He froze. The signal was strong, too strong for something coming from across the airwaves. He adjusted the dial, trying to sharpen the sound. The clicking grew louder, more frantic, like teeth tapping against glass. "I’m in the walls, Elias. It’s cold in the insulation."
Elias lived for silence, which was why he bought the house at the end of Blackwood Lane. It was a crumbling Victorian, miles from the nearest neighbor. His only companion was an antique shortwave radio he’d found in the attic, its mahogany casing thick with dust. 6.1 / 10 HorrorThri...
How to Write a Horror Story: Telling Tales of Terror - Now Novel He froze
Heart hammering, Elias grabbed a flashlight and headed to the basement, where the main chimney flue ran. He pressed his ear to the brickwork. Silence. He returned to the radio, but the static was gone. In its place was a clear, live feed of his own heavy breathing. Click. Click. Click. The clicking grew louder, more frantic, like teeth