I remember the night like it was yesterday. I was sitting in front of the television, flipping through channels, trying to find something to watch. My wife was out of town, so it was just me and my two kids, Sarah and Tommy. They were both sound asleep upstairs, and I was enjoying the rare moment of peace and quiet.
That’s when I stumbled upon it – a new channel I had never seen before. It was called “HorrorVision,” and it promised to deliver the scariest movies and shows around the clock. As a horror fan, I was intrigued. I settled in, grabbed some popcorn, and started watching.
The first few shows were nothing special – some cheesy B-movies and low-budget slasher flicks. But then something caught my eye. It was a show called “The Haunting Hour,” and the description promised that it would scare me to my core.
I laughed at the idea – after all, I had seen my fair share of horror movies. But as the show started, I felt a chill run down my spine. It was like nothing I had ever seen before – the atmosphere was eerie, the music haunting, and the acting was surprisingly good.
But as the show went on, things took a turn for the worse. The stories became more gruesome, more violent, more horrific. And then, something happened that made my blood run cold.
I heard a scream coming from upstairs.
I rushed up to my kids’ room, my heart pounding in my chest. They were both sound asleep, but something was off. There was a strange smell in the air, something metallic and sickly sweet.
That’s when I saw it – a flickering light coming from the television in their room. The TV had turned on by itself, and it was playing “The Haunting Hour.” But this wasn’t the same show I had been watching downstairs – this was something different, something darker.
I tried to turn it off, but the remote wouldn’t work. The buttons were stuck, as if they had been glued in place. And then I heard another scream – this time coming from the TV.
I watched in horror as images flashed before my eyes – images of Sarah and Tommy being tortured, being maimed, being killed. And then I saw something that made me want to vomit – a figure emerging from the screen, crawling out of the TV like some kind of demon.
I tried to run, but it was too late. The figure grabbed me by the ankle and pulled me towards the TV. I screamed for my children, but they didn’t wake up. They were trapped in some kind of nightmare world, where reality and fiction blended together.
And then everything went black.
When I woke up, I was alone in my bed. There was no sign of Sarah or Tommy – no blood, no struggle marks, nothing. It was like they had never existed.
But I knew the truth – they were trapped in that TV world, doomed to suffer at the hands of whatever horror lay waiting for them there. And I knew that I had to find a way to rescue them – no matter how terrifying the journey might be.
Because that’s what a father does – he protects his children from all the horrors of the world…even if those horrors come from within his own living room.