Whispers in the Static

"The radio picks up only one transmitter here," the old man warned.

Noah did not take care of it. He needed loneliness.

Lake huts were kept for miles from the next city deep in the forest. There is no cell signal. There is no Wi-Fi. Just fireworks, old furniture, peace - the perfect place to forget.

He turned the button on the dusty radio that was sitting on the kitchen counter. It cried, surprised, and settled in a single station. The woman's voice has become softer and softer.

"...If you hear it, it's already seen it. Please calm down. "

The

signal fell in a static way. Anything. He didn't come here due to the noise.

Day 2.

He woke up to the sound of the radio. He didn't remember to continue.

"...he will listen again," whispered the woman.

"Stop talking about him."

"He's awake now."

"shh.. too late."

Noah threw the connector.

I felt the next silence was wrong. It's too deep. How did the cabin itself hold its breath?

Day 3.

He found footprints on the veranda. Bare legs. human. small.

He saw the tree, but there was nothing. There is no movement. There are no animals. Just a thick forest that I looked back on.

He checked the rock. Everything is still closed.

Radio - still plugged in - is back in life.

"He blocked the door," the new voice said. child.

"It's inside anyway."

Noah slowly turned to the sound.

The radio did not have a power cable. He had thrown it in the trash the night before.

But there it was - back to the counter.

I didn't stop static tonight.

A voice whispered through the darkness.

He put the radio in his closet and pressed a chair against it and wrapped it in a towel.

was still hissing.

Day

.

Noah stopped sleeping.

He sat on the couch, looking at the wall, watching the shadows move incorrectly.

Radio always played the same Whisper loop.

"He can hear us."

"He tries to forget."

"I remember."

"I remember."

's hands trembled.

"Hold the flap," he muttered.

A whisper made a laugh.

"Now he rebuts..."

Light flickered.

That night, Noah heard the steps above him.

However, the cabin did not have a second floor.

When he finally left, Mori summed up. It's not insects. In a voice.

Deleted, broken, duplicated - like a layer of human crying in an empty corridor.

He tried the car.

Dead battery.

He sprinted to the edge of the forest, and thought there was a street there.

There were no

ways.

Only tight and unknown trees.

When he turned around, the cabin was gone.

Day Five.

He discovered himself returned internal.

No reminiscence of how.

The radio became in his lap. “Tell them what you did,” the lady`s voice stated.

“No,” Noah muttered.

The radio screamed—a horrible, metal screech like masses of voices wailing at once.

He dropped it, stumbled, arms over his ears. “You left them,” the child`s voice accused.

“They drowned.”

“You walked away.”

“Now listen...”

The static twisted into a legitimate he hadn`t heard in six months.

Lila's laugh. His little sister.

She had long gone lacking that day on the lake.

So had his pal Chris.

He stated he went inside to make sandwiches. Just for a second.

But while he got here, he returned out, they had been long gone. Everyone stated it became an accident. That they drowned. That it wasn't his fault. But he hadnt looked. He ran.

He couldn't deal with it, so he left town. Now he has become returned. And so had they been. That night, the radio grew louder. The cabin shook.

He smashed it with a hearthplace poker—once, twice—till it shattered.

Silence.

Then—

“We don`t want the radio anymore.”

He turned.

Lila stood within the hallway. Pale. Wet. Eyes are all white. Chris became beside her, palms broken, head tilted. They smiled.

Day Six.

Noah wakened outside, curled beside the ashes of the firepit.

The cabin became nevertheless standing, however now the radio became internal. Every time he closed his eyes, the voices performed in his skull.

“We remember.”

“Do you?”

“Do you?”

“DO YOU?”

He screamed till his throat became raw. One week later.

When the police sooner or later discovered him, he became sitting on the porch. Eyes open. Still.

Muttering to himself.

“Static... static... make it stop... I didn`t imply to...”

Inside, they discovered no radio.

Only a vintage tape recorder. Rewound. Played over and over.

“If you`re listening to this... it`s already watching. Stay quiet.”

EPILOGUE – PRESENT DAY

A lady walks via the dusty vintage cabin, now indexed as a “rustic rental.” Her son runs ahead.

“Look, mom!” he shouts. “A cool vintage radio!”

She smiles.

“Don`t contact that,” she says.

But it's too late. It crackles to life.

THE END