Chapter Text
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“I think my TV might be haunted,” you admit, laughing bashfully at how ridiculous it sounds.
Through your phone screen, your best friend squints at you in thinly-veiled concern. The quality of the video call isn’t great, but even amongst the blurry mix of pixels, you can see the glint of amusement behind their eyes.
“You’re not serious? Please tell me you’re kidding?”
“No,” you laugh again, feeling stupid. “I’m not kidding. I mean it!”
“Why…? How?”
You sigh, scooting yourself upright on the couch. It’s not a remarkable television by any means; you’ve had it for years. It’s vintage, you tell people when they visit, simply to cover your embarrassment at being so behind the times. You can’t exactly afford to upgrade it, not on your meagre earnings. And so, you’ve stuck with the big, clunky, boxy CRT - making do and trying to appreciate it in a nostalgic way.
Staring at the blank, empty TV screen, powered off and dark, you take a moment to question your senses. Are you just going crazy?
“Hey,” your bestie calls out. “C’mon, I’m waiting for the deets here. Why d’ya think it’s haunted?”
“I, uh,” you stutter, returning your attention to the video call. “Oh, it’s stupid. I don’t know. It turns itself on sometimes, out of nowhere, that kind of thing.”
“Huh. I mean, it’s old as fuck,” your friend says. “S’probably just some messed up wiring.”
“Yeah…” you trail off, giving the TV a quick sideward glance. “There’s other stuff, too.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
You hesitate for a moment, chewing the inside of your cheek. How can you put it all into words without sounding legitimately insane? “It’s mostly just a feeling,” you shrug, trying to play it cool. “I dunno. It flickers sometimes when I walk by, or, like… Well, it kinda makes… noises? Like little glitchy sounds, even when it’s powered off. Like, when I do something, sometimes it seems to, like… react.”
There’s a pause. Your friend looks unimpressed. “When you… do, something?” They raise an eyebrow. “Like… what are we talking here? Taking your pants off?”
You snort. “N-No! Jeez, no, I mean… Well, I mean, yeah, there was this one time-”
“Oh my god,” your friend is cackling with vibrant amusement. “Are you serious?!”
“Don’t laugh,” you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Whatever. It’s probably just me imagining things.”
Your friend wipes tears from their eyes, and you resist the urge to end the call. “Look at you, out here, seducing your TV,” they say between giggles. “Oh, Mr Television, don’t look at me that way-”
“Shut uppp,” you say, but you start to laugh too. “Forget it, it’s stupid.”
For a brief moment, both of you fall silent. Your friend’s laughter eases off, and they sigh fondly, clearly done with their teasing. “Hey, maybe it’s just lonely,” they joke. “Least you can do is keep it company, hmm? Maybe give it a show sometime.” They throw you a wink.
“Ha ha, very funny,” you deadpan, unable to stop the smirk twitching on your lips. “I’m hanging up now. BYE.”
When the call is over, you toss your phone aside, a weary edge of humiliation still clinging to your mind. The room feels too quiet, suddenly. You rub at your eyes, letting out a murmured, fatigued groan. You’re probably just not sleeping well enough - that’s it, that’s all it is. You’re letting your thoughts get carried away, imagining sounds where there are none. Right?
You glance at the TV again. It’s still off, still blank as ever. Still plain and ordinary. You give it a long, hard look, then sigh.
Driven by some silly, flippant compulsion, you slide yourself to the floor and clamber over until you’re sat directly in front of the TV. Maybe if you take a moment to really ground yourself, you’ll be able to see that it is just a normal television, and you can let go of this ridiculous fantasy.
When you stare up at the huge, square display, you can see your faint reflection in the glass of the screen; a barely-there, ghosting impression of yourself staring back. You clear your throat and muster up what little dignity you have left.
“Can you… hear me?” You ask, the words hushed and shy. “Is there anyone… in there?”
There’s no response. You huff a self-conscious laugh, despite the fact you’re completely alone. There’s nobody else here to witness you making a fool of yourself, thankfully. Shaking your head, you lift yourself to a stand. You give the top of the TV a gentle pat, caressing it as if it’s a reliable pet.
“Yeah, thought as much,” you mutter. “You’re just my trusty old TV, aren’t ya?”
You feel it, then - a spark of quick static, tingling against your fingertips. Startled, gasping, you flinch violently, snapping your hand away; what the FUCK?! You blink dumbly, staring down at your fingers and then back at the TV, your heart pounding.
Still. You keep telling yourself: it’s just your imagination. Nothing strange at all. You do your best to ignore the nagging thoughts, the doubts, the sense that something isn’t quite right. Life goes back to normal, mostly. But when you discover a hidden ability, weeks later, your seemingly paranoid suspicions are somewhat confirmed.
The first time you visit the Dark World, it’s entirely by accident. Stumbling into the gloomy depths of your closet - you’ve been meaning to replace that lightbulb for months - you fall much further than normal, until you’re tumbling, drifting into the darkness. Your hands have nothing to hold on to, and as you fall, you wonder if perhaps you really have finally, completely lost your mind.
But when you find yourself in a strange, new world, one full of interesting faces and quirky personalities, you begin to enjoy spending time there. You figure out how to switch back and forth between this world and your own, and soon it becomes second nature. You even make friends in the Dark World, learning all about the various customs and intriguing whims of Darkner lives.
During one of your explorations of the Dark World, you find something interesting - a new district you’ve not visited before. Having followed the the alluring pull of neon lights and red-carpeted walkways, your curiosity leads you a glitzy, theatrical studio, full of detailed sets and roped-off VIP areas. Like a lot of places in the Dark World, it’s chaotic, but charming, with a dreamy quality that’s hard to place.
Compelled by the lights and glamour, you explore in earnest, poking your head around every corner. The low murmur of distant crowds cheering catches your ear, and beckons you inward; soon, you find yourself blending in with the audience in some kind of recording studio. Bright lights filter onto a stage. And there, stood in the spotlight, is the host.
He’s tall, smartly dressed and oozing with stage presence and charisma. His voice booms out, cheerful and slightly staticky, his animated gestures exaggerated and comical. And then, there’s that head of his, something strangely familiar about it. His head is a television, and not just any sort - but the old, clunky, CRT kind, complete with bobbing antennae.
A thought flashes across your mind, but you push it away - no, no, that would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it? Your heart thumps heavily in your chest as you mull it over. Could… it…?
“So, STAY TUNED, folks!” The host calls out, waving to the studio audience. “And don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back after these sponsored MESSAGES!”
There’s applause, laughter - the lights dim, and the host retreats behind the stage curtain. You blink, suddenly feeling sharply lucid as the crowd begins to disperse. The itch of curiosity you feel within you begins to grow, gnawing at your impulses. It drives you to slip away from the audience, darting quickly up a small set of stairs up to the backstage wings.
Behind the curtains and stage props, you see him; the TV-headed host, wiping at his screen with a cloth and muttering under his breath. There’s nobody with him, but you can hear production staff starting to chatter amongst themselves not too far away. Cautiously, you approach him.
“It’s a great show,” you say, casually, loud enough for him to hear. “I think you’ve earned a new fan.”
The host startles, flinching clumsily, the cloth falling to the floor. “HAH!” His surprised yelp glitches like an old VHS tape, the sound warbled and sharp. “A-A beloved member of our wonderful audience! Backstage! How exciting, ah, how… how deeply against the rules! So unexpected!”
He has no eyes to speak of, but something in the shape of his screen conveys emotion just fine without them; the furrow of his upper edge, the quiver of his grin. His movements are exaggerated, too, and overly expressive - he’s clearly flustered, caught between trying to maintain his composure and his presenter schtick.
“Sorry,” you say, smiling coyly. “I just couldn’t resist the chance to meet you, uhh,” you glance around, your eyes finally landing on some helpful backstage signage. “…Mr Tenna.” You take a few steps closer.
Tenna backs himself into the snack table, his hands reaching out to grip the edges of it. From a fruit bowl, several unusual-looking fruits topple and roll to the floor. “Ah, ah, well, how… how FLATTERING!” He babbles. You can’t help but wonder if he’s this absurdly nervous with all his fans. “Truly, I am simply DAZZLED by your, your sheer MOXIE! Anyway, I really must-”
“You look familiar,” you say, quietly. There’s a heavy pause; a blush begins to form on Tenna’s face. He’s frozen in place, looking as if he might be silently, inwardly panicking. “Do we… Have we met before?”
You watch a small bead of sweat appear on the side of his head, and after a beat, he gulps. “Y-You said it yourself, right? You’re a NEW FAN!!” He laughs nervously. “If I seem familiar, w-well! That’s just because… because I’m… Well, this face, it’s everywhere, isn’t it?!” He points to his head, and from somewhere, you hear a canned sound effect of audience laughter and applause. “Ahh, the downsides of fame, haHA! Anyhoo, breaks over soon, SO, I b-better get back to it! Can’t leave the cameras waiting!”
Before you have a chance to say anything, Tenna makes a mad dash back behind the curtain, out to the adoring crowd and his spotlit stage. You hear the audience cheering; recording has resumed. You’re left feeling confused, unsure what to make of any of that - when suddenly, you spot a Darkner you recognise nearby, a clipboard in her hands.
“I thought it was you!” She says, walking over, sliding off her headset. “Hey! What brings you down this way? You one of today’s contestants?”
“Oh! Hey, Tascette! N-No,” you stammer, still somewhat dazed. You give her a warm smile. “I just, uh… I didn’t know you worked here, actually.”
“Heh. Yeah,” she nods. “You met Mr Tenna, then? He’s an odd one, that guy, but he’s nice as pie. Total softie. Did ya manage to get an autograph?”
“I, um, I didn’t realise…” you trail off, feeling awkward. “No, I actually hadn’t heard of him until today. Is he really famous, then?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tascette says emphatically. “Mr “Ant” Tenna, TV host, lead writer, creative consultant… Between he and Mike, well, they basically run this entire thing. He’s a big deal!”
You laugh quietly. “He’s, uh, interesting, that’s for sure.”
“Uh-huh,” Tascette gets a conspiratorial look in her eyes, and she grins. “You have no idea. Okay, so, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but here’s some insider gossip…” She leans in closer. “Apparently, rumour has it that Mr Tenna has some kind of huge crush… on a Lightner!”
“W-Wow,” you say, feeling something strange pulling in your gut. “R-Really?”
“Mmhmm,” Tascette nods. “I mean it makes sense, he’s been actin’ real twitchy for the last few weeks. Apparently - and listen to this - he’s got some kinda window to the Light World.”
You swallow tightly. “A w-window?”
“Yep. Like, some kind of magic link or somethin’, I dunno. He can see out into it, but nobody can see in.” She drops her tone, widening her eyes. “Creepy, right?”
You feel the inside of your mouth drying out. You laugh - a little too high-pitched - and clear your throat. “So, what, he’s just, uh, spying on some… someone in the Light World?”
“Not just spying,” Tascette whispers, clutching her clipboard tightly. “He’s pining after ‘em! Imagine! Total hopeless romantic weirdo, lusting after this Lightner who has no idea he can even see them!”
“W-What a concept,” you say weakly.
“And that’s not even the juiciest part.”
“There’s more?”
“So, look, okay, my girl over in makeup, she sometimes goes into his dressing room to like, y’know, clear stuff out or whatever,” Tascette explains. “And you’ll never guess what she found in there.”
“What?”
“His diary,” she grins. “And oh boy, is this thing revealing! She said it was all pink and glittery, too, like a little kid’s. Anyway, so she reads it, cause, y’know, whatever, and she said it’s full of stuff about this human he watches all the time. How he’s constantly trying to get their attention to watch his shows, or even just to look at him! Kinda lame. Kinda cute too, though, right? But mostly tragic. Poor guy.”
You nod slowly, feeling numb. “Y-Yeah,” you manage. “Ha… Ha. So… tragic.”
There’s a crashing sound from the stage; Tascette hurries to shove her headset back on. “Ooop! I better go, sounds like the buzzers are malfunctioning again. Catch you around, yeah?”
By the time you return to the Light World that evening, your head is spinning. You try to process everything you’ve learned; that, somehow, your television might actually be sentient, and a surprisingly charming Darkner, for that matter. Goofy, sure, but… You quite like that. And the thought of being watched, well… It sends a shiver down your spine.
As you pace your bedroom, your mind wanders back. There were times you’d… done things, on your living room couch. Times you’d shoved your hand under the waistband of your slacks and gotten yourself off, too lazy to do it anywhere else - had he been watching this whole time?
The theory seems too far-fetched to be believed, but the thought lingers in your mind, anyway. You find yourself wandering into the living room, compelled to test out the theory, feeling insane for it, but… There’s only really one way to find out, right?
You let out a fake-yawn, stretching your arms above your head and slumping onto the sofa. There’s no reaction from the TV yet. You sit there for a moment, simply breathing quietly, staring at the dark screen, feeling ridiculous. But underneath that, there’s something else; a strange thrill, giddy and bubbling in your nerves.
“Ugh,” you say aloud, a little performatively, to nobody in particular. “My clothes feel so tight all of a sudden.”
This is so stupid, you think to yourself, but you keep going. You run your hands over your chest, arching your back a little, making small, murmured noises. You don’t speak to Tenna directly - that would give the game away - but you keep your voice loud enough to be heard.
“I gotta take some of this off,” you say, lifting off your shirt.
You stand to shrug off your trousers, then your socks, undressing until you stand only in your underwear. There isn’t any kind of reaction from the TV. It stays dark. Silent. You’re going to have to lay it on thicker, maybe. You stretch again, sighing with a little hint of moan to it, just to see if anything happens.
And then - from the corner of your eye, you see it. A flicker of light; just a quick, faint flash on the screen, and an antenna twitching, just slightly.
Holy shit. It’s real - your television set is Mr Tenna, and somehow, through some inexplicable logic, he can see you. This is real. It’s happening. Your pulse races, but you keep your cool. Encouraged, you let your hands trail slowly down your sides, over your stomach, all the way down to the waistband of your underwear.
“Gosh, it’s been a while,” you murmur quietly. “Mm. So long since somebody touched me. It gets so… lonely.”
One hand slides further down, dipping just under the fabric of your underwear; you hear a harsh, glitching bleep, and a crackle of static. The rush of thrill that courses through you is unexpected but heady, tingling in your veins and sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Oh. You realise, suddenly, that you like this. The idea of being watched, pined after… Lusted after, by someone who can’t do or say anything about it, who can’t look away, probably getting all worked up and desperate…
How far could you push his? Teasing Tenna like this, then seeing him in the Dark World, watching him try to pretend none of this is happening… The idea fills you with so much wicked delight that a smirk curls upward on your face. Oh, this could be very fun indeed.
“Well, it’s getting late,” you say, feigning a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I should just take this to the bedroom.”
As you walk away, you imagine how Tenna might be reacting; how his face might be flushed, sweat prickling on his neck, his body twitching. If you put on a real show, what would he do? Watch intently, unable to take his eyes off your body? Would it drive him crazy? Turn him on? Would he touch himself, too, driven wild by the sight of you getting off and the sounds of your moans?
The notion warms you, filling your abdomen with jittery, excited butterflies. Oh, you like this very much - the thought of pushing him to the edge of desperate longing, watching you find release… How could he possibly maintain the act of pretending not to know who you are, after? When you see him in the Dark World, how can he possibly attempt to keep his cool?
You go to bed that night restless, aroused and exhilarated, impatient to put your teasing plan into motion. You’re determined; you will crack him eventually, rendering him into a desperate, needy mess, so eager for your attention and touch. How long will it take? To get him to admit the truth: that he’s been watching you, wanting you, all this time…?
You can’t wait to find out.
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