Body Flicker Novels & Stories

In the suffocating blackness, I felt like there was someone behind me. A prickling sensation danced down the back of my neck, the undeniable feeling of being watched. The lights flickered back on, momentarily chasing the odd sensations away. But just as it came, they went off again. My heart began hammering against my ribs and felt almost nauseous. What was going on? Suddenly the lights started to flicker, going off and on at an alarming fast rate. I wanted to scream out but the sound wouldn't come. My voice had abandoned me and I could only stand frozen with wide eyes, dead on my feet.

Jack blinked his eyes slowly. His eyelids felt heavy. When he finally wiped enough haze from them to see, the pseudo-sunlight streaming through the window blinded him. He wiped at his eyes again and cast around the room. Fresh flowers sat on a table between two chairs. A silent monitor displayed his vitals. A tube ran into the crook of his arm. A chart across from him displayed information like nurses' and doctors' names, check-in times, course of action, and other hospital information.

I whisper, trying to explain to my mind what I might be seeing. She ignores me and looks at the words on the screen. After about five seconds, the screen disappears. She again presses a button, but this time a yellow one. Three beeps sound out, and multiple lights begin to flash over me. As they flash, they change color and grow in brightness until I have to shut my eyes. As soon as my eyes close, my other senses begin to focus on what is happening to my body.

" I called out again a little bit more composed than the last time From the corner of my eyes I could see a flicker of light in the distance. It shone brightly one moment and the next it was gone. Like the way the light from a firefly flickered on and off as it trapeze through the air. I was aware of getting to my feet and fixing my eyes on that shimmer of light in the distance willing it to return and at least cast some of this darkness away.

The room fell into tense anticipation. Rima glanced at her lawyers. They merely gave a casual shrug, their expressions confident—certain this was just another piece of evidence they could dismantle. Then the screen flickered. And came to life. The screen flickered, then a shaky video began to play—its frame unsteady and poorly angled, as if it had been recorded in haste by someone inexperienced. The movements were abrupt, the focus uneven, and the audio slightly distorted, betraying the nervous hands of an amateur who had captured the moment in secrecy rather than skill.

Not even a flicker. And that’s when my stomach drops.

It was a flood. Light—white‑gold, too bright to be entirely visible—flared around my fingers, seeping under his skin like sunlight poured into ink. Lucian’s body shuddered. The growl cut off mid‑sound. For a terrifying fraction of a second, his eyes went completely dark—black swallowing everything. Then they flickered. Black. Gold. Black. Gold. The dark retreated in stuttering jerks, like something being dragged away by a chain. His pupils constricted.

The silence was so thick I could hear my own heart h‌ammerin‌g ag‍ainst my rib‌s. Then, the massive tele⁠vi‍sio⁠n‌ o⁠n the wall sparked to life. The screen⁠ flickered in grainy b‍lack-and-white. I‌t showed a nur‍sery with a rocking chair, a‌ crib, and a‌ window look⁠ing ou‍t at a storm. A low,⁠ distorted m‍elody⁠ be⁠gan t⁠o‍ play. It was a l‍u⁠lla‌by, but‍ it sounded like a threa‌t‍.

The morning sun over Seoul cast a weak glow through the glass of the top floor conference room. It was a deceptive light, thin and cold, doing nothing to ease the heaviness in the air. Inside, the legal advisory team for Drake Industries sat in a tight semicircle around a large monitor, their eyes fixed on the grainy surveillance footage looping on the screen. No one spoke until the man in the video turned his head toward the hidden camera. “Ludwig Fischer,” murmured one of the senior partners, his voice sharp with recognition. “That man should not be anywhere near a Drake property.”

Each time, the timestamps overlapped. Olivia zoomed in on one of the frames, watching Jessica’s face. There was something wrong with her eyes, something empty, too still. Suddenly, the lights flickered. Olivia froze. The hum of the computer stopped for a second, then came back. The screen glitched. For a moment, the video froze on Jessica’s face, then her eyes moved, directly looking into the camera. Olivia’s heart raced. “No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”