Clara froze. The woman on screen was her. The dress, the street, the car—it was a holiday her mother took her on when she was nine. She had never seen this footage. Her mother had died five years ago.
On screen, her mother appeared. Not as she was in the hospital, but as she was in the yellow dress. She smiled. She held up a small sign that read: “I only had 30 seconds left. So I recorded them here. It’s okay, my love. I’ve been waiting on Channel 7997 for six years. Turn the dial back.”
Clara, a collector of obsolete media, bought it for €20 from an online estate sale. The previous owner, a signore from the Spanish Quarter of Naples, had passed away with the note: “Accendere solo se pronti. Mai guardare il Canale 7997.” (Turn on only when ready. Never watch Channel 7997.)
Clara reached for the knob. Her fingers trembled. The manual slipped to the floor, flipping to the third and final page—a page she could have sworn wasn’t there before. Napoli Dvd Tv 7997 Bt Manual
The screen showed her empty kitchen again. She stood up, walked to the window in real life, and saw the sun setting over Naples—the same sun that had set on that street in 1997.
She pressed play.
The manual was the strangest part. It wasn’t a booklet but a single, folded sheet of thick, yellowish paper. The cover read, in a typewriter font: Clara froze
FUNZIONE SPECIALE: Nessun apparecchio può riavvolgere il tempo. Ma questo può scegliere il momento in cui ti fermi.
She tried the remote. Nothing. The channel dial was an actual analog wheel on the side of the unit. It clicked through static, old reruns of Un Posto al Sole , a football match from 1998. Then it landed on 7997.
She never unplugged the machine. Sometimes, late at night, she watches Channel 7997. It always shows her mother in the yellow dress, just about to turn around. She had never seen this footage
The screen went black. Then a single line of text appeared:
And Clara never turns the dial forward.
Of course, she plugged it in immediately.
She turned the dial back to 7997.