The coffee machine hummed softly in the background.
Outside, the street murmured with distant voices, a passing car, birds somewhere on a wire. Inside my apartment, a clock ticked steadily, each second falling into the next like it always did.
This is me.
Nancy.
I don't really know what I'm doing most of the time.
Three years in Salem, and somehow I built a life here. I know the streets, the cafés, even that strange little library no one ever visits. I know which shop burns their coffee and which one makes it just right. I know the quiet corners, the familiar faces.
I guess I'm… comfortable.
Or at least, I tell myself I am.
Every day looks the same. I go to work. I come home. I make tea. I scroll through my phone until my eyes hurt. It's boring, repetitive—safe.
And sometimes, safe is exactly what I need.
The kettle began to whistle. I moved across the wooden floor, my footsteps soft, automatic. Wind rattled the window as I poured the water, steam curling into the air.
I like knowing what to expect. The people. The streets. The silence at night.
But sometimes… I see things.
Shadows that shouldn't be there. Whispers with no source. Shapes moving just outside my vision. At first, I told myself it was nothing. Fatigue. Stress. Imagination.
Then I went to a doctor.
Hallucinations, they said. Rare, but manageable. The mind playing tricks, bending reality just enough to make it frightening. They told me I could live with it. Control it.
Most of the time, I do.
Most of the time, I know what's real and what isn't.
But tonight… I wasn't so sure.
My phone buzzed that evening.
Unknown number:
Come to the old studio… if you want answers.
I stared at the screen for a long time. My chest felt tight, my fingers cold. I should have ignored it. I knew that.
Instead, something deep inside me pulled me forward.
Curiosity won.
The old studio smelled of mildew and rust, like damp walls and something faintly metallic. An old chair sat in the center of the room. A dusty radio rested on a broken table. Papers and shattered frames were scattered everywhere, as if the place had been abandoned mid-thought.
The air felt heavy. Too still.
Whispers brushed against my ears—not loud enough to understand, but enough to make my heart race.
Then someone called my name.
"Nancy."
I froze.
The voice came from outside. It sounded familiar. Safe. Like someone I trusted.
My mind spun.
Was someone really there… or was this just another trick?
I took a step toward the door.
That's when the radio crackled.
Static hissed through the room. My breath caught as I reached out, fingers trembling. The moment I touched it, the radio lifted off the table.
It spun.
Fast. Violent. A full circle in the air, over and over, the static screaming, the whispers growing louder, sharper. Pain exploded behind my eyes. I screamed, clutching my head, squeezing my eyes shut—
And then—
Silence.
Dead. Absolute. Silence.
The radio dropped to the floor.
Shaking, I stumbled outside. The streetlights flickered back on, electricity humming like nothing had happened. The town looked normal again. Familiar.
Too familiar.
I ran straight home.
I collapsed onto my bed, breathing hard, trying to calm myself.
Then I heard it.
"Come eat!"
I answered without thinking.
"I don't want to eat…"
The silence that followed was unbearable.
My apartment was empty.
I checked every room. The dining area. The kitchen. The hallway. Nothing. No one. Just shadows clinging to corners and the sound of my own breathing.
A cold draft brushed my neck.
I turned.
Nothing.
Then came the scratching—slow, deliberate—like fingernails dragging across wood.
From the ceiling.
Against every instinct, I climbed the stairs. Each step creaked under my weight. The hallway above stretched longer than it should have. Lights flickered. Family photos lined the walls—but the faces were wrong. Blurred. Distorted. Moving when I wasn't looking directly at them.
At the far end of the hall, the radio crackled to life.
The same one.
A garbled voice whispered,
"Nancy… Nancy…"
The sound echoed inside my head, repeating my own thoughts, my own fears. I pressed myself against the wall, whispering, "This isn't real… it can't be…"
But deep down, I knew.
Whatever started at the studio wasn't over.
The doorbell rang.
I jumped.
When I opened the door, Lila stood there, worry written across her face.
"Nancy… what happened? You look shaken."
I hesitated. I thought about telling her everything—the radio, the whispers, the moving faces.
I couldn't.
"Oh," I said softly, forcing a smile. "I was just doing some exercises. Nothing to worry about."
She nodded, unconvinced but trusting me.
After she left, I closed the door and leaned against it, my body still trembling.
I wanted to tell someone.
But some things are safer kept quiet.
For now.
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