The sound wasn't coming from the speakers anymore. It was coming from right behind his chair. As the flashlight beam died, the last thing Elias heard wasn't a ghost—it was the sound of a deadbolt sliding into place from the outside of his study door.
How to Write a Horror Story: Telling Tales of Terror - Now Novel 6.1 / 10 HorrorThri...
One rainy Tuesday, while scanning through the static for a signal, he heard it—a voice. It wasn't a broadcast; it was a rhythmic, wet clicking, followed by a whisper that sounded like his own name. "Elias..." The sound wasn't coming from the speakers anymore
Heart hammering, Elias grabbed a flashlight and headed to the basement, where the main chimney flue ran. He pressed his ear to the brickwork. Silence. He returned to the radio, but the static was gone. In its place was a clear, live feed of his own heavy breathing. Click. Click. Click. How to Write a Horror Story: Telling Tales
He froze. The signal was strong, too strong for something coming from across the airwaves. He adjusted the dial, trying to sharpen the sound. The clicking grew louder, more frantic, like teeth tapping against glass. "I’m in the walls, Elias. It’s cold in the insulation."