the
    dimness of the room. My ears rol ed into effect and picked
    up the various noises around me, the faint howl of the wind
    outside, the whir of my laptop computer, the fuzzy sound of
    static from my TV.
    Wait, static from my TV?
    I slowly rol ed over and looked at my TV in front of the
    bed. It was on, the red light at the bottom left was lit, but the
    picture was near black and the faint fuzz of static warped
    around the corners of the screen.
    That was odd. Why was the TV on? I had only watched
    TV downstairs with my mother. I hadn’t watched a thing up
    here for days.
    I was reaching over for the remote on the bedside table
    when the TV suddenly lit up with the grey and black static of
    a lost signal.
    It reminded me a little too much of Poltergeist . My heart
    hammered loudly in my chest.
    I aimed the remote at the TV and quickly pressed the off
    button.
    Nothing happened.
    I pressed it again, aiming it at an angle.
    Again, nothing happened. The static grew louder and the
    outline of a woman’s face fil ed the screen, her face
    comprised of wavering, jagged black, white and grey lines.
    I couldn’t make out any detail except for grey tubes that
    were lips. They moved up and down, as if the face were
    talking.
    This…was not good.
    I got out of bed and approached the TV as if it were a
    skittish deer, keeping the remote aimed precisely at the
    off/on button. I pressed it repeatedly as I approached the
    screen, but to no avail. I was going to have to turn it off by
    hand.
    I was right up against the screen, my hand going for the
    physical button on the bottom left corner when the face
    moved. I froze, eyes drawn to the dancing screen. The lips
    opened.
    “Perry!” the face on the TV screamed.
    I screamed back. I hit the button with my fist but it did
    nothing.
    The TV screamed my name again, the voice coming out
    of the speakers.
    I quickly lunged for the back of the unit, taking the power
    cord in my hands and yanking it out of the wal .
    “Help me!” the TV screamed again, in a voice not unlike
    my own. It