Whispers at 3:03 - by Mariam Akorede

Chapter Four: Dead Voices The rain had turned to mist by the time Mara radioed in the shooting. Patrol cars screamed down the road, red and blue lights painting the fog in flashes of warning. But by the time they arrived, the killer was long gone. Eva’s body lay on the porch like a warning, her blood mixing with the rainwater that pooled on the steps. The cassette tape she’d dropped was cold and damp in Mara’s hand. Sergeant Dunbar knelt beside the body, shaking his head. “Same M.O.,” he muttered. “No fingerprints, no shell casings—nothing but fog and a dead witness.” Mara closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. Eva’s last words echoed in her mind: “They know I talked to him. Thomas Greaves. Before he died.” She slipped the tape into an evidence bag. “We need to analyze this. There’s a pattern here—someone’s pulling strings. Someone who knows this town’s secrets.” Dunbar looked at her like she’d grown horns. “Vex, you’ve been on this case too long. Maybe you need a break. I can—” She cut him off. “No. I’m not leaving. Not until I know why they’re killing people to send me a message.” Dunbar sighed, but he didn’t argue. He’d seen that look before—the one that said she’d rather die than let this case slip away. --- Back at her house, Mara sat in the darkness, the only light coming from the flickering lamp by her battered tape player. She inserted Eva’s tape, pressed PLAY, and braced herself. A slow hiss filled the room, like a deep exhalation. Then a voice—a woman’s voice, trembling but determined: “They’re not what they seem. Greybridge is built on bones. They call it the hour of reckoning—3:03. Every night at that time, the voices wake up. They want us to forget. But the dead remember.” The recording faltered, warped by water damage. Then another voice cut in—calmer, deeper, male, like a teacher explaining a lesson no one wanted to learn: “The church. The tapes. The children’s voices. It’s all part of the same ritual. The town is trapped in a loop. 3:03 is the key.” Static roared in her ears, then silence. Mara sat frozen. Her pulse pounded in her temples like a drumbeat. The dead remember. The town is trapped in a loop. What the hell did that mean? A sudden knock at the window made her jump. Her hand flew to her gun as she swung around. Nothing. She stood and moved to the window, heart hammering. Fog pressed against the glass like a living thing. She couldn’t see the yard, the trees—only swirling gray. Then, faintly, she heard it—whispers on the wind. A child’s laughter. Her name spoken low and slow, like a taunt. “Mara Vex…” She turned the tape off and backed away from the window, every hair on her neck standing on end. Something was here—something that didn’t need a door to get in. She checked her watch.3:02 a.m. And then, in the darkness, the burner phone began to ring.

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