I’ve always been a collector of sorts. I like vintage things like train sets and old coke signs and stuff like that. One year, for my birthday, my wife bought me an old shortwave radio. I believe it was made in 1938, but I’m not sure. It was in fairly good condition and she got it for a steal.

I spent a while tinkering with it to see what it could pick up, if anything. There was clearly a problem as it only picked up static. I sat there for the longest time and couldn’t pick up anything. Confused and defeated, I decided to give it up and just forget about it. So it sat there collecting dust for the next five years.

That is until one day, at about 1:30 in the morning, I began hearing faint music coming from the garage. The tone that was emanating from within sent a chill up my spine. It was like wind chimes, but on a constant spiral downwards. I went to go see what it was and, low and behold, it was coming from the radio, which had somehow turned on with its light now shining. I was just going to go turn it off when a voice came over the static. It sounded like some sort of propaganda commercial.

It was cutting in and out, so I could only hear bits and pieces. It was saying something about patriotism, war bonds and the war effort. Everything it was saying didn’t sound like a commercial from our time period, it sounded like it was from world war two. I began fiddling with the dial to see if I could get it to sound clearer. In doing this I was sort of startled, as what sounded like my name came through the speakers.

At first, it seemed as though it was trying to communicate with me. This announcer was somehow speaking directly to me, but I couldn’t speak back, I tried. He began to speak of war crimes, crimes in which he was supposedly involved. As odd as this was, I still didn’t know how he knew my name, or why. It was an odd situation indeed. I was mortified as he began to speak of loving the crimes that he committed.

He described the things he did in great detail. He was saying how he was involved in mass murder, how he loved to torture those who he saw fit during the war. He explained how he would force p.o.w’s to walk into deep holes filled with spikes, how he loved the smell from burning their bodies. I couldn’t stand to hear anymore of his horrendous escapades, so I decided to unplug the radio. When I unplugged it, though, nothing happened, It stayed on.

He kept speaking, this time saying, “You shouldn’t have done that.” No sooner did he say that then did the radio start smoking. The fabric in between the grill burned first. Everything else burned as well, all the while, the announcer’s voice became increasingly distorted. He began to chant something in german, I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but none of it sounded good.

He spoke the last part in english, as if deliberately directing it to me. He said, “I know what hell is like, I’ve been there, experienced horrors far worse than my own crimes. Now that you’ve interfered with my message, you’ve given me license to torture and kill once more in the physical world. You’ve released me from my prison inside this box and for that I thank you.” After it said that, some sort of black ooze began to trickle from the still burning radio.

It formed into a pool in the middle of the garage. It layed completely still for a few minutes until something began to spring forth from it. First an arm, then a head, soon an entire torso. It was wearing a tattered old service cap. It had blood red eyes with long, bony arms.

Its chest was full of screaming heads, which it proudly boasted as its victims. It looked at me, then it looked at the wall. It raced with inhuman speed and started climbing. It escaped through the skylight and I’ve never seen it again. To this day, I haven’t told my wife what happened that night, I don’t think I ever will.