The Calm Before the Storm

Arjun groaned as he glanced at his watch, realizing how late it had gotten. He’d lost track of time at work, troubleshooting a stubborn system crash that no one on the team could figure out. As the office emptied out, he had promised himself that he would leave soon—but now it was after midnight.

Packing up his laptop, Arjun shot a quick glance outside. The sky had turned an ominous shade of black, and the rumble of distant thunder echoed through the quiet office. He cursed under his breath, knowing he’d be caught in the storm.

He grabbed his jacket and hurried out of the building, the automatic doors whooshing shut behind him. Fat raindrops began to fall as soon as he stepped onto the street, and within seconds, the skies opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour. He pulled his jacket tighter, though it did little to protect him from the sheets of rain pelting down.

The city streets were eerily quiet for this time of night. With each flash of lightning, the empty sidewalks seemed to stretch longer, the usual bustle of people and cars replaced by a strange stillness. He tried to shake off the creeping unease as he picked up his pace, but the storm wasn’t letting up. The thunder boomed louder, and lightning slashed across the sky in rapid succession, illuminating the city in staccato bursts. Each flash cast sharp, fleeting shadows across the deserted street, making Arjun feel like someone—or something—was watching him.
The man reached Stonehall Apartments, drenched to the bone, and climbed the three flights of stairs, the sound of his wet shoes squelching with each step. As he fumbled with the key, a gust of wind rattled the hallway windows, sending a chill through him.

Finally inside, he leaned against the door and sighed, relieved to be away from the storm. The apartment was steeped in darkness, save for the occasional bursts of lightning from outside. He groped for the light switch, flipping it on. Light flooded the room, momentarily easing his tension. "At least the power’s still on," he muttered, kicking off his soggy shoes and tiptoeing toward the bathroom to change out of his soaked clothes.

After slipping into dry clothes, he wandered into the living room and turned on the television. The first channel was showing an action movie, though the sound was nearly drowned out by the storm’s fury. He lowered the volume until it was barely audible and headed to the kitchen for something to eat. A quick meal of instant noodles later, he returned to the couch, his eyes flickered between the TV and the occasional flashes of lightning outside.

Suddenly, a particularly bright flash was followed by total darkness. The TV blinked off, and the room plunged into an eerie silence, broken only by the patter of rain and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Arjun cursed under his breath and fumbled for his phone on the side table. He turned on the flashlight and started to move when he tripped, stumbling over something on the floor. His phone’s beam caught a dark shape—something much darker than the shadows cast by the storm.

His heart lurched in his chest. Panic surged through him, his phone slipped from his hands and he scrambled back, but when he looked again, the shape had vanished. He lay there for a moment, heart racing. His rational side kicked in. "It’s nothing," he whispered to himself. "Just the storm playing tricks on my mind."

But the unease lingered.

But after a moment, he shook his head and sat up. "Get a grip, Arjun," he muttered, annoyed with himself. "It’s just your imagination." He heaved a sigh of relief as the lights flickered back on, though his nerves were still frayed. As he scanned the room, his eyes fell on his phone lying on the floor.

He reached for the phone, the storm still roaring outside, and picked it up. The flashlight was turned off. Maybe the fall turned it off, he reasoned, but as a tech buff, he was meticulous about his devices and couldn’t shake the odd feeling creeping over him. He pressed the power button to check the phone. The screen flickered to life, but instead of the home screen, the camera app was open.

And it was recording.

Arjun’s heart skipped a beat. He stared at the blinking red dot for a second longer than he should have, before quickly stopping the recording. His fingers trembled slightly as he navigated through his phone’s gallery. He knew how phones worked—there were no settings that would automatically start a recording. And he always made sure to close all his apps. Something wasn’t adding up.

He transferred the video to his computer. This was Arjun's thing—analysing, troubleshooting, and figuring out the strange quirks of tech. In the calm of his rational mind, he reassured himself that it was probably some kind of glitch. Maybe the phone hit the ground and triggered the camera somehow. But as he synced the file to his cloud and opened his laptop, that nagging unease gnawed at the back of his mind.
He was the type of guy who could rebuild a hard drive or write a program from scratch, so glitches intrigued him, even fascinated him. But this didn’t feel like a glitch. As the video file loaded on his computer, the hair on his arms stood on end. “It’s just static from the storm”, he said out loud. He pressed play, leaning forward with intent focus.

At first, there was nothing but blackness. Lightning flashed on the screen, briefly illuminating the familiar outline of the living room. The sound of the phone hitting the floor echoed through the speakers, perfectly timed with when he’d stumbled. He chuckled softly at his own clumsiness, starting to feel a bit foolish for being so worked up.

But then something moved.

In the next flash of lightning, Arjun saw it—a shadow, creeping along the floor. His breath hitched, his eyes glued to the screen. He scrubbed back and forth through the video, adjusting the contrast and brightness like a pro, analysing every frame. The shape was there, unmistakable; slithering across the frame like it was alive. It wasn’t just a trick of the light. It had mass, depth—a presence.
His heart pounded as he replayed the part where the lights flickered back on. The shadow, now clearly visible, darted toward the television at the exact moment the lights returned.

Arjun paused the video, his palms clammy against the keyboard. This wasn’t possible. His mind raced through all the logical explanations—reflections, an artifact of the recording—but none of them fit. He was an expert in troubleshooting issues, but this... this wasn’t technical. It was something else. His eyes darted to the TV across the room. He hadn’t noticed before, but there was a faint scratch in the corner of the screen, thin and sharp like something had clawed its way out. His pulse quickened.

With a trembling hand, he reached for the remote, not entirely sure why. Maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that nothing was wrong. He clicked the power button, and the TV flickered on—but the lights overhead flickered with it.

Arjun’s breath caught in his throat. The storm outside seemed to pulse in rhythm with the flickering lights. The room plunged into darkness once more, but the TV remained on, casting a ghostly blue light across the apartment.

He couldn’t move. His body was frozen in place as the screen distorted, the image warping and twisting. From the shadows of the screen, a figure emerged. Tall and cloaked in tattered robes, its face hidden beneath a deep hood. Then, with a grotesque, unnatural slowness, its head turned towards him.

A sickening grin spread across the disfigured face, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. The figure’s head tilted, as if savouring the moment, its voice a low, rasping whisper that crawled under Arjun’s skin:

"Finally… you’re here. I’ve been waiting... watching. So many before you, but none quite like you."

The figure took a slow, deliberate step forward, the sound of its movement barely audible, like a breath stolen by the wind. Its eyes, hollow and unblinking, locked onto Arjun’s frozen form.

"You can’t leave now… not until I’ve had my fill."

The storm had passed by dawn, leaving the city washed clean under a pale, grey sky. A lone paperboy pedalled down the quiet street, his bike rattling over puddles as he tossed newspapers onto the doorsteps of the apartment buildings. He slowed as he approached Stonehall Apartments, shivering slightly despite the calm morning air.

He threw a bundle of papers onto the wet doorstep, the front page briefly catching the light of the rising sun. The headline screamed in bold black letters: "Vanished Without a Trace: Mystery Deepens as Locals Go Missing.” The boy rode off, unaware of the faint flicker of a television screen still glowing through the crack of a barely ajar door on the third floor.