Whispers in the Dark

It was a late Thursday night when Kelly Stone, the host of Midnight Radio, tuned her microphone and settled into her chair. The station, an old building tucked on the outskirts of the city, was quiet except for the hum of the equipment and the soft buzz of the neon "ON AIR" sign. Kelly loved this time of the night. It felt like she was the only person awake, the only voice on the airwaves.

Her show was a mix of classic rock, conspiracy theories, and listener stories—a place where people could call in and share their secrets. It was the perfect escape for people with nowhere else to turn. But tonight felt different. Kelly couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She had been doing this job for over five years, but tonight the air felt heavier.

The first few calls were typical: a man ranting about government cover-ups, a woman claiming her cat had psychic abilities, a teenager with an outlandish tale about UFOs. Kelly smiled politely, rolling with it as usual, but her mind kept drifting back to that strange feeling that had settled over her.

Then came the call.

The voice was soft, distorted, like it was being whispered through static. "Do you want to know a secret?" the caller asked.

Kelly's curiosity piqued. "Of course," she said, trying to sound casual despite the sudden chill that ran down her spine. "What’s the secret?"

The voice on the other end paused, as though deciding whether to continue. Finally, it spoke again, low and deliberate. "A woman is dead. And you’ve been talking about it all week."

Kelly froze. She had been covering a local murder case for the past few days—an unsolved crime that had rattled the town. A young woman, Emma Parker, had been found dead in a park, and the police had no leads. The community was buzzing with rumors, and Kelly had spent hours discussing the case on air, asking for tips or any information that could help.

But this call was different. The voice didn’t sound like someone who was just a concerned listener. It sounded like someone who knew something.

"Who are you?" Kelly asked, her voice shaking just a little.

"You already know me," the voice whispered, and the line went dead.

Kelly sat back in her chair, trying to process what had just happened. It had been so strange, so unnerving. She’d received prank calls before, but this one felt… personal.

Minutes passed, and Kelly tried to shake off the unease. But then the phone rang again. This time, the voice was clearer, more distinct.

"Listen closely," the voice instructed. "I’m going to tell you everything you need to know, but you have to keep quiet. Don’t go to the police. Don’t tell anyone what I’m saying."

Kelly’s heart raced. She had no idea who this person was, but she could tell they were serious.

"Emma Parker’s murder wasn’t random," the voice continued. "It was planned. And the killer is someone you see every day."

Kelly felt a lump form in her throat. "Who?" she whispered, barely able to hear her own words over the pounding in her chest.

The caller didn’t answer right away. Then, with a sharp breath, the voice spoke again. "It’s your co-worker, James. He’s been hiding something for a long time."

Kelly felt the world tilt. James? Her co-host? The man she worked with every day, the one she had laughed with during breaks, shared stories with, trusted? It didn’t make sense.

"Are you sure?" Kelly asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.

The voice paused, then responded with finality. "Check his locker. You’ll find everything you need there."

The line clicked, and the call ended.

Kelly sat in silence, the weight of what had just been revealed settling heavily on her. She knew James well. He had always been professional, reliable, and kind—someone she’d never suspect of anything criminal. But what if the caller was right? What if he was involved in something darker than she could ever imagine?

Her mind raced, filled with questions. Could she trust the caller? Could she trust James? And if what the voice said was true, was she ready to confront him?

After a few moments of hesitation, Kelly stood up and walked to the back of the studio. The dim hallway felt colder than usual, the flickering fluorescent lights above her casting long, eerie shadows. She reached the small locker room, where James’s locker sat innocuously in the corner. Her hands trembled as she slid open the metal door, her eyes scanning the contents.

At first, everything looked normal: a jacket, a few old tapes, some snacks. But as she pushed deeper into the clutter, her fingers brushed against something hard and cold. Pulling it out, she found a small, locked box. Kelly’s stomach twisted.

With no key in sight, she felt around the edges of the box until she found a tiny slit. It wasn’t much, but with some force, she pried it open. Inside, there were photographs—some of Emma Parker, others of the park where her body had been found. And beneath them, a bloody knife, its blade stained a dark crimson.

Kelly’s heart pounded in her chest as she stumbled backward. She had to get back to the station, to figure out what to do next. She couldn’t confront James—not yet. But now, she knew for sure that the whispers in the dark had been telling the truth. And the only question left was: What was she going to do with that truth?