Dead Air

For Samantha Reed, working the midnight shift at WQTR 98.7 FM was less a job and more a long, sleepless stretch of white noise. A dead-end radio gig in a half-dead town. Four nights a week, she sat alone in the old station just off Route 9, tucked between cornfields and rusted telephone poles.

Mostly, it was music, a few canned ads, and local call-ins for song requests or late-night rants. The money was barely enough for gas and groceries, but it beat waitressing.

Tonight was like any other. A thunderstorm rolled in around 11:30 p.m., the sky outside flaring white and purple every few minutes. Rain lashed the windows. Lightning made the ancient neon “ON AIR” sign flicker overhead.

Samantha sipped cold coffee and tapped away at her Nintendo Switch during a long Nirvana set. The familiar voice of a trucker named Hank buzzed in her headphones with a new rant about gas prices. She muted him and queued up another track.

At midnight sharp, the call light blinked again. She answered with her usual tired charm.

“WQTR—you’re on the air.”

There was silence. Then a small, shaky voice broke through.

“Hello? My name’s Ellie. I’m seven. I’m home alone... and there’s a man outside.”

Samantha sat up straight, dropping the Switch to the floor. “Hi, Ellie. It’s okay, you’re safe. Can you tell me where your parents are?”

“They went to a dinner. I wasn’t feeling good, so they said they’d be back soon,” Ellie said. “He’s been standing in the rain for a long time. Just watching. He’s wearing a yellow coat.”

The blood drained from Samantha’s face.

“Ellie, can you see his face?”

“No. He has his hood up. He hasn’t moved... but now he’s walking to the door.”

Samantha snapped into action, muting the live feed and switching to dead air. She scrambled to the second line and dialed the sheriff’s department. Her voice was tense but focused.

“This is Samantha Reed at WQTR. I’ve got a little girl on the line—says she’s home alone and a man is trying to get inside. Name’s Ellie. Seven years old. Somewhere in town.”

The dispatcher, Carol, asked for details, already looping in the nearest unit.

Back on the line with Ellie, Samantha kept her voice gentle.

“Ellie, sweetheart, I’ve called the police. They’re coming right now. Can you find a place to hide?”

The girl sniffled. “I’m going to the upstairs closet. He’s trying the back door now. It’s locked.”

Samantha’s eyes stayed fixed on the clock. Every second crawled. Lightning flashed again, casting the station in blinding white, followed by a low, building boom of thunder.

“How far away are the police?” Samantha whispered into the sheriff’s line.

“Five minutes.”

Ellie’s whisper returned. “I’m in the closet now. He’s inside.”

Samantha covered her mouth. “Don’t make a sound, baby girl. Stay still.”

Ellie whimpered. “He’s calling my name.”

The storm grew louder, thunder rattling the windows of the station. Samantha gripped the mic like a lifeline.

“You’re doing amazing. Just a little longer, okay? You’re not alone.”

Then, without warning— BLACKOUT.

The power surged, then died. The station plunged into darkness. The red call light blinked once... then nothing.

Samantha screamed, slamming buttons, trying to restart anything—emergency backup, battery feed—nothing responded. The phones were dead. The air was dead.

Dead air.

She sat in the dark with only the sound of her own breathing and the thunder cracking in the distance.

Thirty minutes. That’s how long it took for the power to return.

When the lights blinked back on, Samantha dove for the phone. The line crackled back to life.

She called the sheriff’s department.

Carol answered. “They got there in time.”

Samantha nearly collapsed.

The man had made it upstairs. Had torn through the house. He had been in the hallway—feet from Ellie’s closet—when red-and-blue lights cut through the rain and the sheriff’s deputy kicked in the front door.

Ellie was alive.

Shaking, sobbing—but alive.

The man in the yellow raincoat?

A serial killer is wanted in three counties. He had kidnapped and killed ten young girls in the last two years. All unsolved. Until tonight.

He had been living out of an abandoned drainage tunnel just beyond the neighborhood. He had watched Ellie’s house for days.

When asked why he stopped at her house, he gave a simple answer:

“Because she was alone.”

Later that week, Samantha stood outside the station during daylight for the first time in months. Sheriff Carter shook her hand.

“You saved her life,” he said. “If you hadn’t answered that call...”

Samantha didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her hands were still shaking.

That night, back in the booth, the phones blinked again.

And for just a second, she saw a shadow move behind the station window.

But when she turned—there was no one there.

Only a puddle.

Still fresh.