I’m one of those dinosaurs who still uses cable. Please spare me your judgment.

I like having our town’s local news playing in the background. It’s occasionally informative, but more often than not, the headlines are light. In such an eventful and politically charged time, it’s nice to give my brain a break by switching to a channel where half of the stories are about old animals celebrating their birthdays, traffic in the area, and upcoming fireworks celebrations.

Tonight, for the most part, hadn’t been much different. The anchors, Michael and Priya, were their usual selves - some banter, some very boring headlines, and then a cut to whats-her-name on the street doing interviews about I-forget and not-really-important.

So, you can probably imagine I had to do a double-take when Michael casually dropped the following headline:

“And, in breaking news, residents of our county have been asked to close their windows, pull back their curtains, and stay indoors. Apparently there’s been some sort of chemical leak at a nearby plant, so locals are being asked to take precautions. This request is coming from the municipal government.”

“As this is breaking news,” Priya chimed in, “We are currently waiting for information on exactly what took place at the plant, and of course, just how dangerous this all might be.”

What?

Some sort of chemical spill in our area was a pretty damn big deal. It was strange to see the report delivered so nonchalantly from the anchors. I googled my town and the words “spill” or “leak” or “hazard” and nothing came up. I switched stations to more mainstream news channels (CNN) but nothing about this was being covered there either. I figured maybe this wasn’t such a big deal (or it was too new for anything outside of local media to report on just yet) and so I went back to scrolling on my laptop while the news continued to play in the background.

Half an hour passed, as the anchors cycled through some more generic headlines. Then, a quick reminder, delivered by Michael: “And a notice to residents of our local county: due to a chemical spill that is being reported in the area, residents have been strongly advised to stay indoors, close their windows, and shut their blinds.”

“We have been told that this chemical leak is extremely dangerous,” said Priya. “Residents are advised to head inside immediately. There is a risk of death if you are exposed to the chemicals for a prolonged period.”

Giving it a little bit of thought, the lack of news articles about this on the web put a weird feeling in my stomach. Was this story being suppressed? Flipping through other news stations, again, there was no mention of the story. Nothing on the news tickers either. Nada.

I had to center myself and give myself a quick reality check: my ‘middle of nowhere’ town wasn’t important to anyone other than my local news station or the thousands or so who lived here.

Still, in my curiosity, I got up from my comfortable spot on the sofa and peeked through a small sliver between my living room blinds.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Cars in their driveways. Most of the lights in the nearby houses were off (it’s midnight here). A couple of solitary bedroom lights on. Pretty tame, all in all. Huh.

I sat back down. This was probably the most ‘tuned in’ I had ever been to the news. To my surprise, some really strange banter between Michael and Priya was playing out.

“I almost wonder if we’re safe in here,” Michael started.

Priya giggled. “What, you think this building isn’t safe, and that they’d have us deliver news about a leak that we’re susceptible to?”

Michael laughed. Big laughs. He looked at a piece of paper in his hands. “I heard,” he said, still laughing, “I heard it was actually a spill from a train. Not a power plant!”

“Is that so?!” laughed Priya. She wiped a tear from her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry guys. We gotta find the levity –”

“Gotta find the levity –” Michael echoed.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Gotta find the levity in stressful moments like this. Hope you’re all staying safe, indoors, curtains closed, windows locked. Remember, this is breaking news. You’re hearing this here first,” said Priya.

“Stay inside! Stay safe!” tagged Michael, pointing to the camera. “We’ll give you more details as they come in!”

They’re saying it was from a train now?

I peeked outside again. Strange. Most of the lights were off, but some of my neighbors' cars were missing. I saw a family only a few houses down, loading into their car and immediately driving off. Was it safer to leave the town? Didn’t they just get exposed to the chemicals?

It was hard not to ruminate. Hard not to keep googling, switching to other news stations, texting my only close friend who lived in the area. No updates. Nothing of substance. Back to the local news.

They were covering another story of little importance. My eyes lazily lowered to the news ticker at the bottom of the screen. Between headlines about boring local happenings and Ariana Grande for some reason, I saw the following line: THEY ARE LYING RUN NOW

Almost as immediately as I saw it, it was scrubbed. Like it had never been there in the first place. Did I imagine that?

Before I could ruminate, Priya got up from her desk.

“And Priya’s wrapping for the evening!” proclaimed Michael.

“I’m done for the evening!” she affirmed. She walked off set.

Michael sat there, smiling at the camera. This continued, uninterrupted, for I shit you not thirty seconds. Then - a cut, to some sort of CCTV-footage angle of a parking lot. It continued for a few seconds, until Priya walked into frame, pressed a button on her keys, and opened the door to her car.

Then, another cut. A poor-quality, zoom-in on the moon. Not a full moon, mind you. It was partially obscured. I think the stage is called ‘Waxing Gibbous’. Waning Gibbous, maybe? Doesn’t matter. Thirty seconds of this. A shaky camera.

And then, another cut. The camera was back at the parking lot. Priya and her car were gone. All of the cars in the parking lot were gone, actually.

And then, we were back with Michael.

What the fuck?

Michael went to the next story.

“Coming up next, this former circus bear is celebrating his eighteenth birthday, only this time, this birthday comes with a dash of newfound freedom! We’ll show you the heartwarming story of Binky, and how he’s enjoying his new life in the sun.”

Michael chuckled as he delivered this headline, before the channel went to commercials.

Fresh off another unsuccessful google search, I parted my blinds and looked outside once again. Nearly all the cars in my vicinity were gone. What the fuck was happening?

The noise from the TV transitioned back to the distinctive tones of the local news channel - that must’ve been like a ten second commercial break?

“Thank you for joining us this evening. This is Michael, signing off! Bye bye now! Stay indoors. Stay safe! Close your windows! Inside now, alright?”

I backed away from the window and caught the last leg of Michael’s broadcast. He had gotten up from his desk and had walked over to the camera. An absurdly big smile on his face. Smiling with his eyes too. Joyful.

Then, without hesitation, he softly picked up the camera, while giggling, and moved it to the left to expand the frame beyond the anchor desk and the small set that he and Priya were on. Beyond the set, there was nothing.

It was a black void.

He then turned the camera all the way to the right. Past the anchor desk and the set, again, nothing. Another endless black void. He then re-centered the camera back to face the desk, but the void beyond the set was still partially visible. He kept eye contact with the camera for a few more seconds, and then stepped to the side and out of frame.

Do I run? What the fuck do I do? What is this?

Whispers came from the TV. Michael’s voice… quiet this time.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered, as if he were beside the camera. “You’re doing great. Just stay put. Windows closed. Alright?”

I needed to make a break for it. I needed to run.

“And hey, because I like you, a little tip. He likes it when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror,” he paused to giggle to himself. “He likes it, just stand still in front of the mirror won’t you? Stay put, he’ll come get you soon. You did great. You’re doing great. You’ll be here with us soon.”

The channel cut to commercials right after that.

A few seconds of stillness, and then…

I heard a rattling coming from my bathroom down the hallway.

I froze in fear, hoping the sound would go away. Instead, it got louder, and more aggressive.

It was the sound of something cracking. Fracturing. As I made a break for it, I heard my bathroom mirror shatter.

Immediately, I raced down the stairs to my front door. As I did, I heard the generic commercial on my TV say the following line: “The all-new Cozy Comfort Cushions. So cozy, you’ll want to stay put, because the best place to be is right where you are.”

I unlocked my door as the audio from the commercial started warping.

“Stay put. Be right where you are. Don’t leave.”

As I swung the door open and prepared to run to my car, I felt something grab at the back of my shirt, pulling me back in. It felt both light and like the heaviest thing I’d ever felt. I’m not sure where the willpower in me came from to escape its grasp, but as I writhed and fought with all of my might, I was able to break free from its hold, run to my car and drive off, not taking a single moment to look back at whatever was trying to pull me in.

I’ve been driving for a few hours now. I’ve texted a few friends, and I’m doing everything in my power to make sense of the inexplicable events that have taken place this evening.

The fact that the GPS in my car keeps rerouting to the broadcast studio of my local news network isn’t helping.