Voices

On my way to work, I tuned my car’s radio to a particular station I’ve been following. Shortly, a radio announcer in a deep monotonous voice declared “73 more days to go…” A few songs played. The station seems pretty normal save for the odd announcements every now and then. We don’t really know what the countdown meant.

But, the thing is, the station has been shut down years ago. Despite that, it has continued to deliver a couple of broadcasts daily. Nobody really knows where it’s coming from. As far as anyone has investigated, the station’s office is no longer in service. Another company did try to buy it. However, their shows were always interfered by an overlapping broadcast that still uses their frequency.

“73 more days to go…” another announcer spoke. This time, a woman.

Some people have claimed to hear the voices of their departed loved ones making the announcements. The company tried to discredit on-going rumors about hauntings to no avail. When one of their radio DJs was found dead at his booth while on air, the company pulled out and left the station alone. The cause of death was a heart attack.

I’m a reporter for a local newspaper and I’ve done a few columns on the subject at hand. Weeks ago, the ghost station made headline when a prophecy of a collapsing mall was aired. A few days later, an earthquake struck destroying a shopping mall killing dozens of people. Believers were quick to point out the ghost station’s announcement though there was still a significant number of sceptics. The latter group decreased when the station announced that a plane would crash killing all of its passengers and causing significant damage to a nearby city. And it did happen 2 days later.

“73 more days to go…” a different voice declared on the radio. “But the bridge will collapse earlier...”

Moments later after parking my car, I was already writing my next article on the radio station’s prophecy. A few Internet searches here and there, I’ve pointed out possible bridges that are doomed to break.

“Another prophecy?” an office-mate commented as I proofread my article.

“Yup,” I replied.  “This time, about a falling bridge.”

“Maybe it’s in London” he joked.

I chuckled.

“But seriously, man” he said. “You had great articles before. Or at least, they were real news like some political stuff, policy changes and so on.”

“Uh-huh” I continued typing.

“It’s not like you to write stuff to get attention.”

“I didn’t change my policy,” I glared at him. “This is real news.”

He looked at a frame on my table holding a picture of my son and backed away. “Sorry, man.”

It wasn’t anything new to my officemates, but my son died in that plane crash. It was an academic activity that had several children and faculty on board. I could not describe the pain of my loss. His mother died giving birth to him and I’ve made an oath to protect him at all costs. Now, look at how it has turned out.

I started listening to the ghost station ever since. No, I am not a believer in the paranormal. I’m still part of the sceptics. I just hope that maybe I could save more lives with what I write. There must be a sound explanation somewhere, but I’ll leave that investigation to the police. I didn’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist.

Other disasters after the plane crash did happen that were predicted by the station. I’ve written extensively about them and earned more readers. Even got fan mail and comments stating that I’ve saved lives.

I kept a pocket radio with me at all times. The station was still announcing the bridge’s destruction. Each time, with a different voice and sometimes with additional details which I took note of.

I’ve been praised as a hero a few days later. A bridge collapsed. There were still casualties, but traffic there wasn’t as heavy as it normally was.

“70 more days to go…” I heard on my pocket radio. “The city hall will be in flames soon before the days end.”

The phone rang. It was the police. They consulted me on regards to the prediction. I gave my notes.

With at most certainty, the police heavily guarded the city hall. Experts also inspected the area and bomb squads were deployed. I personally visited the city hall for a few hours each day waiting for something to happen and maybe hoping to get more notes.

On one such day, I was about to leave the premises when screams were suddenly heard. A speeding truck was on its way to the hall. I narrowly missed it as it rampaged its way through several people and finally exploding as it hit the city hall.

I looked at the destruction in horror. All those precautions were a waste. The agony of casualties can be heard echoing as the flames cackle. I felt someone grab my arm.

“Save us!” an elderly woman begged of me. “You’re the expert on those predictions, right? What is my husband trying to tell me?”

Her words still haunt me days later. I later learned that the old lady recently became a widow and reportedly heard her departed husband announcing in the radio station.

I may be causing panic among the populace. The ghost station has been describing more terrible events to come which I wrote extensively on. None of them that happened were prevented. Just yesterday, a school bus crashed killing nearly half of its passengers. The number of people walking out in the streets turned fewer each day. Fear has gripped among us as death has been broadcasted daily.

“40 more days to go…” I heard the station say. “But the saviour must die first.”

I gulped. It was me. I am to going to die soon. I called the police.

I stayed in my house a day later. Cops were stationed around my place to keep me guarded. It was already 9 PM when my officemate called me.

“Just checking if you’re okay, bud” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Do you think all these stuff is real?” he asked.

“I know that it’s happening,” I replied. “But it’s not paranormal.”

“Oh?”

“I believe that someone is carrying out all these attacks. They were done by terrorists.”

“No one seems to be buying that explanation so far.”
“It makes sense to me.”

I didn’t bother to reiterate what I wrote before. The mall that was struck by an earthquake, for example, was rigged to collapse. The terrorists didn’t predict the earthquake, it was just coincidence. The recent attack on city hall did prove my point. Must be some group of fanatics willing to zealously get themselves killed for some made-up prophecy.

“Well, I hope that you’d be al—“ the line went dead.

The lights blinked and my house turned dark.

“36 days to go…” I heard the radio as guns began to fire outside. They’re here.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder making me jump. It was a cop.

“We have to get you out of here.”

I followed the cop outside my house to the woods. Guns could still be heard in the background. The cop fired a few rounds. I see three masked people chasing us. I took out my own handgun and managed to shoot one down.

The cop who accompanied me was shot. “Run!” he said in his dying breath.  I ran deeper into the woods. Not out of cowardice, but to find a strategic location. These were the people who killed my son. I don’t plan to show mercy to them.

A bullet slid through my flesh. My left arm bled. It only fuelled my anger, but I had to keep my mind cool to think properly. I had a plan.

The two remaining assailants split up. Perfect.

My pocket radio blurted “The saviour shall die tonight.” It alerted one of them to the source of the noise. That one assailant crept through some bushes… and found my radio on the ground. I shot him before he could react.

The other one was alerted by the gunshot. He ran towards my direction but tripped over a couple of rocks and twigs I placed on the ground. It’s not safe to run in the dark.

His gun was a few away from him. He tried to reach it, but I crushed his right hand with my foot. Taking my gun out, I taunted him. I pointed the firearm at his face. He begged for mercy but I was not in the mood for that. He closed his eyes. Another gunshot was heard.

After the ordeal, the surviving attackers were taken into custody and interrogated including the one I shot in the leg. I let him live to suffer. I wish I kept the other ones alive. My son may never be proud of what I did, but at least these men were captured.

Information extracted from them lead the police to their HQ. They used some interesting devices to broadcast their faux prophecies. These guys are good. They were hard to trace back. It turns out they’ve been using a device to modify their voices to make them sound like different people on air. People may have just thought that they heard their loved ones.

It turns out I was right. These guys were lunatics. They were part of some the-end-of-the-world cult and that the countdown they’ve been broadcasting was for their final plans to bomb the entire city.

Investigations are still on-going for some unanswered questions like: Who is their cult leader? Who is supplying them their weapons? And so on.

It didn’t matter to me now. Weeks passed by and the broadcasts have stopped since their capture. I’m now back to writing ‘real news’ as my friend called it. I looked at the photo of my son. Perhaps his ghost can finally rest in peace. I have no use for the pocket radio now. I only bought it to listen to the ghost station. But, just for laughs, I pressed the power button.

“10 days to go…”

No. No. No. This can’t be happening.

“Darkness will engulf the city.”

Lightning struck. Power was out and clouds blocked what was a sunny day moments ago. But, that’s not what scared me the most.

It was the voice of my son.