My house was surrounded by a whole lot of nothing—the typical small town. It's peaceful here, with our neighborhood small and quiet, but, if I had the choice, this place would be the last to have my roots set in.

White noise on the radio wasn't unusual here, being sequestered from civilization and all. The last thing I heard was Blue Oyster Cult. That’s when the static came, right in the middle of the instrumental break.

"Well, damn." I set the wet plate and washcloth in the soapy dishwater and gingerly touched the radio dial with my wrist. "Damn," I said again at the defeat of having to dry my hands off. Using actual fingertips didn't help much, either. There was no trace of Buck Dharma’s voice.

Actually, there was nothing, no songs or voices or commercials. Just that weird high-pitched whistle that radios sometimes have when you tune them. I thought about an alien invasion and laughed. 

"Earth to Major Tom," I said, still chuckling to myself.

"Helena."

I stopped and turned to look for my husband. He wasn’t there. "What?" I called back, expecting to hear his voice from another part of the house.

"Helena."

My eyes narrowed at the radio. "Yes?"

"Helena."

I stepped back. "Rob?" No response. "Rob, are you here?"

I left the kitchen. Was the white noise getting louder?

Rob stood at the head of the stairs.

"Hey, what's up with the radio?" I asked.

Rob’s expression was vacant, his eyes unblinking.

“Rob?”

“Helena.”

I reached for the cell phone in my back pocket and dialed 911. There was no signal.

I went downstairs for the landline. No dial tone.

“Helena,” the radio said. “Helena.”

The lights flickered.

“What do you want from me?” I shouted. “Tell me!”

“Helena. Helena.”

I ran outside, nearly pulling the door off its hinges as I went. There was a car stopped in front of my lawn, its engine still running. The driver and passengers all looked like my husband—vacant expressions, eyes wide open. I could hear the white noise coming from their car radios. I beat against the driver’s window. “Hey! Hey! Wake up!”

No response.

A cold hand touched my shoulder.

The scream that catapulted from my throat could have leveled a building by sheer force. The clean-shaven man standing in front of me was unmoved. Good thing, too, or his navy blue suit would have been ruined.

He studied my face, his dark eyes wide in spite of the glaring sun. “Helena,” he said. “It’s time to go.”

“Go where?” But I knew the answer. His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m—I’m not ready.”

He took my hands, his skin devoid of warmth. “Yes, you are. Don’t be afraid.”