Horrors from Around the World

Night 028 - The Silent Ones

It all began with an old, dusty VHS tape I found at a flea market. I wasn't even looking for anything specific, just wandering between stalls, browsing old trinkets, books, and cheap antiques. The box was unmarked, worn and scratched like it had been through several hands before ending up there. The vendor, an old man with leathery skin and cloudy eyes, had a raspy voice and crooked teeth.

"Take it if you want. No charge," he said, waving his hand dismissively when I asked how much it cost. "It's worthless anyway."

I don't know why I took it. Maybe I was just intrigued by the mystery. There was no label, no hint of what was recorded on it. A part of me thought it might be some weird piece of forgotten history, an old movie or a quirky home video. Whatever it was, I shoved it into my bag and headed home, more out of curiosity than anything else.

That night, after dinner, I popped the tape into my ancient VHS player. I kept it around for nostalgia, though I rarely used it. The machine grumbled to life, eating the tape with a loud whirring noise. The screen flickered with static for a few seconds before the image came into focus.

At first, it was just a shaky, handheld camera moving through what looked like a small, deserted town. The streets were empty, the buildings worn and dilapidated, like no one had lived there in decades. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the scene, but there was no sound—just an eerie silence. No birds, no wind, no distant hum of traffic. Nothing. It felt unnatural.

The camera wandered through the town, stopping occasionally to zoom in on strange details: a broken swing set, a shattered window, an old storefront with its sign hanging crookedly. Whoever was filming this didn't seem to have any goal in mind. There were no people, no narrative. Just silence.

Then, after about five minutes, something changed.

The camera zoomed in on a tall building at the edge of town—an old hotel, its windows dark and empty. As the shot lingered, I noticed something strange: a figure standing in one of the windows. It was barely visible, just a silhouette. My first thought was that it was a mannequin or some kind of prop, but as the camera slowly zoomed in further, I realized it was a person—a man, standing perfectly still, staring directly at the camera.

The figure didn't move, didn't shift, just stood there, watching. Then, suddenly, the screen went black for a few seconds. When the image returned, the camera was now inside the hotel, in a dimly lit hallway. I didn't remember seeing anyone enter the building. The atmosphere shifted from eerie to suffocating. Every footstep echoed off the walls, the silence thick and oppressive.

The camera moved slowly down the hallway, turning corners as if searching for something. Every door it passed was closed. I could feel my chest tightening, a sense of dread creeping up on me, even though nothing had actually happened yet. Then, the camera stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. There was something different about this one—an ominous presence seemed to ooze from it.

The door opened on its own, creaking loudly as if it hadn't been moved in years. The camera hesitated, then slowly panned into the room. It was dark, the only light coming from a flickering lamp in the corner. And there, standing in the center of the room, was the figure again. The man.

I felt a jolt of fear. His face was still impossible to make out, shrouded in shadow. He stood motionless, staring at the camera, just like before. Then, something even stranger happened. The camera began to distort, the image warping and glitching, as if the tape was damaged. The figure flickered, then disappeared completely, replaced by static.

I sat frozen on my couch, staring at the screen, waiting for the tape to resume. For a moment, I thought it was over—just a strange, poorly recorded video. But then, through the static, I heard something.

Whispers.

Faint, garbled voices, like a dozen people speaking all at once, their words overlapping, too quiet to make out. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, as the static continued. I leaned in closer, trying to decipher what they were saying, but the more I listened, the more I felt like I shouldn't be.

Then, without warning, the screen went black. The whispers stopped, replaced by a single sound—a soft, rhythmic thumping, like footsteps approaching from a distance. My heart raced as I stared at the dark screen. The sound grew louder, closer, as if someone was walking toward me, step by step.

Suddenly, the screen flickered back to life. The camera was now outside the hotel, facing the same window where the man had been standing. But this time, there were several figures in the window. Dozens of them. All standing completely still, staring directly at the camera. Staring at me.

I felt a wave of nausea roll over me. Something was wrong—deeply, fundamentally wrong. I reached for the remote, fumbling to turn off the tape, but the player wouldn't respond. The screen remained frozen on those figures, their hollow eyes locked onto mine.

Then, the camera zoomed in again, slowly, agonizingly, until the screen was filled with the dark, featureless face of one of the figures. It was as if the tape wanted me to see something, something hidden just beneath the surface of the static and shadows. I couldn't tear my eyes away, even though every instinct in my body screamed at me to stop watching.

And then I saw it.

In the briefest flicker between frames, the face of the figure warped, revealing a mouth stretched impossibly wide, as if in a silent scream. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but it was enough to make my blood run cold. The screen cut to black again, and this time, it stayed that way.

The tape had ended.

For a long time, I just sat there, staring at the blank screen, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't want to believe what I had just seen, didn't want to acknowledge the pit of fear that had settled in my stomach. It was just a video. Just an old, creepy video. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was... off.

I ejected the tape, holding it in my hands, feeling the weight of it. I wanted to throw it away, burn it, get rid of it, but I didn't. Something stopped me, some irrational part of my mind that needed answers. I tucked the tape into a drawer and tried to push it out of my thoughts.

But that night, I couldn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the figures from the window, standing there, waiting. Their blank faces, their eerie stillness. And the whispers... I could still hear them, faint and distant, like they were coming from somewhere just beyond the walls of my room.

The next morning, I woke up with a start. I didn't remember falling asleep, but I felt groggy, disoriented. As I got up, I noticed something odd. My bedroom window—the one facing the street—was open. I never opened that window.

A chill ran down my spine. Had I forgotten to close it last night? Or had someone...?

I shook off the thought, trying to rationalize it, but deep down, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it, like a weight pressing on my chest. For the rest of the day, I felt like I was being watched. Every shadow seemed darker, every noise sharper. I couldn't escape the feeling that those figures from the tape were somehow... aware of me.

I tried to forget about it, go about my day, but then, just after sunset, the phone rang.

The voice on the other end was barely a whisper.

"You shouldn't have watched," it said.

My blood turned to ice. I slammed the phone down, my hands trembling. How did they know? How could they possibly know?

That night, I heard the footsteps again. Soft, deliberate, outside my bedroom door. And then, through the crack beneath it, I saw shadows. Dark, unmoving silhouettes, like the ones from the tape. I didn't sleep that night. I just lay there, listening to the soft, rhythmic thumping of footsteps, waiting for the door to open.

And now, I'm sitting here, writing this, knowing it's only a matter of time before they come for me. They're watching me, waiting, just like they did in the tape. I can hear the whispers growing louder, feel the presence creeping closer.

If you ever come across an old, unmarked VHS tape at a flea market, don't take it. Don't watch it. Because once you see them, they see you too. And they never stop watching.

Ever.