She tiptoed into the cluttered bedroom and reached behind the monitor. The screen cut to black.
Seconds later it snapped back on.
Pure static. A disturbing rushing noise. Like an antique television.
She toggled the power switch. Nothing. She ripped the plug from the wall, but the static remained, the noise growing, reaching unsettling levels.
“Mom…” her son whispered clutching his ears.
“The window!” she cried.
The boy bolted from bed, pushed it open. She heaved the monitor into the darkness.
They peeked from the second story window and saw the monitor resting in the snowbank.
Still flashing, still shrieking.
The Weekday One Hundred 