#channel13

Hello, dear friends.

There’s an empty chair waiting on the porch tonight.

The tea is cold.

The radio is picking up something strange again.

And somewhere beyond the lake, the sun is beginning to slip below the trees.

The best stories always start this way.

Not with monsters.

Not with screams.

But with an invitation.

A quiet place.

A familiar voice.

A feeling that something impossible is about to happen.

Over the next week, I'll be sharing a special five-minute preview from Episode One of Nova Nightwood's Obscura Archive.

A small glimpse into a world of forgotten broadcasts, impossible mysteries, strange places, and stories that refuse to stay buried.

So pull up a chair, companion.

We've been saving you a seat.

📻🌙

Subscribe on YouTube: @NovaNightwood

The Final Broadcast

She gave in.

Sitting on the edge of her designer bed, staring at a TV she never touched, Nina whispered:

“I want my old life back.”

The screen flared white.

For a moment—silence. No voice. No laughter. No applause.

She woke up in her apartment. Same sheets. Same floor creaks. A text from Marla asking to grab coffee.

It worked.

She laughed. Actually laughed. Maybe it was all a dream. A hallucination.

But then— Walking past a storefront window downtown, something caught her eye.

Her reflection.

It was standing still. Smiling. And waving.

Her hand hadn’t moved.

That night, the TV turned on by itself.

No sound. Just static. And her face.

Smiling. Already waiting.

Some shows don’t end. They just switch channels.

That’s the end of Channel 13. Or maybe it’s just the end of this season.

The Mirror Broadcast

Time blurred. Conversations looped. People repeated themselves mid-sentence, then acted like nothing had happened. And her reflection…

It stopped syncing.

At first it was subtle—half a second behind. Then it started smiling when she didn’t. Tilting its head at angles she never moved.

One night, she woke up at 3:13 a.m. The TV was already on.

The host stood behind his podium. And next to him, the second podium.

She knew what was coming.

Her reflection appeared behind it—perfectly still. Wearing her face. Wearing her clothes.

But not wearing her.

“You got your wish,” it said. “Now… it’s your turn.”

The lights in the studio flared. The screen went black.

But the audience clapped. Clapped. Clapped.

She hadn’t made another wish. But the show wasn’t waiting.

The Real Wish

“You want something,” the host said, smiling like he already knew.

Nina didn’t respond. Not at first.

But she felt it—boiling beneath the surface. The quiet ache for something more. To be seen. Admired. Remembered.

Finally, she whispered: “I wish I had a better life. One where people admire me. Where I matter.”

The host’s grin widened, like the wish had been made many times before.

“Wish granted.”

She woke up in a luxury apartment.

Her name was on book covers. Her face on magazine stands. Her phone buzzing with invitations, compliments, and requests.

She was admired. She was somebody.

But her contacts were gone. No Marla. No photos from before. No emails. No memories that felt like her own.

And every screen flickered. Every reflection seemed just a second behind.

Welcome back, Nina.

She had everything she wanted. And yet… the TV never turned off.

The Rabbit Hole

That night, curiosity won.

Nina typed into the search bar: “Channel 13 wish game show 3am”

The results were messy—half-deleted threads, glitchy screenshots, whispers in forums that hadn’t been updated in years. But one link stood out:

Those Who’ve Watched

She clicked.

The stories were different. But the pattern was always the same:

– A man wished his cheating ex would disappear. She did. Even her photos were gone. – A woman wished for her dead husband to come back. He returned. But he never blinked. – Another wished for fame… and woke up in a life that wasn’t theirs.

Every post ended the same way:

Don’t watch again.

Nina sat back, uneasy. Weird stories. Probably fake. Just urban legend internet stuff, right?

Then the static started.

Her TV flickered on.

The same set. The same host. But this time…

“Welcome back, Nina,” he said. “Ready for another round?”

A second podium appeared. And behind it—her reflection.

But it didn’t move when she did. It just smiled.

She wasn’t watching the show anymore. She was part of it.