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I didn't care. It looked barely used. I hauled it home, plugged it in, and the screen crackled to life with a satisfying hum. But when I hit the "Input" button to hook up my console, the screen didn't go black. It showed a living room.

I watched, mesmerized, as a figure—blurred and indistinct—walked across the screen carrying a lamp. I realized then that the "video" wasn't a loop. It was happening in real-time. I felt like a voyeur, but I couldn't look away.

At first, I thought it was a built-in demo or a security camera feed from the shop. It was a wide-angle shot of a tidy, beige living room with a green velvet sofa. There was no sound, just the static-heavy image of a quiet house. I tried to change the channel, but every single one showed the same room from a slightly different angle. I figured the tuner was shot and went to bed. radio rentals buy tv

An hour later, there was a knock at my basement door. I didn't answer. I just looked at the TV. The static had cleared. The screen now showed a wide-angle view of a basement studio. My basement studio.

I’d just moved into a basement studio and had exactly eighty bucks left for "luxuries." That’s how I ended up at a dusty electronics graveyard on the edge of town. The shopkeeper, a guy who looked like he’d been sitting in the dark since 1994, pointed me toward a heavy, late-model CRT TV tucked in the back. "Twenty bucks," he said. "As-is. No returns." I didn't care

They walked toward the "lens," and the screen went to pure, white static.

That night, the figure on the screen stopped in the middle of the beige living room. They turned toward the camera—or where the camera would be—and stared. Even through the grainy CRT resolution, I could see they were holding a heavy, boxy object. But when I hit the "Input" button to

The next morning, I turned it on to check if it had "fixed itself." The room on the screen was the same, but the green sofa was gone. In its place was a stack of cardboard boxes. Someone was moving.