The salt air clung to Mara’s skin as she adjusted the rusted dial on the antique radio, its wooden casing groaning under her fingers. Static hissed from the speaker, sharp and metallic, like a thousand needles scratching at her eardrums. She leaned closer, breath fogging the glass front, and twisted the knob again. A voice crackled through—faint, distorted, but unmistakably human.
“…help me…” The words slithered out of the speaker, raw and trembling. Mara froze. The voice wasn’t on any station she’d ever heard. It sounded like it was coming from inside the radio itself, as if someone had screamed into the receiver and left the connection open.
She spun around, expecting to find her brother, Eli, lurking behind her. But the attic was empty, save for the dust motes swirling in the slanting afternoon light. The radio had been silent for weeks, buried under a mountain of old newspapers and fishing nets. Eli had sworn it was broken. “Just a junk heap,” he’d said, kicking the cabinet as he left. But now it was talking.
Mara’s pulse thudded in her ears. She reached for the volume knob, then hesitated. The voice wasn’t just a random transmission—it was begging. “Who’s there?” she whispered, her own words swallowed by the static. The radio sputtered, and the voice returned, clearer this time.
“They’re coming. You have to stop them.” The urgency in the speaker’s tone sent a shiver down her spine. Mara’s fingers tightened around the edge of the cabinet. “Who’s coming? What are you talking about?”
The radio went silent. Mara stared at it, her breath shallow. Then, without warning, the speaker erupted with a burst of noise—a screech of tires, a door slamming, and a woman’s scream that cut through the air like a knife. The attic seemed to shrink around her, the walls pressing in as the sounds faded into a low hum.
She backed away, her knees weak. The radio sat there, innocent and still, as if it had never spoken at all. But Mara knew what she’d heard. The voice hadn’t been from the outside world. It had been trapped inside the machine, waiting.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. The house felt different—too quiet, too still. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a footstep. She kept glancing at the attic door, half-expecting it to swing open on its own. When her phone rang at 2:17 a.m., she nearly dropped it.
“Mara?” Eli’s voice was low, urgent. “You still there?”
“Yeah,” she said, her throat dry. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to come over. Now.” His tone left no room for argument. Mara grabbed her jacket and slipped out the back door, the night air sharp against her skin. The streets were empty, the usual hum of the coastal town replaced by an eerie stillness. When she reached Eli’s house, he was waiting on the porch, his face pale under the flickering streetlamp.
“What’s going on?” she asked, stepping closer. His eyes were darting to the shadows, as if expecting someone to jump out at any second.
“The radio,” he said. “It’s not just a radio. It’s a transmitter. And someone’s been using it.” He hesitated, then added, “I think they’re watching us.”
Mara’s stomach dropped. “Who?”
Eli didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house, slamming the door behind them. The lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the walls. Mara’s mind raced. The voice, the scream, the way the radio had come alive—this wasn’t a coincidence. Something was happening, and they were right in the middle of it.
But as the night wore on, the real danger revealed itself. The radio wasn’t just a passive device—it was a key. And someone was determined to keep it locked away.
