The Last Broadcast

The wind howled outside the small, rusted radio station on the outskirts of town. WZRD-FM hadn’t aired anything for years—not since the fire in ‘98. But tonight, the static cleared, and a voice returned.

“Good evening, listeners. You’ve tuned in just in time. Stay with me,” the voice crackled through the old speakers.

Miles, a college student majoring in audio engineering, stood frozen in the dusty lobby. He and his friend Lena had broken in on a dare. The station was supposed to be abandoned.

“Did you hear that?” Miles whispered.

Lena frowned. “It’s probably just interference. Let’s check the booth.”

They stepped through the narrow hallway, floorboards creaking beneath them. The smell of burnt wood still lingered. The recording booth door was ajar. Inside, a red “ON AIR” sign flickered to life.

“That’s not possible,” Miles muttered, heart pounding.

The mic was live, and the reel-to-reel recorder spun on its own.

“Tonight, we bring you a special message. One just for you, Miles,” the voice said. It was old, like a recording from another era, yet it knew his name.

Miles staggered back. “No. That—how?”

Lena looked at him, fear creeping into her voice. “Is this a prank? Did you set this up?”

“I swear, I didn’t.”

The voice continued. “You should’ve stayed away. But now that you’re here… tell me, Miles. Do you remember your grandfather?”

Miles blinked. His grandfather had died in the fire. He was the DJ that night—no body was ever found.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed. The reels stopped. Silence.

“Miles, we need to go. Now,” Lena urged, grabbing his arm.

But the door slammed shut behind them with a thunderous bang. The mic crackled again.

“He wanted to warn them. But they didn’t listen. They never do.”

“Who are you?” Miles demanded.

The voice laughed, low and guttural. “I am the echo of what was left behind. I am the signal that never died.”

A shadow formed behind the glass—flickering, distorted, humanoid. It tilted its head, watching them.

Lena screamed and pounded on the door. Miles looked at the console and flipped every switch, trying to kill the feed, but the controls were cold, unresponsive.

“I’ll play one last song for you, Miles,” the voice said. “Just like he did. Then you’ll stay, too.”

The booth filled with the screech of warped vinyl spinning. A melody, broken and out of tune, seeped into their ears like rot.

Miles clutched his head. “Make it stop!”

Lena collapsed, blood trickling from her nose. The walls began to close in, the static screaming louder, filling every inch of the room.

And then—

Silence.

The next morning, the station was empty.

Except for the tape, still spinning, still recording.

A faint voice whispered from the static:

“Good evening, listeners. You’ve tuned in just in time… Stay with me.”