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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/llissbargamer on 2024-07-02 11:43:50+00:00.

I grew up in a quaint, little town where the biggest excitement was the annual summer fair. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, and nothing much ever changed. Until the night the Flicker came.

It started as a local legend. The elders would whisper about it, cautioning children to be indoors before dark. The Flicker was said to be a spectral entity that appeared as a brief flash of light, often glimpsed out of the corner of your eye. Most dismissed it as superstition, a story to keep kids from wandering the streets at night. But those who had encountered it spoke of it with a hushed dread.

I was seventeen when I first saw the Flicker. I was walking home from my friend Alex’s house, the night air cool against my skin. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the only sound was the distant hum of cicadas. Then, out of nowhere, a flash of light to my left. I turned, but there was nothing there. Just the same empty street. Shaking my head, I convinced myself it was just my imagination and hurried home.

The next day, Alex was absent from school. Concerned, I decided to visit him after classes. His mother answered the door, her eyes red from crying. Alex had gone missing during the night. There was no sign of a struggle, no note—he had simply vanished.

The town was abuzz with speculation, but no one could explain his disappearance. Over the next few weeks, more people began to vanish. Always at night, and always preceded by a sighting of the Flicker. It wasn’t long before the town was gripped by fear.

One evening, as I sat in my room trying to make sense of it all, the lights began to flicker. My heart raced as I stared at the bulb, willing it to stay lit. Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness. In the pitch-black, I saw it—a brief, bright flash in the corner of my eye. I turned slowly, dread pooling in my stomach.

Standing in the corner of my room was a figure, barely discernible in the darkness. It seemed to be made of shadows, its form shifting and flickering like a candle in the wind. Its eyes, however, were piercingly bright, almost blinding. I was frozen in place, unable to move or scream.

The figure spoke, its voice a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “You must leave. This town is mine.”

The room suddenly flooded with light as the power returned. The figure was gone, but the terror lingered. I knew I couldn’t stay. I packed a bag, left a note for my parents, and took the first bus out of town.

For years, I moved from place to place, trying to escape the memories of that night. But the Flicker was always there, lurking in the shadows, a constant reminder of the terror I had fled. I tried to warn others, but no one believed me. They thought I was crazy, haunted by a figment of my imagination.

One night, as I sat in a dingy motel room, the lights began to flicker. I knew what was coming. I had run for so long, but the Flicker had finally caught up with me. The room went dark, and I saw it again—the shadowy figure with eyes like burning coals.

“You cannot escape,” it whispered. “Your fate is sealed.”

This time, there was no running. I stood my ground, my heart pounding in my chest. “What do you want from me?” I demanded, my voice trembling.

The figure moved closer, its form flickering and shifting. “Your fear,” it said simply. “Your despair.”

I realized then that the Flicker fed on fear, drawing strength from the terror it instilled in its victims. It wasn’t just a malevolent spirit—it was a parasite, thriving on the darkness within us.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “I won’t be afraid of you anymore,” I declared. “You can’t control me.”

The figure paused, its eyes narrowing. For a moment, it seemed uncertain. Then, with a final, blinding flash, it disappeared.

The lights came back on, and I was alone in the room. The Flicker was gone, but the scars remained. I knew it would always be out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the next person to succumb to its terror. But I had faced my fear, and in doing so, I had weakened its hold on me.

I returned to my hometown, determined to help others overcome their fear. I shared my story, and slowly, the legend of the Flicker lost its power. The town began to heal, and the disappearances stopped.

Years later, as I walked through the now peaceful streets, I caught a brief flash of light out of the corner of my eye. I turned, but there was nothing there. Just an empty street, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.

The Flicker would always be a part of our history, a reminder of the darkness that lurks within us all. But as long as we faced our fears, it would never hold power over us again.