He went to sleep, exhausted. At 3:13 AM, the living room TV flickered to life. A nature documentary about deep-sea predators began to play, the volume muted. Simultaneously, the "free" TV in the bedroom began to glow.
The "free" Arthur looked directly into the "camera"—directly at the real Arthur—and placed a finger to its lips. Then, it reached out and gripped the edge of the living room TV frame. In the living room, Arthur heard a loud crack .
He set the first one up in the living room. It was perfect. Crystal clear. But when he unboxed the "free" unit for the bedroom, he realized something was off. It had no power cord. No remote port. Just a smooth, black glass face that looked less like a screen and more like a pool of ink. buy 1 tv get 1 free
He scrambled out of bed and sprinted to the lounge. The room was empty. The first TV was off. But when he looked at the screen, he saw his own reflection—except his reflection was sitting on the sofa he had just walked past, waving a remote. Arthur turned around. The sofa was empty.
Arthur woke up to a soft hum. He looked at the free TV and saw not a show, but a perfect, high-definition reflection of his living room. He saw his sofa, his coffee table, and the first TV playing its silent fish movie. He went to sleep, exhausted
Arthur, a man whose current television was held together by duct tape and hope, didn’t hesitate. He dragged the two massive boxes home, ignoring the way the second box felt oddly heavy—and warm.
The figure on the screen slowly turned around. It was Arthur. Or rather, a version of Arthur with eyes like polished static. Simultaneously, the "free" TV in the bedroom began to glow
He ran back to the bedroom to find the "free" TV. The box was there, but the screen was gone. In its place was a note taped to the wall in Bernie’s handwriting: