dead air

**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.**Dead Air**

The hum of the radio was the only sound in the cramped control room. A few static pops broke the silence, but it was mostly a low, constant buzz that filled the space, almost like the hum of an old refrigerator. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds in the darkened room, casting a faint, neon glow over the collection of buttons and switches that lined the console.

I sat there, staring at the monitor, waiting for something to happen. It had been an uneventful shift so far—just like every other. A typical late-night shift at the station, long after most people had gone to sleep. But tonight, there was something different in the air. I could feel it. Something was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could sense it, like the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

The show had ended nearly an hour ago, and the playlist had long since run its course. All that was left was dead air. The kind of silence that suffocates you, the kind of silence you can feel deep in your bones. My job was simple: make sure the show went smoothly, keep the playlist running, and avoid dead air at all costs. But tonight, there was nothing but silence.

I glanced at the clock again. 3:13 AM. The dead of night. The graveyard shift. A time when the world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t really exist, and the only thing that mattered was what was happening inside this dimly lit room.

"Okay, maybe it’s just the radio gods testing me," I muttered to myself. I leaned forward and adjusted the sliders on the soundboard, trying to fill the silence with something, anything. But nothing. The hum of the radio was still there, like it was mocking me, as if the airwaves were refusing to give up their secrets.

There was a sudden crackle in the headphones. A brief, faint whisper. I jumped, nearly knocking over my coffee cup. I pulled off the headphones, my heart pounding in my chest. But there was nothing else. Just the silence again.

I shook my head. "Get a grip, Tom," I muttered under my breath. "It’s just the equipment acting up."

But then it happened again. A whisper. This time, clearer.

"Help me…"

I froze. My eyes darted around the room, but everything was the same—dim, sterile, and empty. No one else was here, just me and the buzzing radio.

I slipped the headphones back on, my hands trembling slightly. The whisper was gone. In its place, just the soft crackling of static.

"Who’s there?" I asked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Nothing.

I let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, Tom. You’re losing it. Maybe you need a break. Maybe the stress is getting to you." But as I said it, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, something I couldn’t shake.

Then, without warning, the radio cut out entirely. Dead air. Complete silence. The hum, the static—it was gone.

I scrambled at the controls, flicking switches and pressing buttons, trying to get the station back on the air. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing. Nothing was working.

I stood up, pacing the small room in frustration. The clock ticked on, its seconds stretching into what felt like hours. What was happening?

And then the whisper came again, this time louder, more urgent.

"Tom…"

I spun around, eyes wide. No one was there.

"Who is this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was no answer. But then, through the static, I heard it.

"Please…"

The voice was unmistakable. It was a woman’s voice, breathy, full of desperation.

I grabbed the microphone, my hands shaking as I adjusted the controls. The air seemed heavier now, thick with a tension I couldn’t explain. I had to get something on the air, anything, to break this silence. But nothing came out of the speakers. Nothing but dead air.

"Help me, Tom…" The voice was clearer now. It seemed to come from the very walls of the control room, reverberating in the air like it was all around me.

"Who are you?" I shouted into the mic, my voice cracking. "What do you want?"

The static intensified, then faded away into complete silence. I was left standing there, breathless, my hands gripping the edge of the console, my mind racing. Was I losing it? Was this a prank? But it didn’t feel like a prank. It felt real. Too real.

The clock ticked again. 3:20 AM. My eyes flicked back to the monitor. For the first time, I noticed something strange—a tiny flicker of movement on the screen. A dark shape, like a shadow, moving across the digital readout.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. But the radio was still silent. The station still dead.

I walked over to the window that looked out into the empty lobby. The lights were off, the building was still, and the night outside stretched out like a vast, empty ocean. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven, as I watched the parking lot. Nothing moved.

"Please… you’re the only one who can hear me." The voice came again, but this time, it wasn’t from the radio. It was coming from right behind me.

I spun around, but the room was still empty. No one was there.

But I could still hear her. The woman. Her voice, faint but growing louder, more insistent.

"Help me…"

I grabbed the microphone, my hands slick with sweat, and spoke into it, my voice raw. "I’m here. Tell me what to do."

Silence. Then, the faintest sound—a soft breath, followed by a final plea:

"Save me."

The radio crackled one last time before going completely dead.