Static on Line 7
A late-night call center worker begins receiving calls from someone who claims to be himself — begging for help.
Eddie Clarke had worked the night shift at Newline Communications for almost a year.
The pay was terrible.
The building always smelled faintly of burnt wires.
And the seventh line on his switchboard — Line 7 — had been broken since he started.
Supervisors told him to ignore it.
"Just an old glitch," they said.
But one Thursday night, at 2:38 AM, Line 7 lit up.
Curious — and a little bored — Eddie picked up.
"Hello?"
Static.
A low hum, like wind through a broken speaker.
And then — faint, panicked:
"Eddie? It's me. You have to listen. You have to get out."
The voice was his.
Exactly his.
Eddie slammed the receiver down, heart hammering.
It had to be a prank.
Right?
The next night, Line 7 blinked again.
Again, the same voice:
"They’re watching through the mirrors.
Don’t let them catch you looking."
Eddie laughed nervously, glancing over at the old break room mirror across the office.
For a moment —
just for a heartbeat —
his reflection didn’t move with him.
Instead, it smiled.
A slow, deliberate smile Eddie hadn’t made.
He unplugged the switchboard, shut off his computer, tried to go home.
But the elevators didn’t work.
The stairwell circled endlessly, floor after floor, without ever reaching the ground.
Line 7 kept blinking in the darkness behind him.
Bright.
Relentless.
Somewhere inside the building, a voice identical to his own whispered:
"You missed your chance."
The last thing Eddie saw was his reflection stepping out of the mirror, walking toward him, hand outstretched.
Smiling.
The pay was terrible.
The building always smelled faintly of burnt wires.
And the seventh line on his switchboard — Line 7 — had been broken since he started.
Supervisors told him to ignore it.
"Just an old glitch," they said.
But one Thursday night, at 2:38 AM, Line 7 lit up.
Curious — and a little bored — Eddie picked up.
"Hello?"
Static.
A low hum, like wind through a broken speaker.
And then — faint, panicked:
"Eddie? It's me. You have to listen. You have to get out."
The voice was his.
Exactly his.
Eddie slammed the receiver down, heart hammering.
It had to be a prank.
Right?
The next night, Line 7 blinked again.
Again, the same voice:
"They’re watching through the mirrors.
Don’t let them catch you looking."
Eddie laughed nervously, glancing over at the old break room mirror across the office.
For a moment —
just for a heartbeat —
his reflection didn’t move with him.
Instead, it smiled.
A slow, deliberate smile Eddie hadn’t made.
He unplugged the switchboard, shut off his computer, tried to go home.
But the elevators didn’t work.
The stairwell circled endlessly, floor after floor, without ever reaching the ground.
Line 7 kept blinking in the darkness behind him.
Bright.
Relentless.
Somewhere inside the building, a voice identical to his own whispered:
"You missed your chance."
The last thing Eddie saw was his reflection stepping out of the mirror, walking toward him, hand outstretched.
Smiling.
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