A Voice in the Static: Short Stories, #1

By Mike DeFrench

A journalist finds something on a recording that she made.
A soft, ghostly voice.
Her reporting piece is put on hold as she tries to discover who the voice belongs to.
Or belonged to...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike DeFrench
• Release date: Sep 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215397169

Mike DeFrench

Mike DeFrench is a horror, fantasy, and science fiction writer from Indianapolis, Indiana. You can follow him on social media @defrenchwriter. Or go to defrenchwriter.com. To read the stories as they come out, and to stay up to date on any news, subscribe at defrenchwriter.substack.com

Book preview

A Voice in the Static

It was crazy what she was doing.

Her palms were sweaty with nerves, it made her grip on the steering wheel slip. When she came to a red light, she checked the map on her phone which told her she’d be arriving at her destination: Dave’s Bar and Grill, in just under ten minutes. She checked her reflection in the pullout mirror above and tried not to psych herself out.

Priscilla Bush was on her way to her first-ever (and hopefully last, God willing—but she supposed that all depended on how things went tonight) Tinder date. She’d never been much of the dating type. She was a married woman. Her and husband had gotten married last winter. She loved him. The marriage was fine. In fact, Robert knew exactly what she was doing right now. He knew where she was going, who she was meeting, and he encouraged it all. She’d kissed him goodbye when she left tonight. And he wished her good luck.

As soon as she’d left the apartment, she couldn’t wait to be back with him later that night, cuddled up on the couch with a glass of the fancy boxed cab he’d got the other day. She wasn’t sure if boxed wine could ever be considered fancy—but some were certainly more fancy than others. And this was the most fancy one she’d had. Plus they were in the middle of a really good true-crime miniseries. But mostly it was just him, being with him, that she looked forward to.

He was supportive of her work. And she loved him for that.

And it was important what she was doing. It was good work.

And tonight was the big night. The culmination of weeks of planning and research. Not the fruits of her labors. Not yet. That would come later in the expose. But everything was leading up to tonight. And it was all riding on her execution. It all depended on how the date went.

The light turned green and she waited for the car ahead of her to start moving. She noticed the paper sign stapled to a wooden telephone wire pole by the corner of the street. It was the same sign she’d passed by probably a dozen times just on the drive here. Missing and a picture of a young attractive woman, probably around Priscilla’s age. They started popping up only two or three days ago, but she’d seen so many of them already. Maybe a hundred or more.

The car ahead of her finally started moving, and she followed her phone’s directions through the intersection and right at the stop sign on 76th Street. The ETA shrank until it showed: The destination is on your right.

As she parked the car and got out, she could smell the scent of the food being cooked inside. The air was carrying that aroma of fried things, and burgers. She hadn’t eaten, but she was so nervous that even thinking about being hungry was out of the question. Of course, she’d order something and force herself to eat. Had to act normal. Or at least attempt to appear normal to Matt Silva, the man she was here to see.

Priscilla’d taken two whole steps towards the building before remembering what she was doing. A sense of intense embarrassment came over her as she turned around and got back into the driver’s seat of her black Ford Focus. She took a couple of deep breaths to regain her composure. Then