“Tuning in was easy. Tuning out… impossible.”
In 1998, a retired army officer named Colonel Fayyaz moved into a quiet farmhouse on the outskirts of Chakwal. The property was surrounded by fields, with no neighbors for miles. He wanted peace. He got anything but.
The farmhouse had stood empty for years. The previous owner had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only one item in the house:
A dusty Philips radio, still plugged in. Still humming… even though it hadn’t been turned on in decades.
Fayyaz didn’t believe in the supernatural. He laughed when the electrician refused to enter the house. He chuckled when the maid quit after just one day, claiming she heard a child crying behind the walls.
But by the third night, the Colonel stopped laughing.
đģ “Who’s Listening?”
It began at 2:47 AM.
The radio—unplugged and untouched—began to hiss. Then came the voices. Faint at first. Whispers.
“Can you hear me?”
“He’s in the house now…”
“He doesn’t believe yet.”
Fayyaz, startled, searched every room. Nothing. No intruder. No explanation.
The next night, the voices grew louder. And they were speaking to him directly.
“Fayyaz.”
“We missed you.”
“Remember what you did in ‘71?”
His blood turned cold.
He had served in the war. He had seen things—done things—that haunted him in his dreams. But those memories were sealed. Forgotten.
Or so he thought.
đĒĻ “They Never Left That Field…”
The radio became more than just a device. It was a portal. Every night, at the same hour, the voices returned.
Accusing. Mocking. Begging.
Fayyaz began to see shadows moving without light. He heard marching boots on the roof. One night, his bathroom mirror bled the word:
“CONFESS.”
The Colonel’s mind unraveled. He smashed the radio into pieces. Burned it in the yard.
But the voices didn’t stop.
They came from the walls.
From under his bed.
From the drain in the kitchen sink.
He went to the local Maulvi. The man refused to step foot inside the house, instead whispering,
“This is not your land anymore. Something else lives here now.”
𩸠The Final Broadcast
On the 9th night, villagers heard a high-pitched signal blasting from the Colonel’s farmhouse. A strange frequency, like a distorted scream mixed with static.
No one dared enter.
The next morning, the house was silent.
Colonel Fayyaz was found sitting upright in his chair. Eyes open. Mouth stretched in a smile too wide to be natural.
The radio—rebuilt, somehow—sat beside him.
It was still on.
The voice that came through it, as officers recorded the scene, was not his.
“We told you… voices never sleep.”
đĒ Now… It's Waiting For You
They say if you go to that farmhouse today, you can still hear the faint hum of the radio, even though there’s no power.
And if you listen closely, the voice will whisper your name.
But whatever you do…
Don’t answer it.
Because once the voices find you…
They never let go.
No comments:
Post a Comment