Body Flicker Novels & Stories

Frame after frame played across the screen. Employees were entering. customers were leaving. Vehicles were passing. Everything appeared ordinary. Too ordinary. I folded my arms. “Pause.” The technician froze the footage. “Rewind thirty seconds.” I said, tapping his shoulder, and he obeyed. But then again, nothing. “Play.” The footage continued, but there were no changes. Nothing unusual was spotted. Then… Barely half a second, a tiny flicker. Most people would've ignored it, but I didn't.

Shutters rattled. Something loose on the roof clanged once then stopped. They ate little. Drank tea. Watched the fire. At nine seventeen the lights flickered. Not once. Repeatedly. Slow pulse. Like a heartbeat. They rose together. Checked the breaker box in the basement. Nothing tripped. They returned upstairs. The flickering stopped the moment they reached the living room. But the fire had burned lower than it should have. Embers only. They rebuilt it. Added logs. Flames caught.

His eyes flicked to me just for a second, then back to Bri. “Stand there,” he instructed, pointing to the center of the room. She did, but nothing happened. Silence stretched. Then— The air shifted. A low hum vibrated through the floorboards. Bri gasped. A faint shimmer flickered around her hands. Barely visible. Like heat rising off asphalt. Her eyes widened. “Do you see that?” Derek’s jaw tightened. I felt it too. The cabin wasn’t attacking her, it was amplifying her.

My stomach turned. “They’re already testing against us,” I whispered. “Shit,” Niko said. “Close it. Now.” My cursor moved to exit. A sharp tremor snapped through my right hand. The mouse jerked, sending the cursor skittering wildly across the screen before I wrestled it back. Heat flooded the base of my skull so fast my vision pixelated at the edges. The screen flickered. For a heartbeat, text scrolled at the bottom. UNEXPECTED OBSERVER DETECTED.

“ Look at the lights…. If I remember correctly, the lights around the apartment did flicker too when the angel of death got close to it. ” “ Apartment? What are you talking about? ” Ackermann sounded confused. “ I’m talking about the Video footage….” “ Oh – okay. Continue ” “ So … Yeah, in the video, the lights flickered the moment he got close to it. They stopped and became normal after he’d entered the apartment. And after a few minutes, they start flickering again just a few seconds before he comes out of the building.” “ Okay, Okay. ” “ So … I think his presence makes the lights go crazy, and since these lights are still going crazy, I’m convinced he’s present. ” Shirley concluded.

I scream and push him away. My head is bursting with pain and I rub my forehead, wanting the pain and the images to fade away. The images..... A boy__a boy with me, in the blunt images, laughing and smiling, my father talking and chatting with him, we eating dinner together, Emilia raising eyebrows at him..... And my fingers brushing his lips..... And suddenly I see his face, smiling.... I realize I'm not floating anymore. Then, everything goes black. I collapse.

He fumbled for the button to activate the frequency. The Slime Lurker lunged again, faster this time, as if determined to finish them off. "Bima, hurry!" Lia screamed, clutching a rusted iron bar she had somehow found nearby. Bima found the button. He pressed it. VVVVZZZZZTTT! The flashlight emitted a piercing, high-frequency vibration—nearly inaudible to human ears, but excruciating for the Slime Lurker. The monster stopped hissing. Its body began to shake violently, and its glowing red eyes filled with panic.

My breath hitched. The screen flickered violently, and then all I could hear was the static that came from the screen before the feed blacked out.

HUNTER’S P.O.V Then the screen flickered. The footage warped. The warm light of the home videos turned cold. The happy scenes stuttered, skipping unnaturally, and the sound distorted into a low, static hiss. A new video began. It was unfamiliar—not a home video. The angle was lower, the lighting dim. I recognised the tiled floors of my childhood bedroom.

The lens twitches, a micro-adjustment of the iris as it locks onto the heat of my throat. The red light on the camera isn't flickering anymore. It burns a solid, unblinking crimson. It isn't just watching me. It’s transmitting.