The Blank Channel

6/14/98 / 11:47 p.m. / UNSENT “Is that my dad’s tape?” Mara asked. “Probably part of it,” Tobin said, stuffing it into his bag. “If somebody was trying to hide the future, this is where the proof would be.” A white flash strobed through the window. Headlights. Then a thin whisper crawled through the tower, from the stairs, the walls, the ceiling, all at once. It was familiar and wrong, like voices remembered from childhood but flattened out into something empty. Nia’s face drained. “That’s not people.” She cranked the shortwave up. The receiver shrieked, sharp enough to stab the room. The whispers recoiled a little, like they hated being seen through cleaner noise.