Twilight Tales

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.

The Fire and the Friend

Later that day, over coffee, Nina told her friend Marla what happened.

“You watched it?” Marla asked, eyes wide.

Nina sipped her drink. “Yeah. Just some weird old game show. I made a joke about wishing I didn’t have to go to work and—well… now I don’t.”

Marla leaned in, lowering her voice. “That’s not just a weird show. That’s Channel 13.”

Nina raised an eyebrow. “Okay… and?”

“They say if you see it and make a wish, it comes true. But not the way you want. It twists it. Always. And once you’ve watched it…”

Marla hesitated.

“What?” Nina asked.

Marla looked dead serious. “It comes back.”

Nina laughed it off. Of course she did.

But that night, as she sat alone in the dark… She checked the TV.

Just in case.

Caller ID: You.

Would you answer?

The first time it happened, I thought it was a glitch.

My phone rang at 3:13 a.m. Caller ID: Me.

I stared at it. It didn’t make sense. But half-asleep and stupid, I answered anyway.

There was no sound. Just silence. And then a whisper—so quiet I almost missed it:

“Don’t answer the door.”

I sat up, heart pounding.

Then— Three knocks. Slow. Heavy. Right at my front door.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Eventually, the knocking stopped.

The next night, the call came again. Same time. Same number.

I didn’t answer.

But the night after that... Curiosity won.

I picked up.

This time, the whisper said:

“He’s in the hallway.”

There was no knocking. Just footsteps. Pacing. Then silence.

________________________________________________

Now it’s every night.

Always at 3:13 a.m. Always from my own number. And always with a different warning.

“Don’t turn around.” “They can hear your thoughts.” “If you answer again… it becomes real.”

Last night, I broke. I needed answers. I needed to know.

So I answered again.

The voice on the other end whispered:

“You’re already outside.”

And then…

The Flicker

Some stories come on after midnight. Some only show up once. And some… don’t let you change the channel.

Nina wasn’t sure what had woken her. Maybe it was the silence—it was too complete. Her apartment, usually full of the hums and groans of city life, felt unnaturally still.

She glanced at the clock. 3:12 a.m.

Wrapped in a blanket, she shuffled to the living room and flipped on the TV. Not because she wanted to watch anything. She just needed noise.

Click. Game show rerun. Click. Infomercial. Click. Static.

She paused.

The static cleared.

A flickering black-and-white game show appeared. Cheap set. Grainy film. A host with a suit too wide and a smile too bright. Across the bottom of the screen: Channel 13

“Welcome, welcome, our lucky viewer at home!” “Tonight’s prize… is your deepest desire.”

Then the screen went black.

Nina blinked. “...What the hell was that?”

She laughed uneasily and mumbled, “I wish I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow.” Then she turned off the TV and went back to bed.

She didn’t think about Channel 13 again…

Until the next morning.

Her phone buzzed. A headline lit up the screen:

OFFICE BUILDING FIRE: Entire Floor Destroyed Overnight

And her heart dropped—because it was her floor.

Something had answered her wish. And it wasn’t done yet.

Tomorrow, we tune into Channel 13.

Wrong answers only.

Twilight Tales begins Monday.