The Radio That Broadcast Tomorrow

A hobbyist radio operator named Martin Graves loved old frequencies — the ones abandoned since the Cold War. One night, while scanning static, he caught a broadcast labeled “Station Tomorrow.”

At first, it was mundane — reports about rainfall, city traffic, minor accidents. But the timestamps were always a day ahead.

When one report described an upcoming car crash on his street, Martin panicked. He stayed home, recording every second. The next morning, the accident happened exactly as described — only without him.

Curiosity consumed him. He tuned in nightly, hearing snippets of futures that hadn’t yet happened. Then one evening, the voice changed. It said his name.

“Martin Graves will die tomorrow at 11:14 PM.”

He tried to call the station, trace it, disconnect — but the voice interrupted, softer now:

“You’re the reason we exist.”

At 11:14 PM the next night, his neighbors reported hearing faint static from his house — repeating the same weather report. Word for word.