The radio arrived wrapped in brown paper with no return address.
Elliot found it sitting on the front step of his apartment building just after midnight, while cigarette smoke drifted through the alley behind him and rainwater dripped from rusted fire escapes overhead.
The package had his name written on it in faded black ink.
Not his address.
Just his name.
“ELLIOT VALE.”
Nothing else.
He looked up and down the empty street. Saskatoon’s downtown core was nearly dead at that hour — only the occasional taxi hissed through the wet roads.
The box was surprisingly heavy.
Inside his apartment, he cut the twine carefully and unfolded the paper. Beneath layers of yellowed newspaper sat an old portable radio from the 1970s. Wood-panelled. Cracked dial. Tarnished silver antenna.
It smelled faintly of mildew.
Taped to the top was a note.
DO NOT TURN IT TO 87.9
Elliot laughed under his breath.
That alone guaranteed he would.
He set the radio on his kitchen table and plugged it into the wall. For a moment nothing happened. Then a low hum emerged from the speaker, accompanied by thick static.
The dial crackled as he turned it slowly through stations filled with country music, late-night talk shows, distant French broadcasts.
Then he stopped.
87.9 FM.
The static vanished instantly.
A man was breathing.
That was all.
Slow.
Wet.
Uneven.
Elliot frowned. “What the hell?”
The breathing continued for nearly ten seconds before a voice emerged from the speaker.
Not a radio host.
Not prerecorded.
A frightened whisper.
“He can hear this station now.”
The transmission cut dead.
Silence.
Elliot stared at the radio.
Then laughed nervously.
Some kind of art project maybe. A pirate station. Creepy internet nonsense.
He reached to turn the dial away.
The radio spoke again.
“Don’t.”
Elliot froze.
The voice was clearer now. Female. Elderly.
“If you turn away, he’ll know you listened.”
A burst of static screamed through the apartment hard enough to make Elliot flinch backward.
Then silence again.
His smile had vanished.
He unplugged the radio immediately.
The speaker continued breathing.
Cold prickled up Elliot’s spine.
The radio wasn’t plugged in anymore.
Slowly, he backed away from the kitchen table.
The speaker crackled softly.
“He’s in the building now.”
A hard knock sounded from the apartment door.
Elliot jumped violently.
Three knocks.
Very slow.
THUNK.
THUNK.
THUNK.
He stood motionless.
Another knock came, this time lower on the door, as though whoever stood outside had bent downward unnaturally.
Then came scratching.
Not with fingernails.
With something metallic.
Elliot forced himself toward the peephole.
The hallway outside was empty.
But the scratching continued.
Directly beneath the peephole.
His breath fogged the lens as he leaned closer.
Then something moved.
A pale eye rolled upward from the bottom edge of the door.
Not outside the peephole.
Pressed directly against it.
The eye was cloudy white, twitching rapidly.
And smiling.
Elliot stumbled backward with a cry.
The scratching stopped.
The radio hissed.
“He knows what you look like now.”
The lights in the apartment flickered once.
Twice.
Then went out completely.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Outside, thunder rolled across the city.
Elliot grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight. The beam shook in his trembling hand.
The apartment looked wrong somehow.
Longer.
The hallway leading to his bedroom seemed stretched impossibly far, disappearing into shadows that hadn’t been there before.
The radio crackled again from the kitchen.
“He changes places when the lights die.”
Elliot didn’t answer.
His mouth had gone dry.
The voice continued.
“You mustn’t let him stand behind you.”
The flashlight flickered.
Elliot spun around instantly.
Nothing there.
When he turned back toward the kitchen, the radio was gone.
Only the dangling power cord remained.
A sound came from the bedroom hallway.
Soft footsteps.
Dragging slightly.
He backed toward the front door and grabbed the handle.
Locked.
He twisted harder.
It wouldn’t move.
Another step echoed from the hallway.
Then another.
Elliot raised the flashlight.
At first he saw nothing.
Then the beam caught two feet standing upside down on the ceiling.
His breath stopped.
A figure clung there like a spider, folded in ways a human body shouldn’t bend. Long grey arms dangled downward. Its head twisted completely backward.
The face had no eyes.
Only a huge grin full of tiny square teeth.
It began crawling toward him across the ceiling with slow wet crunches from its joints.
Elliot screamed and lunged for the door.
The lock finally gave.
He burst into the hallway outside and nearly fell.
The corridor lights buzzed weakly overhead.
Empty.
Silent.
His apartment door slammed shut behind him.
Elliot hammered the elevator button repeatedly.
Come on.
Come on.
The footsteps inside his apartment moved toward the door.
Slowly.
The wood creaked.
A shape pressed outward from the centre of the door as though something enormous leaned against it from the other side.
The elevator dinged open.
Elliot rushed inside and smashed the lobby button.
As the doors slid closed, he saw the apartment door begin to open inward.
Only darkness waited inside.
Not a dark room.
A deeper darkness.
Like a tunnel descending forever.
And from inside came hundreds of breathing voices whispering together:
“He listened.”
The elevator doors shut.
Elliot collapsed against the wall, hyperventilating.
The elevator descended painfully slowly.
Floor 8.
Floor 7.
Floor 6.
Then it stopped.
The lights went out.
The elevator halted between floors.
“No no no no…”
Static crackled overhead through the speaker panel.
Then the old woman’s voice returned.
“He likes elevators.”
Something landed on top of the elevator car with a massive metallic BOOM.
Dust drifted from the ceiling panels.
A second impact followed.
Then scratching.
Long deliberate scratches moving across the roof.
Elliot looked upward in horror.
The metal ceiling began denting inward.
Finger shapes pressed through it from above.
Too many fingers.
The speaker crackled again.
“Don’t let it mimic you.”
“What?!” Elliot shouted.
The response came immediately.
“Because then it can wear you.”
A loud clang erupted above him.
The emergency hatch slowly began opening.
Darkness leaked through the widening crack.
Then a face appeared upside down in the gap.
Elliot’s face.
Identical.
Except for the smile.
Too wide.
Its mouth opened.
Inside was only darkness.
No tongue.
No throat.
Just depth.
The thing spoke in Elliot’s own voice.
“Please help me.”
Elliot backed into the corner sobbing.
The creature pulled itself halfway through the hatch, limbs cracking loudly as they unfolded.
Its skin stretched loosely over its body like wet clothing.
“You shouldn’t have changed the station,” it whispered.
Then every light in the elevator exploded at once.
Complete darkness.
Elliot screamed and swung blindly with his phone flashlight.
Something grabbed his wrist.
Its hand felt freezing cold and horribly soft.
The flashlight spun away.
In the darkness, dozens of voices began whispering all around him.
Not from one creature.
Many.
Thousands.
“He heard us.”
“He opened the door.”
“He let us through.”
Hands touched his shoulders.
His neck.
His face.
Cold fingers slipped into his mouth.
Elliot shrieked.
Then the elevator lights suddenly flickered back on.
He was alone.
Panting.
Curled on the floor.
The hatch above was closed again.
Everything silent.
A pleasant ding sounded.
The elevator resumed moving.
Moments later, the doors opened into the lobby.
Empty.
Warm lights.
Normal.
Elliot staggered outside into the rain.
Cars passed.
People walked along the pavement.
The world looked ordinary again.
He laughed shakily from relief.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
With trembling fingers, he answered.
Static.
Then breathing.
Wet.
Uneven.
Finally, a whisper emerged.
Not from the phone speaker.
From directly behind him.
“You turned away from the station.”
Elliot slowly looked down.
His shadow on the wet pavement was smiling.
And it was no longer attached to his feet.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
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