The Corpse's Call: Ghosts on the Airwaves

The radio waves hummed in the quiet of the small town of Willow Creek. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant sound of a foghorn that seemed to echo the town's name. The townsfolk, accustomed to the peculiarities of their town, had long since stopped paying attention to the eerie occurrences that seemed to follow them like a shadow. But this night, the shadow had taken a new form.

At 2:15 AM, the town's sole radio station, WCR 100.7, blared through the speakers of every home, business, and car with a voice that was not human. "I am here," the voice said, its tone smooth and slightly sinister. "You have been chosen."

The townsfolk were frozen in their beds, in their cars, in their chairs, as if the voice had reached into their minds and frozen them. The voice continued, "You must come to the lighthouse. The Corpse awaits."

The broadcast was cut off abruptly, leaving the townsfolk to ponder the meaning of the words. Some laughed it off as a prank, others feared it was a prelude to something far more sinister. But one man, a local fisherman named Thomas, knew better.

Thomas had always felt a strange connection to the lighthouse that stood at the end of the fog-shrouded beach. It was said that the lighthouse was haunted, that it had seen more than its share of sorrow and tragedy. And Thomas had seen strange things in the fog, things that whispered of the past, of the Corpse.

The Corpse was a legend in Willow Creek, a man who had drowned in the treacherous currents of the nearby river. His body was never found, and the townsfolk whispered that he had risen from the dead, his spirit trapped in the fog, waiting to claim another soul.

Thomas had seen the Corpse's face in the fog, a ghostly apparition that seemed to beckon him to the lighthouse. Now, the radio broadcast had confirmed his worst fears. The Corpse was calling him, and Thomas knew that he could not ignore the call.

With the first light of dawn, Thomas set out for the lighthouse. The fog was thick, and the path to the lighthouse seemed to stretch on forever. He could hear the waves crashing against the rocks, the sound of the ocean's anger, but it was the silence of the fog that haunted him.

As he approached the lighthouse, the sound of the foghorn grew louder, a warning that seemed to come from everywhere. The door to the lighthouse stood open, inviting him inside. He stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest.

Inside, the lighthouse was dark and silent, save for the sound of his own footsteps. The walls were adorned with old photographs, faded memories of the lighthouse's past. He moved through the room, his eyes scanning the walls, when he heard a whisper.

"I am here," the voice echoed in his mind. "You have come."

Thomas turned, but there was no one there. He felt a chill run down his spine, a coldness that seemed to come from the very air. He moved deeper into the lighthouse, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

The Corpse's voice was louder now, more insistent. "Come to me, Thomas. You are the chosen one."

Thomas's mind raced. He knew that the Corpse was a ghost, a spirit trapped in the fog, but he also knew that the Corpse was real. The Corpse was here, in the lighthouse, waiting for him.

He moved through the lighthouse, the walls closing in around him. The Corpse's voice grew louder, more desperate. "You must kill me, Thomas. Only then can you free yourself."

Thomas's hand reached for his pocket, where he kept a small, ornate knife. The Corpse's voice was a siren song, tempting him to kill, to end his own life. But Thomas knew that he could not. He had a wife, a daughter, a life that he loved.

As he reached the lighthouse's tower, the Corpse's voice filled his mind. "You must do it, Thomas. Do it for me."

Thomas took a deep breath, his resolve strengthening. He would not let the Corpse take him. He would not let the Corpse take his life, his family, his future.

With a shout of defiance, Thomas raised the knife and brought it down, but instead of slicing through flesh, he felt the cool metal press against the cold, hard stone. The Corpse's voice was silent, the fog began to lift, and Thomas realized that he had made a mistake.

The Corpse was not a ghost, not a spirit trapped in the fog. The Corpse was the lighthouse itself, a relic of the past that had claimed too many lives. And Thomas had been the chosen one, not to kill the Corpse, but to free it.

As the fog lifted, Thomas saw the truth. The Corpse was the lighthouse, and the lighthouse was the Corpse. He had been chosen to end the cycle of death and sorrow that had plagued Willow Creek for so long.

With a heavy heart, Thomas turned and walked back to his home. He knew that his life would never be the same, that he had seen things that no man should see. But he also knew that he had done the right thing, that he had freed the Corpse, and with it, the town of Willow Creek.

The townsfolk of Willow Creek would never know the truth, but Thomas knew. He had faced the Corpse, and he had won. The Corpse was no more, and the lighthouse stood as a testament to his victory.

And so, the legend of the Corpse's Call was born, a chilling tale that would be whispered in the shadows of Willow Creek for generations to come.