Tied in to creepypasta there is a wiki sight called the Fears. It's quite brilliant and filled with all kinds of interesting ideas. One of those ideas is Tower TV which is a series of strange shows from an unknown broadcast point, (although it is believed that the channel emanates from the Screaming Tower). The most direct tie in to creepypasta is the airing of Candle Cove. The following story is my take on a broadcast from Tower TV and the effect it has on one man. I hope you enjoy it.
Sign Off
Christopher Pelton
1:35 a.m.
It was the national anthem that woke Tom from his somewhat uncomfortable position in the recliner facing the living room television. It was certainly not uncommon to find him there, as he usually arrived home from work anywhere between midnight and twelve thirty. He had been working third shift now for about eight months and had just recently begun to adjust to his new schedule. His wife had expressed some misgivings at the beginning of the adjustment, her main concern being the care of little Tom who had just turned one and was really starting to become a handful. Marie had been working at Regency Medical Center for the last eight years and had finally found herself with enough seniority to acquire one of the highly sought after nine to five shifts as a head nurse of the E.R. Despite some of the horrific things she was forced to see on a daily basis, her pay, and now her hours, more than made up for the tragedy and human suffering all around her. Tom understood her concerns and after many conversations they were able to work out a schedule that would allow for both to pursue the new opportunities they were being offered while making sure that little Tom was well taken care of.
So when Tom woke and saw the US flag waving majestically to the strains of the Star Spangled Banner on his television screen, the only thing that took him by surprise was that it was there in the first place. Thinking back, it had to be at least twenty-five years since he had seen a T.V. station sign off that way, and he certainly had not seen it in all of the time that he had cable. Reaching out in the dark, Tom found the remote and, blurry eyed, pushed the channel up button. To his surprise he found that the next channel was nothing but static. Several additional attempts led to nothing but more static. “If the cable is out,” he thought to himself, “how was that one channel coming in?” Tom quickly flipped back down and found the flag still waving as the music came to a sudden and abrupt stop. In the blink of an eye the screen was filled up with static, but it was not the same as had been on the other channels. This static was filled with colors and the standard white noise had been replaced with a low frequency noise similar to a human heart beat. There was something about that beating that made Tom uneasy. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, and the slightest stream of blood began to leak from his nose. Wiping his face with the sleeve of shirt, Tom began to rise from his place. At that moment the static cleared, the heartbeat stopped, and the screen was suddenly filled with the sights and sounds of a Merrie Melodies cartoon. Within seconds the familiar antics of Wile E Coyote and the Roadrunner played out in front of him. Moments in however, it occurred to him that he had never seen this one before. As opposed to the Coyote’s usual dependency on Acme brand products, he was laying out a dozen extremely vicious looking bear traps up and down the road. The next scene showed the familiar birdseed set up with its usual signage. The Roadrunner came streaking down the deserted desert road and stopped on a dime in front of the seed. After several bites the Coyote jumped out from behind a rock, brandishing a knife and fork. With his usual arrogance the Roadrunner took off down the road. As opposed to the usual desperate chase, the Coyote casually waited, listening for the sound he knew was coming. It was the second bear trap that did the trick. As he raced down the road the Roadrunner was taken completely by surprise, and, stepping on the second trap, suddenly found his right leg torn from his body. The forward momentum forced him into the third trap, which took his left leg. Once the shriek of shock had issued from the Roadrunner’s lips, the Coyote confidently strolled over to the remains of his foe’s body. Looking down upon this creature, a thing that for years had caused him shame and humiliation, he saw the fear in its eyes. With one rapid movement the triumphant Coyote brought his fork down into the creatures face and with one quick movement removed an eye from his tormentor. The scene went to black and when it came back, the Coyote was sitting on a rock in front of a roaring fire with the remains of a carcass on a spit, and picking his teeth with his knife. The Merrie Melodies closing fanfare began, and after sticking his head through the rings, Porky Pig looked directly into Tom’s eyes and said “That’s not all folks!!!” The static and heartbeat returned and Tom blacked out.
2:45 a.m. Tom awoke with a jolt as the blood, which had been coming from his nose, began running down the back of his throat. He began to cough, splattering blood over himself and the television screen. On the screen, Vince Offer was hocking some product or another. Disturbed by the clarity of his dreams, Tom reached out for the remote and pressed the power button down. The box continued to run the infomercial as if he had done nothing at all. Again he tried the power button, to no avail. A quick check on other channels revealed the same static as before. Tom rose from the recliner and tried both the power buttons on the T.V. and the cable box with no results. Dropping to his knees, Tom reached under the cabinet that housed the T.V. and switched the power strip to the off position. The infomercial continued unabated.
“Tom” a voice called out to him.
Looking around, Tom found himself alone in the living room.
“Tom” the voice called again.
Knowing that the only other voice in the room belonged to Vince, but unwilling to accept the fact that the somewhat obnoxious host of an infomercial on his television set was talking to him directly, Tom slowly turned his head to face whatever may lie on the screen,
“Listen, Tom you really don’t want to miss this.”
Tom turned to see good old Headset Vince talking to his easily impressed blond co-host about the new and improved ShamWow.
“So tell us Vince, what is so great about the new ShamWow.”
“Well Mary, I could go on for hours about how phenomenal the new ShamWow is, but I think that our audience would prefer a demonstration, don’t you?”
The unseen crowd in the background certainly was a fan of this idea, as clapping and cheers rose from somewhere off screen.
“Now as you may remember the original ShamWow, which is still a great product by the way, was able to hold up to twelve times its own weight in liquid. Well the ShamWow 2.0 can hold up to twice as much as before.” The clapping continued from off screen and a chant of “ShamWow” began to echo through the studio.
“So what kind of demonstration do you have for us today Vince? I see that there are buckets filled with all kinds of liquids. Are you planning on making a bit of a mess on our stage here today?” Mary asked with a smile plastered on her face.
“Not exactly, Mary. Today I have a little something different in mind.”
“I can’t wait to see, how about you folks?” Again, the audience made their presence known from off-camera.
“All right then, let’s get started!” From underneath a pile of towels Vince pulled out a crowbar, and with one fluid movement brought the heavy iron bar down on top of his co-host’s skull. The audience gasped in shock as their beloved host continuously pummeled his victim until there was nothing recognizable left of her face or head.
From behind his gore-splattered face and blood-soaked clothes, Vince began to speak.
“Now folks, as you can see this is quite a mess that we have here. Blood has managed to get everywhere, and as you can see here, it’s begun to pool. Now, an ordinary towel is only going to soak up so much of this, and once you use a towel to clean up puddles of blood, you can never really use it again. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to get blood stains out of terrycloth, but I can assure you that it never really comes clean. But with the new ShamWow 2.0, not only can you soak up pool after pool of blood, but you can wring it out, rinse it off and it’s good as new!”
From off stage, the studio audience began to cheer and their host began to toss out samples of his product. As the camera turned to face the crowd, Tom was shocked to see that they weren’t entirely human. Most of their faces seemed to be blurred out, as if someone had taken an eraser to them. The camera cut back to Vince who turned and looked right into Tom’s eyes.
“So how many can I put you down for? “
“This isn’t really happening.” Tom thought to himself. It couldn’t be real. He had to be dreaming. This whole thing was just one bad dream. “I’ll wake up soon, and all of this will just be a bad memory.”
“Oh this is happening.” Vince replied as if reading his mind. “Now how many ShamWow 2.0s can I put you down for, big guy?”
“This isn’t real. You’re not real.” Tom shouted at the screen.
“Now that’s not a very nice thing to say. I’m as real as you are. Just because I’m on T.V. doesn’t mean I’m not real. I’m just here to provide a service.” Vince replied, a sinister grin stretching across his face.
“I don’t want any of your fucking towels.” Tom roared, moving closer to the screen.
“Take it easy there. You saw how great they work, and I know that you’re going to have a big clean up job soon, so I’m just trying to be helpful here.”
“What clean up job? What do you mean?” Tom questioned, lowering his voice.
“Oh, you’ll see when the time comes. But as you said, you don’t want any fucking towels, so I guess I’ll just sign off then. Enjoy the rest of your night.” And with that, the screen reverted to static.
4:15 a.m. For the last hour, Tom found himself unable to look away from the static that filled his television screen. His dreams had become nightmares, and those nightmares had filled him with an unspeakable terror. In the static he searched for a meaning. A message or a sign that what he had experienced wasn’t real. Something that would provide him with a reason for what he was feeling. There were patterns in the static; he had become sure of it. Subtle variations, which perhaps would add up to answers. He knew that if he looked long enough and close enough, he would see what they were trying to tell him. He would be able to make sense of what was happening to him. It was then that the images began. Horrific images flooded the screen in rapid succession. Images of war and death. Terrible, terrible images of murders and genocides. Vile, disgusting things that raised bile into his throat. He fell to the ground and lost control of himself, vomiting on the carpet in front of the screen.
“Do it.”
As he raised his head and wiped his chin he saw that the static was gone. The screen had gone black again.
“This is it.” He thought to himself. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
Tom was unprepared for what he saw next. Of the nightmares and terrors that had haunted him all evening, he could not have imagined what was now on the screen in front of him. The screen filled up once again with a single image. On his knees in front of the television was Tom.
“Do it.”
He watched as the T.V. version of himself rose from the blood- and vomit-soaked rug, and headed out into the kitchen. In the background, the sound of a baby crying out was emanating from the home theater speakers. On-screen Tom reached into the fridge came out with a baby bottle filled with formula. Tom watched as his doppelganger emptied the contents of the bottle in to the sink and then dropped down out of sight. Unable to turn away, Tom was forced to watch as his television persona reemerged with a bottle of bleach.
“Do it.”
From his place in front of the screen Tom found himself enthralled with the horror that was playing out in front of him. He tried to turn away, but kept finding himself drawn back to the display. He watched as he filled a baby bottle full of bleach and headed down the hall towards the sounds of his crying son.
“Do it.”
Tom thought that he would be spared the horror of having to witness what came next, but as soon as the nursery door was shut, the scene cut to inside the room, where he was cradling his son in his arms and pressing the bottle to its lips. The screams that rose from the child drove themselves into Tom’s brain like the sharp edges of the plastic baby toys his wife was always on guard for. He watched helpless as his child convulsed on the screen and bore witness to his death rattle.
“Do it.”
Tom rose from the floor and in a fit of rage threw himself at the T.V.
“Please” he wept sliding down the front of the wall mounted flat screen. “Make it stop. Why are you showing me these things?’
“Do it.”
On the screen, he saw the door to his bedroom open and his wife running down the hallway to the nursery screaming. As she entered the room, he watched as his television self held the dead child out and turned to face her. She ran to the child snatching it from his hands and wailing over the tiny body. He reached behind the nursery door, and pulled the small fire extinguisher that she had insisted on keeping in the nursery. He stood behind and watched as his wife cradled their dead child. She never saw the killing blow. Tom watched as the blood splatter filled the room turning this place of safety and rest for his son into a slaughterhouse.
“Do it.”
The screen had returned to black as Tom rose from the blood and vomit stained carpet and headed into the kitchen. In the background, the sounds of his crying son began to fill the house. Tom reached into the refrigerator and came out with a bottle of formula. Placing the bottle on the counter he bent down to the cabinet under the sink and brought out a bottle of bleach. Strains of the national anthem reached out from the living room.
“This is KTWR concluding its broadcast day.”
Submitted May 28, 2016 at 09:00PM by Brias411 http://ift.tt/1TL19tY nosleep
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