Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Chilling Shivers to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
The old television flickered in the corner of the den,
Though I had pulled the plug that night and wound the cord again.
Channel nine was showing static, a grey and hissing snow,
But inside the storm of pixels, a shape began to grow.
It was a figure standing in a room I seemed to know,
With the wallpaper I'd chosen and the clock I'd hung just so.
The figure slowly turned around, and the face was mine to see,
Mouthing something over and over, but no sound came to me.
I read the lips in horror as the static rose and fell,
It said, don't turn around, and I could feel the cold air swell.
The screen went black, the room went still, and the plug lay on the floor,
And behind me, softly breathing, someone stood beside the door.
Poet of Chilling Shivers · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
An unplugged television that still shows a picture is a classic chill. This poem turns the screen into a mirror of the speaker’s own room, and then into a warning.
“The old television flickered” even though the speaker had “pulled the plug.” Channel nine shows “a grey and hissing snow,” and inside it appears “a figure standing in a room I seemed to know,” with the speaker’s own wallpaper and clock. When the figure turns, “the face was mine to see.”
The figure mouths a message that the speaker reads from the lips: “don’t turn around.” Then “the screen went black, the room went still,” and “behind me, softly breathing, someone stood beside the door.” The poem stops there, leaving the reader to decide whether to turn.