The Static Man

Daniel wakes up to the sound of an alarm clock.

The apartment is dim, the air thick with dust and something else he can’t place—something old, something waiting.

He rubs his eyes, blinks at the unfamiliar surroundings. New place. New start. He tells himself that. Over and over.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed. Boxes are stacked against the walls, unopened. He was supposed to unpack last night, but he was too tired. The first day at a new job looms over him. It’s a fresh start. That’s what matters.

His phone buzzes. A message from his mother.

Mom: Proud of you for trying again, sweetheart. Call me when you’re settled.

Trying again. That’s what everyone calls it. As if this is something small. As if this is something people recover from. As if five years ago, he didn’t wake up in a hospital bed to the words: “I’m sorry, Daniel. They didn’t make it.”

Daniel exhales sharply, shoving the memory back down. Today is about the future. Not the past.

And then—he notices it.

A radio, sitting in the open closet.

It’s old—too old—covered in dust, its dials worn smooth. He doesn’t remember unpacking it. Hell, he doesn’t even remember owning it.

He turns it on.

Nothing but static.

That night, Daniel wakes to the sound of whispering.

It’s faint, crackling through the apartment like an untuned frequency. His heart pounds. His ears strain.

Then—through the static—

“Daniel.”

He freezes.

The voice is soft, familiar.

His wife’s voice.

His throat tightens. It’s a trick, a dream, a cruel echo of something lost. But then the static shifts, and the voice returns, clearer now.

“Daniel… you remember me, don’t you?”

He stares at the radio, his breath sharp and uneven.

This is grief. This is exhaustion. This is his mind playing cruel tricks.

But then the voice whispers again—

“I miss you.”

And Daniel, despite everything, starts to listen.

At first, the voice is comforting.

It speaks in hushed tones, like a secret only he can hear. It reminds him of things he’s forgotten—the scent of her shampoo, the way their daughter’s laughter used to fill the house.

Every night, he sits in the dark and listens.

Maybe this is okay. Maybe this is what he needs.

But then—the voice starts asking him questions.

“Do you remember what happened that night?”

His stomach knots. He doesn’t want to.

The static crackles.

“Daniel… are you sure?”

And then—the memories come.

Not like dreams. Like intrusions.

He sees a steering wheel gripped too tight. Headlights cutting through rain. A woman’s voice saying his name, urgent, pleading.

The radio crackles with something almost like laughter.

“You don’t even remember, do you?”

The radio won’t turn off.

Even unplugged, it hums with static.

Daniel sees things that shouldn’t be there.

A child’s drawing on his fridge. (But he has no child.)

A red stain on his hands. (But he hasn’t cut himself.)

His wife’s voice whispering in his ear when he turns out the lights.

His mother calls.

“Daniel… are you okay? You called me last night, but you weren’t speaking. Just… breathing.”

His blood runs cold.

He never called her.

One night, he wakes up standing in the middle of the street.

His heart is pounding. His breath sharp.

And in his hands—the radio.

The static hisses like something alive.

And then—a voice.

“Come home, Daniel.”

His chest tightens. His eyes burn. He lifts his head—

And he sees them.

His wife. His daughter.

Standing in the middle of the road.

Tears slip down his face. His hands shake. He moves toward them.

Then—headlights. A car horn.

A blinding impact.

Pain.

Darkness.

And then—

Daniel wakes up in his apartment.

His new apartment.

The boxes are still unpacked. The radio is still in the closet.

His phone buzzes.

Mom: Proud of you for trying again, sweetheart. Call me when you’re settled.

His breath catches. Something feels wrong.

He goes to the closet.

He finds the radio.

That night, as he lies in bed—

Through the static, a voice speaks.

“Daniel.”

Daniel has been here before.

Hundreds. Thousands of times.

Every time, he thinks it’s his new life.

Every time, he finds the radio.

Every time, he listens.

Every time, he sees them in the road.

Every time, he dies.

And every time—he forgets.

Because that night, he was the one driving the car.

That night, he was drunk.

That night, he killed not only his family, but the other family in the crash.

This isn’t his fresh start.

This is hell.

His hell.

And he will never leave.

Daniel sits on the edge of his bed.

The radio crackles beside him.

Through the static, his wife whispers:

“Don’t look in the mirror.”

He does.

And in the reflection—

He sees himself dying.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The End . . .