Whispers in the Static: Part 7

Part 7 – The Bargain in Static

The nights blurred into one another.
Arthur no longer counted the days; he counted the hours until dusk, until the tide of static carried his voices back to him. Helen. His father. His mother. Even Michael, with his sharp-edged laughter. They gathered in the red glow of the dial, a family stitched together by noise and memory.

The house no longer felt empty. Each room seemed to hum with presence. Arthur spoke aloud in the kitchen as he cooked, pausing to listen for answers that never came until nightfall. He set the table for two, sometimes for three, and though the chairs remained unfilled, he felt less alone.

But the voices had begun to change.

They still sounded like his loved ones — warm, tender, familiar — yet their words grew more insistent, their fragments strung with meaning that pressed heavier against him.

“…Arthur, do you want us back?”

He froze, his hand hovering above the radio’s casing. Helen’s tone was soft, aching, the way she once spoke on winter nights when she asked him to stay awake with her a little longer.

“Yes,” he whispered. “More than anything.”

The static swelled, and his father’s voice followed, steady as ever.

“…Would you do anything, son, to see us again?”

Arthur’s chest ached. He lay back, eyelids heavy, drifting at the edge of sleep. His mouth formed words without thought, the answer spilling out half-conscious, almost a dream.

“Yes…”

The static trembled with laughter — gentle, not cruel, but strange in its timing, as though several voices laughed at once and then fell silent too quickly. His cousin’s voice slid in next, playful, teasing.

“…Then let us in.”

Arthur stirred, the words half-reaching him, yet not fully waking him. “What do you mean?” he mumbled.

The radio hissed, flickered, faltered. Then Helen’s voice returned, sweet and certain.

“…Don’t be afraid. Just let us in.”

The red glow of the dial seemed to pulse, faintly, like a heartbeat. The air pressed heavier against him, as though the house itself were leaning close to hear his answer.

Arthur’s lips moved once more, slurred with sleep. A whisper barely louder than breath.

“Yes.”

The static surged, alive, wrapping him in a sound that felt almost like an embrace.

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(To be continued in Part 8 – The Fractures)