Whispers in the Static

It started when Mia moved into her grandmother’s old house on the edge of town — the one

with the peeling wallpaper and the smell of rain-soaked wood. Every night,

after midnight, her old radio would turn on by itself. Just static. Harmless,

she told herself. The wiring was ancient. But one night, through the crackle, she heard it:

“Mia…” A whisper, buried deep in the static. Soft.

Familiar. She froze, staring at the radio from her bed. The static fizzed

again, and then came the voice — clearer this time, like someone standing

right behind her. “Mia… why did you lock the door?” Her heart stopped. The air felt heavier.