Switches choose light. Keys choose doors. Breath returns on time-until it doesn't. The Light That Watches gathers eighteen precise, unnerving stories where technology and the paranormal share one motive: attention. Hallway mirrors lag like guilty consciences. Code compiles you. A time loop keeps its appointment. Ancestors ignore linearity. The universe exhales-and the watcher breathes with it. These aren't gore machines; they're instruments. The terror lives in thresholds and seams: a doorjamb that remembers, a reflection that learns, a subway window that refuses to be glass. Loops aren't glitches but proofs. Choices aren't switches but hinges. Exactness-the discipline to name a light's temperature, a shadow's angle-becomes survival. Written in spare, musical prose, the collection closes with a craft-and-ethics essay on attention: how to behave in a world that may be recording you with care, not malice. Read singly or in order for a quiet arc from flicker to reckoning. For readers of Black-Mirror-adjacent dread and literary horror who want modern hauntings with rules-and payoffs. Content note: PG-13 to soft R for intensity and thematic unease; minimal on-page gore

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