A Nightmare Awakens

It all began on a stormy night in late October. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows of Kevin's suburban home. He sat alone in the bonus room upstairs, scrolling through his phone while a B-grade horror movie droned on in the background. The film, "Drac Von Stoller Presents Horrifying Tales From The Dead," was more campy than scary, but it stirred something in Kevin's memory—a long-buried recollection of his first brush with the unknown.

As lightning illuminated the room in brief, stark flashes, Kevin found himself drawn to the Google Play store. His fingers moved almost of their own accord, searching for something he didn't quite understand. And then, there it was: an EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomenon) app. The description promised users the ability to communicate with spirits from beyond the grave. Kevin scoffed, but a chill ran down his spine as he hit the download button.

While the app installed, Kevin's mind wandered to that night so many years ago. He was just a boy, no more than seven or eight, left in the care of a teenage babysitter and her friends. The group, bored and looking for thrills, had decided to hold a séance. Kevin remembered how he'd huddled in the corner, both terrified and fascinated as the older kids set up candles and began to chant.

At first, nothing happened. But as the storm outside intensified, so did the atmosphere in the room. The candles flickered and danced, casting eerie shadows on the walls. And then, without warning, they went out. In the pitch darkness, Kevin heard gasps and screams. When someone finally managed to turn on a light, they saw that the curtains were swaying violently, despite all the windows being closed.

The babysitter and her friends had quickly shut down the séance, laughing nervously and trying to brush off the incident. But Kevin knew what he had seen, what he had felt. Something had been in that room with them, something ancient and hungry.

Shaking off the memory, Kevin refocused on his phone. The EVP app was ready as he opened the attic door stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the icon. Was he really going to do this? With a deep breath, he tapped the screen.

The app's interface was simple: a red "Record" button and a list of suggested questions. Kevin cleared his throat, feeling slightly foolish. "Is anyone here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

He was about to try again when a floorboard creaked behind him. Kevin whirled around, his heart pounding, but the room was empty. Chuckling nervously at his own jumpiness, he turned back to his phone and hit the playback button.

At first, there was nothing but static. And then, faintly, almost imperceptibly, a voice: "Jack."

Kevin's blood ran cold. He played it again, cranking up the volume. There was no mistaking it—a raspy, otherworldly voice had spoken directly into his phone. "Jack," it repeated, sending shivers down Kevin's spine.

He should have stopped there. He should have deleted the app, and left the attic, and called a friend. But curiosity, that damnable human trait, drove him forward. Over the next few weeks, Kevin became obsessed with the EVP app. He used it in every room of the house, at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes he caught nothing but static, but other times...other times he heard things that defied explanation.

Whispers in the dark. Childlike giggles. And always, always, that name: Jack.

Kevin's wife, Mary, grew increasingly concerned. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way he jumped at every little sound. "You need to stop this," she pleaded one night. "It's not healthy."

But Kevin couldn't stop. He was too close to...something. He didn't know what, exactly, but he could feel it—a growing presence in the house, watching, waiting.

It was around this time that Kevin remembered the tombstones.