Echoes of Midnight

Static crackles softly in the background as Arin Sharma stands in the dimly lit attic of her grandmother’s house. Dust motes dance in the golden afternoon light streaming through the small window. Her fingers trace the surface of an antique wooden radio sitting atop a dusty shelf. When she was little, Grandma Kamala used to tell her stories about this house—that every corner held memories waiting to be uncovered. But Arin never thought she’d actually live here. Not after everything that happened. Her parents had vanished without a trace six months ago, leaving her alone in their city apartment. The police investigation went nowhere, and relatives whispered behind closed doors about how they couldn’t cope with raising a teenager. That’s when Grandma Kamala stepped in—or so Arin thought. Now, standing amidst the relics of her grandmother’s life, she wonders if there’s more to the story than anyone told her. She picks up the radio, inspecting its worn dials and tarnished knobs. It’s heavier than it looks, with intricate carvings along its edges that seem almost familiar. Hesitant, she turns it on. At first, only static fills the room. But then— A faint voice emerges, distorted but clear enough to send shivers down her spine. “Help me…” Arin freezes, dropping the radio. It clatters to the floor, the sound cutting off abruptly. For a moment, silence reigns supreme. Then, her phone buzzes loudly in her pocket, startling her. “What the hell was that?” she whispers to herself, staring at the device like it might bite her. The radio lies silent now, but its presence feels oppressive, as though it’s watching her. She kneels down and examines it closely, noticing strange symbols etched into its surface. They seem familiar, though she can’t place why. Faintly glowing under the sunlight, the symbols pulse slightly, as if alive. Later that evening, Arin sits at her desk, sketching the radio in her notebook. Drawing has always been her way of processing emotions, and tonight is no different. As she traces the symbols with her pencil, the static noise returns, louder this time. “You shouldn’t have come here…” The voice isn’t just in the radio anymore—it’s in her mind, echoing around her skull like a ghostly whisper. Arin jumps up, knocking over her water bottle. Panic sets in as she realizes the whispers aren’t random—they’re personal. “Who are you? Show yourself!” she demands, clutching the edge of her desk for support. But there’s no answer, only the persistent hum of the radio. Suddenly, the lights flicker, and the room grows colder. Shadows stretch unnaturally across the walls, forming shapes that resemble people crying out for help. Arin grabs the radio and shuts it off, but the whispers continue in her mind. “Help me… Arin…” Before she can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Startled, she spins around, heart racing. Standing in the doorway is a boy holding a camera slung over his shoulder. “Hey, I’m Rohan,” he says with a friendly smile. “Your neighbor said you moved in today. Thought I’d introduce myself.” Arin stares at him, still processing what just happened. Slowly, she forces a smile. “Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks. I’m Arin.” Rohan steps inside, glancing curiously at the radio on her desk. “That thing looks ancient. Where’d you get it?” Arin hesitates, unsure how much to reveal. Little does she know, this encounter will change everything. The next morning, sunlight filters through the curtains of Arin’s bedroom. She sits at her desk, staring at the radio. Its surface seems to shimmer faintly under the light, the symbols glowing ever so slightly. The whispers from last night still echo in her mind. It wasn’t static. It was… something else. Something real. A knock at the door interrupts her thoughts. She opens it to find Rohan standing there, holding a camera slung over his shoulder. “Morning! I thought we could grab some coffee and maybe talk about that thing you found yesterday,” he says casually, though his eyes gleam with curiosity. Arin hesitates before nodding. “Sure. Coffee sounds good.” At a small café downtown, Arin hesitantly tells Rohan about the whispers she heard from the radio. He listens intently, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. “You know,” he begins, leaning forward, “there are stories around here about The Veil Island. People say it’s cursed. Teenagers have gone missing near there over the years. No one talks about it much, though.” “The Veil Island?” Arin repeats, feeling a chill run down her spine. “It’s this fog-covered island just off the coast. Locals call it ‘The Veil’ because no one who goes there ever comes back unchanged—if they come back at all.” Arin feels a lump form in her throat. Could the whispers be connected to the island? And why does the radio seem so tied to her family’s past? Back at Rohan’s family bookstore, they dive deeper into local history. Shelves filled with dusty tomes line the walls, and the air smells of aged paper and ink. Rohan leads her to a section marked “Local History” and hands her an old leather-bound journal and a rolled-up map. “This should help,” he says. As Arin flips through the journal, her eyes widen at what she reads. There were disappearances here decades ago, and every single one mentions The Veil Island. Rohan points to the map. “See those X marks? They’re all clustered around the same area.” Together, they examine the map, noting the locations of the Xs. Each one corresponds to a reported disappearance. Arin pulls out her notebook, showing Rohan the sketches of the symbols she drew from the radio. “Do these look familiar?” Rohan leans closer, studying the drawings carefully. “Those… those are old runes. My grandfather used to collect books on local folklore. I might have something at home that matches them.” That night, as Arin lies in bed, the whispers return, louder and clearer than ever. One voice stands out—a girl crying for help. “Please… someone has to hear me…” Arin sits bolt upright, clutching the blanket tightly. Outside her window, fog rolls in across the yard, obscuring the moonlight. Just as she turns away, a shadowy figure vanishes into the mist. Who—or what—is out there? And why is it calling to her?