The Last Voice on Channel 13

The Last Voice on Channel 13

The rain had been falling for three days without stopping.

Detective Ryan Carter sat alone in the communications room of the abandoned Blackwood Police Station, sorting through old evidence scheduled for disposal.

Most of the files were worthless.

Broken radios.

Damaged tapes.

Forgotten reports.

Then he found the box.

A dusty cardboard container labeled:

CHANNEL 13 — DO NOT USE

There was no date.

No explanation.

Only those four words written in faded black marker.

Ryan frowned.

The station had been closed for nearly fifteen years after a fire destroyed part of the building.

Most of its records had vanished.

Curiosity got the better of him.

Inside the box was an old police radio.

Surprisingly, it still worked.

The battery compartment had been modified.

Someone had kept it operational.

Ryan switched it on.

Static filled the room.

Nothing unusual.

Then a voice emerged.

Weak.

Distorted.

Desperate.

"Officer... please respond..."

Ryan froze.

The voice sounded real.

Very real.

He grabbed a notebook.

"Who's there?"

Only static answered.

Then:

"Officer... he's coming..."

Ryan's pulse quickened.

The signal seemed to come through Channel 13.

A channel no longer in use.

He checked the frequency logs.

Nothing.

No active broadcasts.

No nearby transmissions.

The voice returned.

This time clearer.

"Please... don't let him find me..."

Ryan immediately assumed someone was playing a prank.

Yet something about the fear in the voice felt genuine.

Hours passed.

The rain continued.

The radio occasionally crackled with fragments of conversation.

A frightened woman.

Breathing heavily.

Whispering.

Crying.

Always the same warning.

"He's coming."

At exactly 2:13 a.m., everything changed.

The radio exploded with noise.

Then a scream.

A horrible scream.

The kind that only comes from someone facing death.

Ryan jumped from his chair.

The scream cut off abruptly.

Silence.

Then another voice spoke.

A man's voice.

Cold.

Calm.

Almost amused.

"Found you."

The transmission ended.

Ryan stared at the radio.

His hands trembled.

He knew that voice.

Not from the radio.

From a case file.

A serial killer.

Twenty years ago.

A murderer named Daniel Graves.

Officially dead.

Executed in prison.

Ryan spent the rest of the night searching archives.

At dawn he found something disturbing.

The woman on the radio matched the description of a missing person from 1998.

Emily Ross.

Age 26.

Never found.

Case unsolved.

The date of her disappearance matched the date written on the radio maintenance records.

Ryan's stomach twisted.

Impossible.

The radio was somehow broadcasting a conversation from twenty years ago.

That evening he returned.

The rain had become a storm.

Lightning flashed beyond the station windows.

Ryan switched on the radio.

Immediately, Emily's voice returned.

"Can anyone hear me?"

Ryan swallowed hard.

"Emily?"

Silence.

Then:

"Officer?"

His blood turned cold.

She heard him.

Somehow.

Across two decades.

"I can hear you."

The radio hissed violently.

"Please help me."

Ryan's hands shook.

"Where are you?"

The answer came between bursts of static.

"Basement... old hospital..."

The signal weakened.

"He knows you're listening..."

Then the transmission died.

Ryan didn't wait.

The old hospital still existed on the outskirts of town.

Abandoned.

Scheduled for demolition.

He drove there immediately.

The building looked like a corpse beneath the storm clouds.

Windows shattered.

Walls crumbling.

Nature reclaiming everything.

Ryan entered.

Flashlight in hand.

The basement door hung open.

Inside, darkness swallowed the staircase.

As he descended, the air grew colder.

The smell of mold filled his lungs.

Then he saw it.

A hidden room behind a collapsed wall.

Inside lay old chains.

Rusty tools.

And a human skeleton.

Ryan's flashlight trembled.

Beside the remains was a faded hospital ID card.

Emily Ross.

His heart stopped.

The radio crackled.

Directly from his belt.

"Thank you..."

Emily's voice.

Soft.

Relieved.

Then silence.

Ryan stared at the skeleton.

The case was finally solved.

Or so he thought.

The radio crackled once more.

A different voice emerged.

Deep.

Calm.

Familiar.

"You should have left it buried."

Ryan's blood froze.

Daniel Graves.

The dead killer.

The voice continued.

"Now I know where you are."

The flashlight went out.

Darkness swallowed the room.

A sound echoed behind him.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Heavy.

Approaching from the shadows.

Ryan turned.

But there was no one there.

Only darkness.

And breathing.

Not his own.

The next morning, police found Ryan's car outside the hospital.

His flashlight lay on the basement floor.

His notebook was discovered beside Emily Ross's remains.

But Ryan Carter was never found.

To this day, Channel 13 remains locked inside an evidence vault.

According to the officers who guard it, the radio occasionally turns itself on at exactly 2:13 a.m.

Most hear only static.

Some hear a woman whispering for help.

But a few claim to hear something far worse.

A calm male voice saying only five words:

"I know you're listening."