Elliot didn’t want to speak.But something forced the words out.
“My name is Elliot Crane… and I don’t know where I am.”
The microphone vibrated slightly.
A low murmur of approval filled the space.
“Better,” the voice said. “Honesty sustains them.”
“Them?” Elliot asked.
A pause.
Then:
“Your audience.”
The studio walls rippled again. This time, shapes formed within them—indistinct silhouettes pressing outward, like figures trapped behind stretched fabric.
Elliot stumbled back.
“They’re not real,” he whispered.
The voice replied immediately.
“They are more real than you.”
The microphone inched closer again.
“Continue the broadcast.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
Silence.
Then the red light flickered violently.
The walls bulged outward.
The silhouettes pushed harder.
A sound emerged—a wet, dragging noise, like something forcing itself through too-small openings.
“They come closer,” the voice said simply.
Elliot swallowed.
“Okay… okay.”
He turned back to the microphone.
“I… I guess I’ll tell a story.”
The whispers returned, quieter this time.
Hungry.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
No comments:
Post a Comment