The Last Broadcast

Without notice, the storm came through and suffocated the town in darkness.

Inside the community radio station that was falling apart, Evelyn, the night host, fixed her mic.. The power grid had failed hours ago, but the station’s old backup generator hummed on, stubbornly alive. Outside, the streets were empty. The town had gone silent.

“This is Evelyn Hart, your midnight voice,” she whispered into the mic, her voice trembling but steady. “If you’re out there… if anyone’s out there… stay inside. Lock your doors. Don’t answer the knocking.”

She paused. The air in the room felt heavy, thick, as though someone was sitting just behind her. Slowly, she turned—nothing.
Just shadows on the crumbling wallpaper.
Her headphones crackled.

A distorted voice whispered through the static: “You shouldn’t have said that.”

Evelyn froze.

“This… this is a prank,” she muttered, fumbling with the controls. But the signal was clean—no caller, no interference. Just the voice.

The phone rang.

She stared at it, dread rooting her to the chair. The station phone hadn’t worked in years.

It rang again. And again.

Finally, with shaking hands, she picked it up.

“Hello?”

The line hissed. Then, in the same warped tone, the voice answered:
“Open the door, Evelyn. We’re waiting.”

Her eyes darted to the heavy steel door at the back of the station—the one no one ever used. And then she heard it.

Three soft knocks.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Her heart thundered. She stumbled back, nearly tripping over a coil of cables. The knocks grew louder, sharper, until they rattled the walls.

She slammed the mic button, screaming into the broadcast: “Don’t open your doors! Don’t let them in!”

Then, silence.

The generator sputtered. The lights flickered.

And before the power finally died, Evelyn caught her reflection in the studio glass.

Only—it wasn’t her.

The reflection smiled, lips moving in sync with the voice:
“It’s already too late.”