Jack Mercer drove until the gas light blinked. His hand throbbed under a makeshift bandage made of torn flannel and duct tape. The steering wheel was stained with blood. He had ditched his phone in a ditch outside Millhaven, but the radio in his truck would not shut off.
"…reports of mass hallucinations nationwide. Victims claim to hear voices through electronic devices. Authorities urge citizens to…"
The signal was dissolved in static.
…hungry…
Jack punched the radio. It died.
The highway stretched empty ahead, flanked by the skeletal trees. A sign read: WELCOME TO BRACKETT COUNTY – POP. 3,102. He pulled into the first motel he saw, The Starlight Inn. The neon sign fizzed, and half the letters were dead. STR_IG T _NN.
The clerk, a pimply teenager glued to his phone, did not look up. "$40 a night. No pets."
Jack slapped cash on the counter. "Any rooms without a TV?"
The teen snorted. "It's 2023, dude."
Room 6 smelled of cigarettes and regret. Jack yanked the TV's power cord and draped a towel over the screen. His reflection in the black glass appeared haunted. You did this.
He collapsed onto the bed after that. Sleep was fragmented.
Emily's voice: "…it's in the wires now…"
Sheriff Dalton's hollowed-out corpse reached for him.
A shadow with antlers of twisted wire, laughing in the static.
Jack woke to a knock.
"Housekeeping!"
He opened the door.
No one was there.
But on the floor: a Polaroid photograph. The motel parking lot is as seen above. His truck is circled in red.
YOU CAN'T HIDE.
The Diner Down the Road
Jack ordered coffee and eggs he couldn't eat. The diner's TV played news footage.
"—third night of riots in Chicago. Protesters blame 'signal sickness' for erratic behavior. Footage shows a man attacking a cell tower before—"
The screen glitched. For half a second, Jack saw the Revenant's face in the static image.
A woman slid into his booth and sat down. Asian, mid-30s, wearing a lab coat over a band tee. She dropped the newspaper on the table. The headline: MILLHAVEN MASSACRE: RADIO HOST WANTED FOR QUESTIONING.
"Jack Mercer," she replied. "I'm Dr. Lin. I can fix this."
He stood to leave.
"You unplugged the Revenant from Millhaven," she said calmly. "But it's a virus now. And viruses replicate. Let me help you build an antivirus."
Jack froze. "Who are you?"
"Someone who has been tracking paranatural signals for a decade. Millhaven's curse isn't the first—just the loudest." She slid a business card across the table to me. Dr. Alice Lin, Parapsychology and Electromagnetic Research, Holloway University.
"Why trust you?"
She pointed to the news report. A ticker at the bottom read: GLOBAL INTERNET USAGE DROPS 37% AMID "STATIC PLAGUE" FEARS.
"Because in two days," she said, "the world will go dark. And you're the only one who's survived its voice."
The University Lab
Holloway University appeared abandoned. Students huddled in groups, whispering to each other. Every screen Jack passed showed error messages or static images.
Dr. Lin's lab was a chaotic mix of whiteboards, vintage radios, and servers blinking with red lights. A lanky guy in a HACK THE PLANET hoodie types furiously at a computer.
"This is Finch," Dr. Lin said. "He is keeping our systems clean. For now."
Finch did not turn around. "It's in the 5G towers, man. Spreading faster than memes."
Jack eyed a whiteboard covered in equations and the word REVENANT circled in red. "How do we kill it?"
"We don't." Dr. Lin powered a machine that hummed like a beehive. "We trap it. The signal was redirected into a closed loop. But I need your blood."
Jack recoiled. "What?"
"Your blood is tied to the curse. It's the only bait that'll lure it into the trap."
Finch spun around in his chair. "Also, we will need a big antenna. Like, stadium-sized."
The Broadcast
They worked through the night and the next day. Dr. Lin jury-rigged a transmitter from the old TV satellites. Finch hacked into the emergency broadcast channels. Jack stared at the microphone they'd given him—a twin to the one in Millhaven's hall.
"It'll hear you," Dr. Lin said. "When it comes, we will flood the frequency with a counter-wave. Like noise-canceling headphones for demons."
"And if it doesn't work?"
She didn't answer.
At 3 a.m., Jack gripped his microphone. The lab lights dimmed.
"This is Jack Mercer." His voice echoed through the speaker. "I know you are listening. You want me? Come and—"
The Revenant's laugh crackled in the room.
…clever…
Sparks erupted from the server. Finch screamed as his computer screen melted, and the black ooze bubbled over the keys. Dr. Lin then slammed a switch. "Now!"
A screeching sound tore through the air. Jack's nose bled. The transmitter glowed red-hot, and equations burned off the whiteboards.
And then—silence.
Dr. Lin monitored the results. "The static levels… they're dropping. It's working!"
Finch wiped the sweat off his face. "We're gods."
Outside, a car alarm wailed incessantly.
The Catch
They celebrated with coffee from a vending machine. Dr. Lin plotted the next steps: replicate the signal and mass-produce jammers. Finch also joked about NFTs for exorcisms.
Jack slipped outside to breathe.
The parking lot was extremely quiet. No crickets. No wind. Only the hum of the streetlights.
His breath fogged.
…Jack…
Emily's voice. The lab's security camera.
He turned. The camera lens was cracked.
…you only trapped a piece…
The Revenant's face flickered on every phone in the discarded pile by the dumpster.
…the rest of me is growing…
A student screamed from a distance.
Jack ran back inside. "It's not over! It's—"
The lab was empty. Dr. Lin's coffee cup still steamed away.
On the computer, a single line of text:
THANK YOU FOR THE NEW HOST!