The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the small studio apartment. Marcus tapped the mic twice, the slight reverb bouncing back through his headphones. "Testing... one-two. And welcome to Dead Air, your favorite horror podcast where nightmares come alive."
He grinned, alone, as he glanced at his screen. The live chat ticked upward. Fifteen listeners, then thirty. Good—small but steady. It had taken him two years to claw his way here. Most people didn't become famous for talking about urban legends, ghost sightings, and unexplained mysteries.
Tonight's theme was "Unsolved Deaths." He cracked his knuckles and leaned into the mic. "Okay, listeners. This one's weird. Let me tell you about—"
A soft tap tap on the window cut him off. Marcus froze mid-sentence, his gaze snapping toward the frosted glass. He was on the fifth floor, with no fire escape. Must've been the wind. He forced himself to laugh. "Looks like someone's trying to scare me tonight, huh?"
His hand hovered over the mouse. A notification popped up: A guest wants to join your podcast.
That wasn't normal. He hadn't sent out an invite.
The username read: NoOneElseHere.
Marcus frowned. He adjusted the volume slider and clicked "Accept" out of sheer curiosity. A deep, gravelly voice filled his ears.
"Mind if I share a story?"
The voice was rough, like static over a weak radio signal. "I've been listening for weeks, Marcus. I think I've got a story your audience will enjoy."
"Uh, sure." Marcus cleared his throat, playing it cool. "Welcome to the show. Mind introducing yourself?"
The voice chuckled. "Doesn't matter who I am. It's what I've seen that counts. You ever hear of the Black Cross Woods?"
Marcus perked up. That name rang a faint bell. "You mean the forest upstate? The one where hikers vanish?"
"That's the one," the voice replied. "Thing is, the stories about it? They're all wrong. It's not just hikers. It's anyone who… ventures too far into the wrong frequency."
"Frequency?" Marcus repeated.
"You'll see."
And then the voice was gone—abruptly cut off, like someone yanking the plug on an old TV. Marcus scrambled to check his recording software. The guest line was empty. The username NoOneElseHere had vanished from the chat.
The live chat exploded:
What the hell was that?!
Dude, that guy sounded messed up.
Play it back.
Marcus rewound the audio. But the strange thing? There was nothing. No guest. No voice. Just dead air.
By the next episode, Marcus chalked it up to a glitch. He addressed his audience with a nervous laugh. "So, last week was… weird. But I've got a killer episode for you tonight."
Thirty minutes into the stream, another guest request appeared. Same username: NoOneElseHere.
Marcus hesitated, his hand trembling over the mouse. "Okay, funny. Who's trolling me?"
The request blinked persistently. Against his better judgment, he clicked "Accept."
"You think it's a joke," the voice rasped, even lower and more distorted this time. "But it's not."
Marcus's throat tightened. "Alright, buddy. Who are you? Some kind of hacker?"
"No. I'm… a listener."
"Yeah? Well, listen to this—you've got five seconds to tell me what you want, or I'm booting you."
"How about this?" the voice growled. "Look behind you."
Marcus froze. He felt the hair on his arms stand up. Slowly, he turned in his chair. The window was open an inch.
Impossible.
The next morning, Marcus debated shutting the podcast down for good. But the weirdness didn't stop there. His laptop played static at random intervals, even when turned off. His phone buzzed with missed calls from an unknown number.
He confided in his best friend, Taylor.
"So, you're telling me some creep hacked your podcast, and now you're haunted?" she teased.
"It's not funny," Marcus snapped. "You weren't there. The way he talked—it felt like… I don't know like he was in the room."
Taylor rolled her eyes. "Fine. Then let me sit in on the next show. I'll prove it's just some loser messing with you."
Reluctantly, Marcus agreed.
That night, they both sat in the dimly lit studio, the mic live and recording. Marcus kicked off the episode as usual. For thirty minutes, nothing happened. Then came the request.
NoOneElseHere wants to join.
Taylor stared at the screen. "That's him?"
Marcus nodded silently.
She whispered, "Don't let him on."
But Marcus clicked. The voice returned. "Ah, Marcus. You brought a friend. How nice."
Taylor visibly shivered. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"Someone who knows you shouldn't be here," the voice replied coldly.
And then, through the headphones, Marcus heard it—a faint echo of their breathing.
Taylor yanked off her headphones. "This is insane. It's a prank—has to be."
But Marcus knew better. The echo wasn't just coming through the headphones. It was in the room.
The mic crackled. "Tell me, Marcus. Do you believe in dimensions? Layers of sound, overlapping like threads in a web?"
"What are you talking about?" Marcus whispered.
The voice laughed, guttural and wet. "You've been broadcasting for two years, reaching ears you didn't mean to. You're not just telling ghost stories any more. You're inviting them in."
The room felt colder. Taylor's breath hitched. "Turn it off," she hissed. "Shut it all down."
But Marcus hesitated. His audience was still listening. The live chat was flooded with frantic messages:
Who is this guy?!
Dude, your camera's glitching!
Behind you.
Marcus turned to look—and saw his reflection in the darkened monitor. Except, it wasn't moving like he was.
Taylor screamed. The monitor blinked off, then back on, showing static. Through the haze of pixels, a shape emerged. A figure stood in a forest of blackened trees, its face blurred like a bad signal.
"Do you see it now?" the voice asked.
Marcus's voice cracked. "What… what is that?"
"That's where I am," the voice replied. "And soon, it'll be where you are."
Taylor grabbed Marcus's arm. "We're leaving. Now."
The monitor began to flicker faster, the figure growing clearer. Its head tilted, as though staring directly at Marcus.
"See you soon," the voice said, and the power cut out.
Marcus never streamed again after that night. He moved out of his apartment, cut off contact with his audience, and deleted every episode of Dead Air.
But the stories didn't stop.
Listeners claimed they could still hear his voice, faintly, in the static of their radios. Others swore they saw his face in the background of other podcasts, just for a moment.
And sometimes, when the frequency is just right, someone claims to hear that same gravelly voice:
"Care to share a story?"
The End