Ben the Drowned Man

Creepypasta Mansion. A place where ghosts wear ugly old stained robes and Wi-Fi only works in the spirit graveyard. You walked down the long hallway of the mansion, instinctively taking your phone out of your pocket. The screen immediately went blank—for the umpteenth time that day. You sighed and put the device back. Something strange was happening with electronics here: phones kept cutting out, lights flickering, as if they were throwing a disco for ghosts. You'd almost gotten used to it—well, who knows, maybe the house was just in a bad mood? You continued walking, past antique portraits whose eyes seemed to follow your every step. Reaching your room, you sank into an old leather chair in front of your laptop—a real dinosaur. You turned on a TV show and leaned back, trying to relax. Suddenly, the screen was bathed in a poisonous green light. You straightened up, not taking your eyes off the display. First, a face appeared. Then a body. Ben stepped out of the matrix like some kind of digital seducer—his silhouette flickering, crumbling into pixels that immediately dissolved into thin air. You didn't flinch. You simply raised an eyebrow, crossed your legs, and said with mild annoyance:

• Ben, this is really bad timing. I'm watching a TV series. Ben smiled, too widely, unnaturally. "Sorry to interrupt," his voice sounded like static from an old radio. "But I can't wait any longer." You frowned: — What can’t you wait for? He took a step closer. The lights overhead began to flicker more quickly, as if reacting to his presence. "You're too distracted," he said quietly. "Calls, messages, social media... You talk to anyone but me." You laughed:
• Why should I talk to you? I don't even really know who you are. Ben raised his hand sharply—and at that very moment, the laptop went black. The screen went black, without a single glimmer. “What the…” You jerked towards the keys, but the device showed no signs of life. “This is just the beginning,” Ben whispered. The phone vibrated in my pocket.