Channel 103.3 FM. At 2:15 AM

The Final Transmission Prologue

No one remembers when the signal began.

It was just static at first, faint whispers embedded in white noise on channel 103.3 FM. At 2:15 a.m. every night, the signal emerged, untraceable, unstoppable. The station didn’t exist in the records of the FCC. No call letters No tower No origin. However, those who listened... evolved. Grindle Hollow, a small town in the Appalachians, was where it all started. First Part: The Findings In the fall of 1997, 17-year-old Mason Carter was one of the few teenagers left in Grindle Hollow. Most had either vanished or moved. Mason stayed to care for his ailing grandmother, who often spoke of “voices in the trees” and warned Mason never to “listen to the night air.”

She didn't bother Mason much. That was until he heard it himself.

One night, working late on a history paper, his old analog radio burst to life with static. His dial, which was set at 94.7, spontaneously moved to 103.3 at precisely 2:15 a.m. And then he heard the voice.

At first, it was soft. Feminine. Singing a lullaby in a language he didn’t recognize. Then it changed—warped into a distorted chant with layered voices, like a hundred people whispering through the same throat.

He tried to turn it off. The power button wouldn’t respond. The volume knob would as well. He pulled the plug.

Still, the voice continued.

He awoke the following morning in the woods near his house. Barefoot. Cold. And with dirt under his fingernails. Etched into the bark of the nearest tree was a phrase: “YOU’RE AWAKE NOW.”

Part II: Other People Mason began researching. He found posts on old BBS forums describing similar broadcasts. Kansas, Montana, and Maine residents—always 103.3 FM. Every time at 2:15 a.m. Some users posted recordings. Mason noticed something strange: in every file, his name was whispered at some point, no matter who had uploaded it.

Terrified, he reached out to a user named “DeadAirDave,” who claimed to have tracked the source. They arranged to speak over a secure line.

Dave, however, did not respond. Two days later, Dave’s obituary surfaced. He had reportedly gouged out his own eyes and walked into a lake. His last blog post: "They are within the sign. NOT A BROADCAST. A DOORWAY.”

Third Part: Return Mason returned home to find his grandmother dead, the radio playing on its own again. Only this time, there was no music. Just breathing.

The voice came back: “You left the door open, Mason.”

And then:

“Now we can all come through.”

He started to bleed from his walls. From the inside, faces were pressed against the wallpaper. The windows grew black, no matter the time of day. And every night at 2:15 a.m., the entire house vibrated with the chant.

Desperate, Mason tried to destroy the radio. He smashed it with a hammer and threw it into the river. Still, it returned to his nightstand every night—dry, intact, humming.

The town's inhabitants began to vanish once more. Neighbors vanished one at a time, leaving their homes with static-filled radios. He was no longer alone. Something that resembled his grandmother but blinked sideways and spoke dark secrets was wandering the halls at night. Part IV: The Final Signal

In a last act of desperation, Mason recorded the broadcast and uploaded it with a warning:

“DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS FILE. IT IS A CONTAGION.”

The forum thread was deleted within hours, but not before a few users downloaded the file.

Those users were never heard from again.

As for Mason? He ceased writing. His house was found abandoned, the front door open. The sole noise? A radio, tuned to 103.3 FM.

No one goes to Grindle Hollow anymore.

However, there are times at night when your car radio automatically changes stations while you're driving down an empty road avoid listening. Don’t stop.

And no matter what you do, you can't let it in.