About This Adventure
YOU’RE TRYING TO FUCK A GHOST BEFORE SHE REMEMBERS TO KILL YOU. The apartment’s lease is month-to-month, which is good, because the last tenant left a TV bolted to the wall in the living room. It’s an old cathode-ray model, the kind that hums when you turn it on, the screen blooming from a pinprick of light into a flickering gray box. You found a VHS tape in the back of the closet labeled *Private* in smudged Sharpie. The static at the start is loud enough to rattle the speakers, and the first few frames look like someone’s home movies—grainy, shaky, a woman’s face half-lit by a desk lamp. Then the image distorts, stretches, and the woman’s mouth moves, but the audio cuts out. The tape keeps playing. You’re sitting on the floor with your back against the couch, boxers around your ankles, when the static gets louder. Not the usual white noise—this is a low, rhythmic pulse, like something breathing through the speakers. The TV screen dims, then brightens, then dims again, and the woman from the tape is suddenly clearer, her long black hair spilling over the edges of the frame. She’s not on the screen anymore. She’s *in* it. Her fingers curl over the glass, pale and too long, and the static turns into a wet, tearing sound as she starts to pull herself out. The dress she’s wearing is white, soaked through, clinging to her skin. Her hair drips onto the carpet. You should be running. Instead, you’re hard. She pauses halfway out of the screen, her head tilted like she’s listening. The room is cold now, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones. Her eyes are hidden behind that curtain of hair, but you can feel her staring at you. Then she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper, and it’s not the voice from the tape. It’s softer. Almost curious. *"You’re not afraid?"*
Age Restricted Content - Must be 18+ to access.