It only happens when you’re in the radio station.

You’re not quite sure what it is or how to ask anyone else. It seems like it’s a problem that only you are having. It’s difficult to discern, even harder to put the words together to describe it.

You’re in the break room, alone, and you swear it’s in the corner of your eye. It moves away from your vision when you try and define it. You’re not sure if it’s actually there, or if it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. There aren’t any rumors of management free-roaming the halls of the station, nor any other entities that come mind that you’re presently aware of.

You sit a moment and let it wander in the sides of your vision, twisting an curling before you realize.. it’s static. Another detail you overlooked was that if you listened closely, you could hear it too.

You continue with your work, shuffling the piles of papers around to assume its proper order (not that Cecil would read it, since it seemed as if he already knew of everything before you could get the reports on it), briskly shoving them away in a folder. The static grew louder and clouded your vision for a moment, nearly making the world a veil of grey. You shut your eyes tightly, rubbing them underneath the lenses of your glasses before opening them again.

It stopped.

There’s a still silence in the room as you wait for any sort of response — static or otherwise — and receive nothing. It’s deathly quiet.

Your cue to get up and move to the booth is given a few minutes later when your mentor’s voice fills the station with that radio voice, signaling the start of the nightly broadcast. Papers in tow, the static lingers in the back of your vision, ghostly murmurs whispering in your ear as you turn the knob to the booth.

It’s probably nothing.