I grew up in a very quiet, upper-middle class suburban neighborhood of a medium sized town in CT. Gorgeous tree lined streets with big homes on acres of woods, nothing exciting, other than the occasional tree limb falling and causing a power outage, ever happens here. I have no idea what the hell this was, and I still think about it to this day as being the weirdest and scariest thing that's ever happened to me
One night a few summers ago, I was 17, and I was supposed to be going to dinner with my family. But I wasn't feeling well, and there was a show on that I really wanted to watch, so I elected to stay home and just rest instead. My family was fine with it, and I relaxed on the couch with my dogs as I BSed around flipping channels, waiting for my show to start at 9.
I had the remote next to me on the couch, and one of my big dogs, being the klutz he is, tried to jump up on me, knocking the remote on the floor in the process. I picked up the remote, but somehow, even though it had only fallen like a foot from the couch onto soft carpeting, it was broken and wouldn't work at all.
Annoyed, I got up to manually change the channel back to the network that my show would air on on the cable box. As I started pressing the buttons on the cable box, the TV made an incredibly loud and weird sound I can only describe as a "WHOOOOOSH", like a gust of wind, and shut off.
A little bit pissed at this point, I just moved to one of the other rooms in the house with a TV, but the same shit happened. I turned on a different TV, heard a loud "WHOOOOOSH", and it abruptly shut off. This happened to yet another TV in a different room, so I texted my friend, who lives a few houses down, to ask her if her cable was being weird. She replied almost instantly (as usual), that nope, everything was fine.
Beyond confused and worried about how I would explain breaking every single TV in my house to my parents, I finally sat down in the kitchen, and decided I would watch on that tiny TV as a last resort. This time, it worked well for a few minutes, and then all of a sudden I heard the all too familiar "WHOOOOOSH", and abruptly shut off. At this point I was so annoyed I just retreated to my room upstairs, relegating myself to avoiding spoilers and watching the show tomorrow when it would come out online.
My room is in the top corner of my house, right under the main part of our attic, which we didn't use for much besides storage.
I kept going back downstairs to check the TVs, but, still, none of them would turn on.
When I got back into my room about 45 minutes later, inexplicably, I started hearing the same fucking "WHOOOOOSH" sound that the TVs had made, but this time coming from the attic.
I was beyond creeped out, there weren't even any old TVs up there, and certainly none that were plugged in, capable of turning on and off. It also wasn't at all windy outside, and it was the exact same sound as what the TVs were making. I was both scared and annoyed, I had no idea what the fuck was going on, I wasn't feeling well again, and I just wanted to go to sleep.
I barged up into the attic, hoping to see what was making the sound and make it shut up so I could go to bed.
Right in the attic, in the middle of the room, was a TV I had never seen before in my life, turning on and off, making the fucking "WHOOOOOSH". I FREAKED out, and was basically paralyzed with fear/confusion as I was watching this TV, which wasn't even plugged in, turn on and off. I booked it back to my room, slammed the door, and had no idea what the hell to do about this demon TV in my attic that was haunting the rest of the TVs in my house.
I called my parents, who thought I was tripping acid and said they'd be home eventually, but I could call the Cable company if I wanted. The "WHOOOOOSH" continued for a good hour, as I sat on my bed, crying and convinced this is how I would die, death by demon TV.
All of a sudden, it stopped, and I was even more freaked out than before. I decided I would go back in the attic to see what was up with this possessed TV, but I got up there and it was just sitting there, like your classic mid 90s huge TV, not making a peep. I wanted to bring it down to later show my parents (which in hindsight was a horrible idea, trying to release the evil into my house), but it was way too heavy and dusty for me to carry down the steps. I was just happy it stopped, and headed downstairs to try the other TVs again, but they still refused to turn on.
My mom finally got home (they had taken separate cars since my dad was meeting them at the restaurant from somewhere else), and I practically threw her up the stairs into the attic to ask her where the hell we got this TV from.
We get upstairs, and you can probably guess, THE FUCKING THING WAS GONE. COMPLETELY GONE. And obviously, all the TVs in my house, including the remote I thought my dog had broken, were working perfectly.
I tried to relay everything that happened to my mom but she, and the rest of my family after I told them, understandably think I'm absolutely insane, and they had long ago thrown out all the 90s TVs.
It never happened again, and I still have NO idea what the fuck happened that night, but even now, in college, I sometimes get freaked out watching TV alone at night (I know, sad right?)
