She is Here

She is Here

The storm had been clawing at the mountain since the night before. The rain slashed across the tall windows of Station WBLZ, the local radio station tucked high above the sleepy, small town of Laurel Ridge. Inside, the walls held secrets from the past and the air smelled slightly of wet stone and ozone.

Maria Black sat alone in the booth, the ON AIR sign glowing red above her head like a warning light. It was close to midnight—her shift was almost over. Only a few truckers, insomniacs, and night-shift workers tuned in at this hour, but she liked it that way. Less chatter, fewer ads. Just her, the listeners, and the storm.

She leaned toward the mic.

“—and that was Fleetwood Mac with Dreams, a great choice for a night like this,” she said, her voice silky smooth but soft. “If you’re out there driving in this weather, please remember to keep it slow. There’s flash flooding reported along Route 9, and visibility’s next to nothing.”

She paused, twisting the volume dial slightly to drown out the hum of the rain on the roof. “Up next, we’ve got some local news, but first—let’s take a call. We’ve got… looks like, Dan from Silver Hollow. Dan, you’re on WBLZ. What’s keeping you up tonight?”

There was a crackle of static, a few seconds went by then a man’s voice—thin, shaky, and trembling.

“Uh… Maria? Yeah, hey. I just—I’m not sure what I’m seeing out here. It’s something strange that…Yeah, like some Stranger Things kind of stuff”

Maria frowned. “You’re driving?”

“Yeah, Route 9. Heading toward town. I was just passing that old service station—the one they shut down a few years ago.”

“I know the one,” she said. “The one with the cracked, big red sign.”

“Right, right.” His breathing getting shakier by the second. “I thought I saw someone standing there. By the pumps. Looked like a woman. Long hair, no coat, no umbrella, nothing to shield her from the pouring rain.”

Maria glanced at the monitor showing the outside cameras, nothing but darkness and the smear of water across the lens. “You sure it wasn’t just a reflection? Headlights can play tricks in this weather.”

A pause. “No. She waved.”

Maria hesitated. The storm thundered so loudly, it shook the glass. “Did you stop?”

“I—I tried,” Dan said. “But when I turned around, she was gone ...like a phantom or something”

The line went dead.

Maria blinked at the console. “Dan? You still there?”

Nothing. Just the low hum of static.

She exhaled and forced a chuckle into the mic. “Well, folks, sounds like Dan’s got himself a good ghost story for the night. Let’s all hope he made it home safe and dry.” She clicked to the next track, something soft and slow, and leaned back.

But she couldn’t shake the image—someone standing out there, in the dark, waving.

*********************************************************************

The storm worsened as time dragged on. Power flickered twice, and the generator’s low rumble kicked in like an anxious heartbeat beneath the floor.

Maria was halfway through a news update when the lights dimmed again. The broadcast equipment flickered. She smacked the console lightly. “Not tonight, please,” she muttered.

Then her phone buzzed.

It was a text from Unknown Number:

Did you see that?

Her fingers hovered over the screen. She looked around at the booth—empty except for the shadow of the microphone stand and the reflection of her own face in the glass.

She typed back:

Who is this?

Three dots appeared. Then another message:

Behind you.

She froze. Her heartbeat quickened. Maria tried to tell herself that someone was trying to frighten her. But that was futile.

Slowly, she turned.

Nothing. Just the steady blinking light of the ON AIR sign, the faint hum of the old coffee maker in the corner. She swallowed and adjusted herself in her chair, locked the phone, and forced a laugh under her breath.

“I need a break or a new job,” she said quietly, and went back to the console.

But her hand was trembling.

*********************************************************************

At 12:55 a.m., another call came in.

She hesitated before answering.

“WBLZ, you’re on the air.”

The same reedy voice came through, but softer this time. “Mara. It’s Dan.”

She quietly exhaled a little. “Hey, Dan. You scared me earlier.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just—I think she’s following me.”

Mara’s eyes darted to the clock, her face frowning, trying to understand exactly what she just heard. “Who’s following you?”

“That woman. The one I saw by the station. She was standing in the middle of the road just now, right in front of me. I almost hit her. But when I got out—she was gone again.”

Rain battered the windows so hard it drowned out his breathing for a split second.

“Mara?” he whispered.

“I’m here,” she said. “Where are you now?”

“Passing mile marker sixteen. Near the old quarry.”

She frowned. “That road’s closed tonight, Dan. The county’s got it blocked for flooding Didn’t you see the warning signs?”

“I know,” he said, voice shaking. “But the signs—they weren’t there.”

“Dan, you need to pull over somewhere safe, okay? Just—find a spot and wait for the rain to ease up.”

“I can’t,” he said. “She’s right outside.”

The line filled with static. Then a loud, ghostly shriek of feedback. Mara flinched, yanking off her headphones. When she put them back on, Dan was no longer on the line—just like before.

*************************************************************************

The silence that followed felt eerily wrong.

Maria sat frozen for a long time, listening to the hum of the storm. Then she grabbed her raincoat and flashlight.

“Stupid idea,” she muttered, as she started walking toward the door.

The overhead lights were flickering, and the building groaned under the wind. Down the hall, the emergency exit door rattled in its frame.

Something tapped against the glass.

Maria aimed her flashlight. A smear of handprints glistened on the window—five long streaks that looked freshly made.

Her stomach dropped. She stumbled back her mouth wide open in shock. The handprints began to drip, the water trickling down the metal door like tears.

She turned and ran back to the booth, slamming the door shut and locking it. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

The phone buzzed.

Did you see that?

Her mouth went dry. She didn’t reply.

*****************************************************************

The next few minutes stretched like hours. The broadcast continued automatically—recorded playlists filling the airwaves—but Maria sat stunned and motionless, staring at her reflection in the dark glass of the studio.

Then the monitors flickered again.

For a moment, she thought it was lightning. But no—something had appeared on the camera feed. A figure, faint and distorted by the rain, standing by the edge of the parking lot.

Long, stringy hair. Barefoot. Facing the building.

Her throat tightened. “Oh shit!”

She reached for the phone to call the sheriff, but the screen glitched—flickered white—and the same words appeared again:

Did you see that?

Her breath caught. She dropped the phone and backed away.

On the screen, the figure began to move closer—jerky, almost stuttering, as if the camera feed was glitching. Maria’s reflection in the glass overlapped with the image, and for a second, she couldn’t tell if the shadow outside was her or something else entirely.

Then the lights flickered again and went out.

*********************************************************************

The generator kicked in a few seconds later, humming weakly. Red emergency lights glowed faintly in the corners.

Maria stood perfectly still, every hair on her arms raised. Her senses heightened.

Then, from the hallway—footsteps. Slow. Wet.

She turned toward the door, holding the flashlight tight with trembling hands. “Who’s there?”

The steps stopped.

Silence.

Her flashlight beam trembled across the glass window in the booth door. For a heartbeat, she saw nothing but her own reflection. Then, faintly, another face appeared beside it—pale, dripping, eyes wide and hollow.

She screamed and dropped the flashlight.

The booth went into total darkness

Something moved in the blackness—a faint rustle, like fabric on fabric. The smell of damp earth filled the air. Maria scrambled for the door, but the knob was cold, slick, unmovable.

Then a whisper, right by her ear:

“Did you see that?”

******************************************************************************

At dawn, the storm cleared.

When Officer Benjamin arrived at the station, he found the front door unlocked and the booth empty. The last hour of the broadcast had been nothing but static.

He found Maira’s phone on the floor, still lit with a single text message. The timestamp read 12:59 a.m.

You shouldn’t have looked.

*************************************************************************

Forensics swept the place. No forced entry. No footprints beyond Maria’s own. Nothing that stood. But there was one strange detail: the external camera—where the figure had appeared—was cracked down the middle, and the hard drive had corrupted the moment before midnight.

They never found Maria.

But for weeks afterward, the night DJ who replaced her swore he could still hear her voice in the static—soft, pleading, and faintly wet-sounding.

Sometimes, just before the broadcast would, a whisper would come through the white noise, barely audible under the hiss of the storm recordings they used to fill airtime.

And if you listened closely—really listened—you could hear the words.

Did you see that?

*********************************************************************