The Last Transmission

It was supposed to be a fun night—just me, my friends, and a creepy old radio station on the outskirts of town. We’d heard the stories about the place: how it had been shut down after strange transmissions started haunting the airwaves. They said the last broadcast sent shivers down spines and made people go missing. But we were all thrill-seekers, and the idea of exploring the station felt like a perfect way to spend a Friday night.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” I insisted, trying to convince my friends. Sarah was the most hesitant. “What if we really do hear something?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Then we’ll make the best of it,” Jake laughed, tossing his backpack in the trunk of my car. “It’ll be an adventure!”

We arrived as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. The station loomed ahead, its once-vibrant sign now rusted and barely legible. “WQXR-96,” it read, barely hanging on. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. A cold wind whipped through the air, making me shiver despite the warmth of my jacket.

“Let’s go!” I said, trying to mask my unease. We grabbed our flashlights and ventured inside, the creaking door protesting loudly as we pushed it open. The lobby was dusty, filled with old chairs and broken equipment. It felt as if time had forgotten this place, and the air was thick with an unsettling silence.

“Anyone else hear that?” Sarah whispered. We paused, straining our ears. Just faintly, there was a crackling sound, like static.

“Probably just the wind,” Jake said dismissively. But I wasn’t so sure. The sound felt… alive.

We moved deeper into the station, the beams from our flashlights dancing over old posters and rusted microphones. “Look!” Adam shouted, pointing to a staircase spiraling upward. “Let’s see what’s up there!”

We climbed the stairs, each step echoing like a heartbeat in the stillness. At the top, we found a large room filled with old recording equipment. A massive soundboard dominated one wall, tangled wires hanging from it like vines. Jake rushed over to it, grinning. “Let’s see if we can get anything to work!”

“No way,” Sarah protested, her voice shaky. “We shouldn’t mess with this stuff. It’s creepy!”

But Jake was already flipping switches, and soon enough, the soundboard hummed to life. A low, crackling noise filled the room, followed by a garbled voice. My heart raced. This was it—the last transmission.

I glanced at Sarah, who was backing away. “Maybe we should go…” she began, but Jake interrupted her.

“Just listen!” he urged, excitement in his eyes. The voice grew clearer, repeating a chilling phrase over and over: “Help me… help me… help me…”

My stomach knotted. “What do you think that means?” I asked, trying to sound brave.

“Maybe someone’s trapped here?” Adam suggested, but I wasn’t convinced. It felt wrong, like a warning. Suddenly, the voice shifted, becoming more frantic. “Get out! Get out!”

Panic surged through me, and I turned to leave. “We need to go now!” I shouted. But just then, the soundboard erupted with static, and a cold wave of air rushed through the room, extinguishing our flashlights. We were plunged into darkness.

“Jake! Turn it off!” I yelled, fear tightening my chest.

“I can’t see!” he cried. The static grew louder, enveloping us like a living thing. It felt like hands reaching out, clawing at my sanity. I stumbled back, desperate to find the door.

“Follow my voice!” Adam shouted, his voice shaky but resolute. We moved toward the sound, but as I reached for the door, I felt a strong pull, as if something was trying to keep me there.

Suddenly, the lights flickered back on, and I found myself standing alone in the room. “Guys?” I called, panic rising. Where were they? I whirled around, but they were gone. “This isn’t funny!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the eerie silence.

The radio crackled again, and the voice returned, now sounding directly at me. “You shouldn’t have come here. It’s too late for you.”

I froze, dread seeping into my bones. “What do you want?” I whispered, trembling.

“Help me,” it rasped, and in that moment, I felt a sudden surge of understanding—a connection. I wasn’t just hearing the transmission; I was part of it. The voice was inside my head, pulling me deeper into its chaos.

Before I could process what was happening, the room shifted around me. The walls warped and twisted, the equipment melting into a mass of shadows. I was drawn into a vortex of sound, a cacophony of whispers and screams. I was being consumed.

Then, just as suddenly, I was standing back in the lobby, disoriented but unharmed. The sun was rising outside, casting a warm glow through the shattered windows. I staggered toward the entrance, heart racing.

But as I stepped outside, the world looked different. Familiar yet strange. I glanced back at the station, which now appeared pristine, as if untouched by time. The radio sign gleamed, its letters glowing with an otherworldly light.

A voice broke the silence, cheerful and bright. “Welcome to WQXR-96! Your favorite station for all the hits!”

I blinked, the realization crashing over me like ice water. I hadn’t escaped. I was part of the transmission now, trapped in a loop, broadcasting to anyone foolish enough to venture near. And somewhere in the shadows of the station, I could hear my friends’ voices, forever repeating: “Help us… help us…”