The Last Broadcast

The town of Briar Hollow was a place where time seemed to stand still. Nestled deep in the woods, it was a town untouched by the frenetic pace of the outside world. The roads wound through thick forest, and the few people who lived there rarely left. Briar Hollow had no need for much-just a handful of houses, a small diner, and a local radio station where most of the town's communication took place.

Ben Turner, the station's sole radio DJ, had spent the past ten years at the microphone, keeping the residents company through the long, cold nights. Briar Hollow was a place that became eerily quiet after dusk, the kind of quiet that settled into your bones and made you question if you were truly alone. For Ben, that quiet was something he had grown accustomed to.

Tonight, however, was different.

It was late October, and the storm had arrived suddenly-too suddenly. What had been a gentle rain earlier in the day had quickly turned into a fierce thunderstorm. The wind whipped through the trees outside, sending branches crashing against the windows. The steady hum of the radio station's equipment was the only sound in the studio, except for the occasional rumble of thunder. It wasn't unusual for storms to roll through Briar Hollow, but there was something about this one that made Ben uneasy. The air felt thick with tension, as if the storm itself was holding its breath.

Ben glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 11:00 PM, and the townsfolk would be tucked into their homes, waiting out the storm. Most of his audience tuned in late at night for the soothing background of his voice, music, and the occasional local news. Briar Hollow was a small town, and everyone knew everyone. But still, Ben felt that he was the only link between the residents and the world beyond the trees.

He adjusted the dial on the turntable, selecting an old jazz record. He enjoyed the quiet rhythm of the music, something to fill the void as he chatted between songs. He had been doing this job for years, and though it was a solitary life, he found a sense of peace in it. The music was a comfort, the silence a constant companion.

But tonight, the silence was unsettling. The static from the radio equipment seemed louder than usual, and Ben couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up, checking the time again-11:15 PM. That's when the phone rang.

The shrill sound of the old landline echoed through the studio, and Ben jumped, startled by the intrusion. For a moment, he hesitated. It was odd for anyone to call this late, especially during such a violent storm. But his curiosity got the best of him, and he reached for the receiver, his fingers brushing the cold plastic.

"Hello?" Ben said, trying to keep his voice steady.

There was a long pause on the other end. Ben held the phone close to his ear, straining to hear any sound through the crackling line. Then, a voice finally emerged, low and distorted, as if coming from the other side of a great distance.

"Ben... I know who you are," the voice rasped. It was barely a whisper, but its strange, hollow tone sent a chill down Ben's spine.

Ben frowned, his pulse quickening. "Who is this?" he asked, his voice tinged with unease.

The voice didn't respond right away. Instead, there was a soft crackling noise, followed by the sound of static. For a moment, Ben wondered if it was just a prank call. Briar Hollow had its share of oddballs, and late-night calls were not unheard of. But this felt different-too deliberate, too eerie.

"I... I don't have much time," the voice continued, its tone urgent. "They're coming for you."

Ben's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean? Who's coming?"

The line went dead, cutting him off mid-sentence. Ben held the receiver in his hand, staring at it in disbelief. What just happened?

The sudden silence in the studio was deafening. Ben's fingers tightened around the phone. He wasn't sure if it was the storm or something else, but the air had shifted. A strange weight pressed down on him, filling him with an inexplicable sense of dread.

He quickly hung up and stood up from the desk, pacing back and forth in the dimly lit studio. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. "They're coming for you." The words replayed in his head like an eerie echo. Who had called? And more importantly-why?

Ben glanced toward the window, but the rain had made it impossible to see anything clearly. He moved over to the small shelf that held a few weathered books and a map of the surrounding area, something he often referred to when giving directions or discussing local history on air. But tonight, he couldn't focus on anything. The weight in the room grew heavier by the second.

Just as Ben turned to return to his station, the lights flickered once, then twice. He froze. Power outages were not uncommon during storms, but this felt different-there was a sudden, unnatural stillness in the air. The lights went out completely, leaving the room bathed only in the faint glow of the emergency exit sign.

Ben grabbed the flashlight that sat on the desk, feeling his pulse quicken as the darkness enveloped him. His hand was clammy as he flicked the switch, casting a narrow beam of light across the room. The radio station had always felt like a second home, but now, it seemed alien to him-like something was watching him from the corners of the room, waiting for him to make the wrong move.

His thoughts raced, and panic began to creep in. The wind outside had begun to howl even louder, rattling the windows. The storm was intensifying, the pressure building. In his gut, Ben felt it-something was coming, something that had been triggered by that phone call, that strange, distorted voice.

A faint sound broke his thoughts. It was a tap, like someone gently knocking at the window. Ben's breath caught in his throat. He turned slowly toward the sound, the flashlight trembling in his hand. At first, he saw nothing but the swirling, wet darkness outside. But as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he thought he saw movement-figures, moving through the rain.

His breath caught in his throat, and he froze, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. They were walking slowly, deliberately, toward the station. Several figures, all indistinct in the storm, all shrouded in mist. It wasn't just the wind or the rain playing tricks on him. Ben could see them clearly now-there was no mistaking the shape of them.

His stomach churned. He wasn't sure if it was the storm or something else, but it felt as if the ground had shifted beneath him. He wasn't alone.

Just as his hand reached for the phone again, desperate to call for help, the lights flickered back to life. For a brief moment, everything seemed to settle. The static noise on the radio ceased, replaced by a faint hum from the equipment. The figures outside disappeared, and the storm, though still fierce, seemed to lose its edge.

Ben's fingers hovered over the phone, but something told him to wait. The strange sense of foreboding hadn't lifted-it had only grown stronger. He turned back to the window, peering through the blinds once more. There was no sign of anyone. Just the rain.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. He wasn't sure what it was, but something had just changed in Briar Hollow, and it was too late to stop it. The storm wasn't the only thing raging outside.