The Last Broadcast

At precisely 3:33 a.m., the radio burst to life.

Ellie Harper jerked waking, her heart thumping in her chest. The room was dark; the only source of illumination was the weak radio dial glow. She had neglected turning it on. She had actually not used the ancient item in years. A huge wooden box with a cracked speaker and a dial that stuck if you turned it too quickly, it was a relic from her grandfather's time.

Now it was on, though, and the sound of the static caused her blood to run cold.

"Hey?," asked A voice said, faint and distorted. "Is anyone out there?”

Ellie sat up, her breath stopping in her throat. The voice was young—a child’s voice—and it sounded afraid. She reached for the radio, her hand quivering as she turned up the volume.

“Hello?” the voice said again. “Please, if you can hear me, say something.”

Ellie hesitated. This had to be a prank, some kind of late-night joke. But something about the voice—the obvious anxiety in it—made her respond.

“I’m here,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Who is this?”

There was a delay, and then the voice came back, clearer now. “My name is Tommy. I’m… I’m lost. I don’t know where I am.”

Ellie’s gut churned. “Where are you calling from, Tommy?”

“I don’t know,” the boy answered, his voice breaking. “It’s dark. So dark. And there are… there are things here. I can hear them moving.”

Ellie’s mind raced. This had to be a fake. It had to be. But the dread in Tommy’s voice was too real, too raw to ignore.

“Can you describe where you are?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice calm.

“It’s… it’s like a forest,” Tommy added. “But the trees are wrong. They’re excessively tall, and they don’t have any leaves. And the ground… it’s velvety, like it’s alive.”

Ellie’s skin prickled. She glanced at the window, half-expecting to see the leafless trees outside. But the night was silent, the streetlights throwing long shadows on the vacant road.

“Tommy, how did you get there?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered, his voice shaking. “I was in my room, and then… then I was here. Please, you have to help me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Ellie’s heart ached. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t contact the police—what would she say? That she was chatting to a lost boy on an antique radio? They’d think she was nuts.

“I’ll help you, Tommy,” she responded, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “Just stay where you are. I’ll figure something out.”

There was a long stillness, and for a while, Ellie thought the connection had been lost. Then Tommy’s voice came back, so softly she almost missed it.

“They’re coming.”

The static returned, louder now, drowning out his words. Ellie hurriedly twisted the dial, attempting to bring him back, but it was no use. The radio became silent, the dial shining dimly in the dark.

She sat there for what felt like hours, staring at the radio, waiting for Tommy’s voice to return. But it didn’t. Finally, tiredness overpowered her, and she drifted into a fitful sleep.

The next night, the radio came to life again at 3:33 a.m.

Ellie was ready this time. She had spent the day researching, attempting to find an explanation for what had happened. She had even called the local radio station, but they had no record of any late-night broadcasts. Still, she couldn’t ignore the notion that Tommy was real—and that he needed her help.

“Tommy?” she said as soon as the static dissipated. “Are you there?”

There was a delay, and then his voice came through, weaker than before. “I’m here. They’re closer now. I can hear them breathing.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “Who’s closer, Tommy? Who’s there with you?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “But they’re not human. They’re… they’re wrong. Please, you have to help me.”

“I’m trying, Tommy,” Ellie murmured, her voice breaking. “But I don’t know where you are. Can you tell me anything else?”

There was a lengthy stillness, and then Tommy whispered, “There’s a light. Far away. But I can’t reach it. Every time I try, they pull me back.”

Ellie’s mind raced. A light. Could that be a route out? A way home?

“Tommy, listen to me,” she whispered, trying to sound calm. “You need to get to that light. No matter what, you need to get to it. Do you understand?”

“I’ll try,” he responded, his voice barely audible. “But I’m scared.”

“I know,” Ellie murmured, tears flowing down her face. “But you can do this. You’re stronger than you think.”

The static reappeared, louder and more chaotic than before. Ellie gripped the radio, willing Tommy to come back, but the connection was gone.

The third night, Ellie was waiting by the radio when it crackled to life at 3:33 a.m.

“Tommy?” she said immediately. “Are you there?”

There was no reaction, just static. Then, dimly, she heard something—a sound that made her blood run cold. It was laughing. Low, guttural, and completely unnatural.

“Tommy?” she said again, her voice shaking.

The laughter became louder, filling the room, and then the radio went silent. The dial dimmed, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Ellie sat there, her heart beating, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But the radio stayed silent.

The next morning, Ellie spotted the newspaper on her doorway. The headline caught her eye immediately: Local Boy Missing.

Her heart stopped as she read the article. Tommy Grayson, age 9, had disappeared from his house three nights ago. His parents had no idea where he had gone, and the police had no leads.

Ellie’s hands trembled as she laid the paper down. It was real. Tommy was real.

That night, she waited beside the radio, waiting for it to come to life. But it didn’t. It stayed silent, the dial dark.

Ellie never heard from Tommy again. But sometimes, late at night, she would wake to the sound of static, faint and distant, like a voice beckoning from another realm.

And sometimes, just before dawn, she would hear laughter.