Shadows on the Monitor
I have been working security for the industrial park for exactly five years now. It is a quiet, lonely job that changes how you look at the world. Most people work their shifts under fluorescent office lights or at busy stores, but my world consists of the dark, the quiet, and the hum of a dozen security monitors lined up on my desk. Usually, it is just me, the bitter, burnt coffee from the machine in the breakroom, and the low, steady vibration of the servers. The industrial park is massive. It covers a few hundred acres, dotted with giant, hulking warehouses that look like sleeping beasts at night. There are long, winding roads that snake through the property, overgrown in some spots and perfectly paved in others. By 3 AM, the world outside the security office window stops being a place of business and turns into a sea of ink. Everything looks like a shadow. A parked truck becomes a crouching animal; a light pole becomes a tall, thin stranger. You get used to it after a while, or so I thought. recently started like any other night. The air was cool, and the silence was heavy, the kind of silence that rings in your ears when there is no wind to stir the dry leaves. I was settled into my chair, nursing a mug of lukewarm coffee, scanning the bank of screens that displayed different sectors of the property. I focus on the loading docks behind Building C most nights. It is a secluded spot, blocked off by thick concrete walls, making it the perfect place for people to dump illegal trash or for local kids to hide out and cause trouble. The camera feeds are decent, but they aren’t top-of-the-line. They catch movement well enough, but at night, the picture is always grainy, turning everything into shades of fuzzy charcoal and bright white light. Around 3:15 AM, something caught my eye on camera four. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light or maybe a stray plastic bag blowing in a draft. I squinted, leaning closer to the monitor. There was something moving near the industrial dumpster. It wasn’t a bag. It was a figure, hunched over, moving in a jagged, unnatural way. It looked like a person, but their limbs seemed to bend at angles that didn't make sense. One moment they were crouched low, and the next they were jerking upward, like a marionette being pulled by a tangled string. I felt a weird tightening in my chest. I reached out and zoomed in, turning the contrast knob until the dark patches were as black as oil. The feed stayed grainy, almost shimmering with digital noise. The figure stopped moving abruptly. It didn't scan the area like a thief would, and it didn't look around for guards. It just froze, and then, in one smooth, deliberate motion, it turned and looked directly into the camera lens. My heart hammered against my ribs like a bird in a cage. I felt a cold wave wash over me, starting at the base of my neck and running all the way down to my spine. Even through the poor quality of the screen, I could see it clearly. The creature—or person, if that’s even the word for it—had no face. There were no nose, no ears, no ears, no mouth. Just a pale, smooth patch of skin where the features should have been. It was like looking at a blank mannequin, but there was a weight to its stare that made my skin crawl. My blood literally turned to ice. I sat there for a few seconds, unable to blink, feeling like I was being watched from the other side of the glass. I grabbed my radio, my hand trembling just enough to make the plastic casing rattle against the desk. I called dispatch, keeping my voice as steady as I could, though it sounded thin and high in my own ears. I told them I was heading out to investigate a suspicious individual at Building C. I didn’t mention the face—or lack thereof. Who would believe that? I just said I saw someone loitering near the dumpsters. I grabbed my heavy-duty flashlight and my keys. The walk to my patrol car felt like it took forever. The park was deathly quiet. I jumped into the car, twisted the key, and sped toward the back of the building. The tires crunched over gravel and dry dirt. My high beams cut through the dark, illuminating empty pallets, stacks of metal scrap, and the looming concrete wall of Building C. I pulled up right next to the dumpster. The area was empty. My flashlight beam danced over every inch of the pavement, but I saw nothing. There were no footprints in the thick layer of dust near the loading dock, no trash scattered, no sign that anyone had been there at all. It was like the figure had evaporated into the night air. I sat there for twenty minutes, my engine running, scanning the darkness with my flashlight until my arm ached. The silence was absolute. I felt foolish, yet terrified at the same time. I drove back to the security office, my pulse finally slowing down. I went straight to the playback function on the monitors, needing to see if I had imagined it. I watched the footage again, rewinding it three times. The figure was gone. In the playback, the area near the dumpster was empty the whole time. I spent the rest of the night watching that screen like a hawk, my eyes burning from the strain, but nothing else appeared. The sun finally rose, turning the sky a pale, sickly grey. My supervisor arrived around 7 AM. I was still sitting in the same chair, my coffee cold and untouched. He looked at the logs, saw the note about the suspicious person, and started laughing. He told me it was probably just a stray coyote or a glitch in the old digital recording system. He said those old cameras pick up reflections from the motion sensors all the time, making shapes dance on the screen. He patted me on the shoulder and told me I was just tired, that five years on the night shift was starting to get to me. I didn’t argue. I knew what I saw. I saw that thing look at me. It wasn't a glitch. Glitches don't have intent. Glitches don't make you feel like your soul is freezing over. I’ve worked nights for a long time, and I know the difference between a video error and a living, breathing thing. Since that night, things are different. I still do my job, and I still walk the property, but I try not to look at the monitors for too long. I keep my eyes on the road during my patrols, and I keep the lights on as much as possible in the security office. I don’t like the dark anymore. I keep the door locked tight, even though I know a lock won't stop something that can just vanish into thin air. Being alone in the dark makes you notice things you wish you had never seen. I used to think the industrial park was just a job, just a place where things were made and stored. Now, I see it as a collection of shadows waiting for the right moment to step into the light. I don't talk about it anymore. I just watch the clock, wait for the sun, and hope that I never see a blank, faceless head turn to look at me again. Every time a shadow shifts in the corner of my eye, I look away. I don’t want to know if it’s just a trick of the light or something else entirely.