🕯 Introduction
In a forgotten corner of Quetta, buried beneath dust and cobwebs in an old electronics shop, sat a radio.
No wires. No power.
But every night at 12:03 AM… it turned on.
And it never played music.
Only voices.
Crying. Whispering. Begging.
📼 The Shopkeeper’s Secret
In 1996, the shop belonged to an old man named Bashir Bhai. Quiet. Religious. Never married. Locals said he never left his shop after sunset.
He had one rule:
“Don’t touch the red radio.”
But he never explained why.
One day, a teenager named Daniyal broke the rule. He was dared by friends to turn the knob on the radio after midnight. They all laughed.
But when the knob clicked…
The laughter stopped.
🧿 The Broadcast
Instead of songs, the radio hissed and cracked.
Then:
A woman’s voice, soft and broken:
“He buried me beneath the floorboards… I’m still here…”
Then a child:
“I never got to go home… he locked the door from the outside…”
Then silence.
And the static turned into screams.
Daniyal dropped the radio. It didn’t break.
But his friends?
They all fell ill within the week. Fever, visions, nightmares.
One died.
One went missing.
And Daniyal… stopped speaking entirely.
🔥 The Truth Burns
Weeks later, Bashir Bhai disappeared.
Police entered the shop for investigation.
Under the floorboards, they found:
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3 rusted anklets
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1 blood-stained nursery rhyme notebook
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And a pile of old bones… still warm.
The radio was gone.
🧳 Where Is It Now?
Rumor says it was sold to a scrap dealer in Sibi.
Then to an antiques collector in Lahore.
And now…?
No one knows.
But if you're ever out late…
And you hear a radio playing in an alley where no radio should be…
Walk away.
Don’t listen.
Don’t answer when the voices say your name.
Because Voices Never Sleep.
And neither will you... once you’ve heard them.
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