My Dead Neighbor’s TV Won’t Stop Calling My Name.

Mr. Langston died in his sleep. Natural causes, they said. His power was cut. His door locked. But at 2:13 AM, his TV blares static. I know because I’ve timed it. Every night. The same deafening hiss—the kind old tube TVs made when nothing was on. I knocked once. The second my fist touched the door, silence. Like it heard me. Last night, I recorded it. Slowed it down. Beneath the white noise, a whisper. My name. Clear as a breath against glass. The landlord says the apartment’s empty. But something’s still watching game shows in there. #GlitchInTheMatrix #NoSleep #YouCantExplainThis