Whispers in the Static: Part 2

Part 2 – A Name in the Noise

It happened on a Tuesday.
Arthur lay half-asleep, the blankets pulled up to his chest, the radio humming its familiar lullaby. The house around him was still; the radiator quiet now, the walls holding their breath. The glow of the dial washed the room in its faint red light, the color of coals slowly dying.

He was on that fragile borderland where the mind drifts, the world softens, and sleep begins its slow claim. That was when he heard it.

A break in the static, a stutter, a ripple; and then, clear as a voice just beside his bed:

“Arthur.”

He jerked upright, his heart slamming against his ribs. The room remained unchanged: the pale slice of moonlight across the floorboards, the faint smell of dust in the air, the radiator silent. Only the radio filled the space with its endless hiss.

Arthur sat listening, pulse quick in his throat, the sheets tangled around his legs. Minutes crawled past, nothing but static. He almost convinced himself he had dreamed it. A half-formed word, a trick of his weary mind.

But when he finally sank back into bed, the sound returned. Softer this time, buried deep in the static, yet unmistakable.

“Arthur.”

His name. Spoken with careful weight, as though someone had been waiting a very long time to use it again.

He reached for the radio, his fingers brushing the cracked casing. He thought of turning the dial, of snapping it off entirely. Instead, he froze, every muscle locked, straining toward the sound.

The voice did not repeat itself. Only the static remained, rising and falling like an ocean tide.

Arthur lay awake until dawn, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, replaying the word again and again in his mind. He told himself he must have imagined it, that no one had spoken.

But he knew better.

Something had.

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(To be continued in Part 3 – Voices of the Departed)