The police spent the last two hours interrogating me and they're leaving now. They think I killed my girlfriend and so do my parents. I didn't mention the Wallwalkers because who would believe me? That's also why I didn't mention the radio. She's been gone for three days now. Everyone at school thinks I chopped her up and threw her under the bridge behind my high school. When I told my friends about the Wallwalkers and the radio, they laughed. Once they realized Heather was actually missing, they stopped talking to me. Everyone stopped talking to me. People who didn't know me all of a sudden looked the other way when I passed them in the hall. Those who did know me looked disgusted with my existence. What hurts worse than that is my parents believe the police.

I remember the night I told them about the Wallwalkers and that they came when I turned on the radio. When I mentioned the shadows and the music, my dad's eyes rolled back into his head and he took a sip of beer. Dad didn't care what I had to say. He simply shook his head and left me alone in the kitchen. He couldn't be bothered with childish stories I guess, but I received the same expression from my mom. Her eyebrows sank and her expression was pure disgust. Though they didn't say it, I could tell they were disappointed in me and did not believe a word I said. I stood by myself in the cold kitchen. I held the radio responsible for all of this in my hand. I think I can bring Heather back, but I need help.

Those things which took her, they weren't human, but they were — I can't find the right words. They were—I don't know what they were. I just know that when I turned the radio off, they disappeared. I took the battery plate off to remove the batteries and saw — I saw — there weren't batteries in there, there was something else. I don't know who put that radio in the asylum, but — I haven't been able to sleep. I don't understand how the radio turns on without batteries. I wish I had not brought this stupid radio home. It's a Panasonic RF-562D radio. It can play AM and FM and it's from the sixties. There is nothing special about it. Well, except that it is obviously haunted, and I think my girlfriend is trapped in there. If I turn it on, I can hear her, but then the Wallwalkers come.

I'm sitting in my room now, looking at this cursed radio. The moon is high, and the night is cold with chilly summer winds. My parents haven't spoken to me for two days and I miss them. My friends won't return my calls. I hold the radio in my hands and turn it over. The battery slots on the back are open and vacant. I know what I must do to power it on, but if I do that, what will happen to my parents? My hands tremble as I squeeze the radio tight. Why did I have the stupid idea of taking her out to an asylum of all places? An abandoned asylum! Why? Havenbrook Sanitarium was shut down nearly thirty years ago. One maniac kept sticking silverware into the electrical sockets. He almost burned the whole place down.

The last thing he did was put the antenna of the radio into an electrical socket, and bite down on the antenna. He was fried, and it set the whole ward he was in on fire. Havenbrook released a statement that the man in question had a long history of deliriums. He tried to electrocute himself multiple times throughout the years. One thing that stuck out though, he mentioned there were things walking on the walls in his cell. He couldn't describe them either. I think he saw the Wallwalkers, and they told him the asylum was built on a graveyard. The bodies had been tilled and then excavated. I spent all of yesterday trying to find that bit of information, but I couldn't find anything. Havenbrook was opened on March 23rd, 1943. Aside from the inmates who went berserk and lost their minds there; I cannot find anything that would suggest supernatural occurrences. It's June 17th, 1996, and I haven't learned anything about that asylum. What the hell was I thinking?

Who in their right mind would think taking their girlfriend there on her birthday is a good idea? It was just meant to be a fun night out. We ate dinner and then saw The Craft. The movie was good, and Neve Campbell was good in it, but why not just hide behind the theatre and make out? What was it that drew us to Havenbrook? Sure, that place has become something of local legend. Other teens snuck in there and bragged about it at school. But no one ever went there and mentioned a radio. Or, well, the Wallwalkers. I'm sorry. I am too confused, and I need to make a decision. The radio is in my hands, and I know how to power it. I want to rescue her. I know that when I do turn it on, the music will start. I've never heard these radio stations, or the songs this radio plays. I can't even understand them because it plays music backwards, and time — it stands still. I noticed this when we first found the radio and I turned it on. I noticed the shadows, too.

Sorry, I need to focus. This radio isn't powered by batteries. I take a deep breath and examine the bolt cutters sitting on my dresser. This radio is powered by something else. I set it in a plastic tub and stared at it. The air in the room felt cold and sweat coated my forehead. My bottom lip trembled as I watched the moonlight reflect off the cold steel surface of the radio. A knock against my door broke my train of thought. The door creaked open, and my mother poked her head through the crack. Her eye sockets were dark and heavy, and her hair was frazzled. Who knows when she last slept.

Mom said, "Brian. We love you, but we're going to my sister's for the weekend." Her eyes darted away from mine, and she looked at the floor. A thin frown pressed across her face as she avoided eye contact. She continued, "me and your dad love you, but we need a break. The police, the letters, everything is becoming too much. You'll be okay, right?"

I am not okay. I haven't been okay since Heather's birthday. I said, "mom, I didn't kill her. I swear, it's the wallwa—"

She shut the door and spoke to my dad. She said, "he's still going on about ghosts. I don't know what to do with him. Let's just get the keys and go." They rummaged through the hallway closet, collected their things, and left. Dad didn't say goodbye. I opened my bedroom door and looked down at the narrow hallway. It was dimly lit, and the house was clean.

I do not know how long they will be gone, but maybe that's a good thing. Heather's disappearance has stressed us all out, and none of us know what to do. Once my parents left the house, the phone rang. Time seemed to stand still as it rang. I didn't want to answer it. There have been too many people calling and threatening to kill me. Most of them are related to Heather. I don't blame them either; I was the last person with her. I picked up the phone from the receiver and asked who is calling. 

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