My life had always been rather unremarkable. I had a loving wife, a decent job, and a cozy home. It was, by all accounts, a normal existence. That is, until I stumbled upon the radio.

I had been wandering through a local antique store when the worn, rusted hulk of a radio caught my eye. It was a large, dusty thing from the 1940s, with a weathered wooden frame and a dial that seemed frozen in time. Despite its rough appearance, I felt an inexplicable pull towards it. I purchased the radio on a whim, thinking it would make a nice conversation piece for our living room.

When I brought the radio home, my wife, Emma, was initially unimpressed. She didn't share my enthusiasm for old relics and was worried about the space it would take up. I assured her it was just a harmless decoration and, begrudgingly, she agreed to let it stay.

That night, after Emma had gone to bed, I found myself drawn to the radio once more. I fiddled with the rusted knobs, not expecting any sound to emerge from the ancient device. To my surprise, the radio crackled to life, and a low, eerie static filled the room.

As I continued to twist the dial, the static began to give way to a voice. It was a man's voice – deep, slow, and unnervingly calm. The voice seemed to be reading from a script, like a radio drama from a bygone era. But the words it spoke chilled me to the bone.

"Your wife, Emma, plans to kill you. She has been plotting for months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. You must act before she does – end her life, or she will end yours."

My blood ran cold. The idea of Emma wanting to kill me was preposterous. We had our disagreements, sure, but we loved each other. I tried to dismiss the voice as a cruel prank or a bizarre coincidence, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was something more.

Over the next few days, I began to notice subtle changes in Emma's behavior. She seemed distant, her smiles strained, her eyes cold and calculating. Each time I caught her staring at me, I couldn't help but wonder if the radio's sinister message was true.

My paranoia grew, and I found myself returning to the radio each night, listening to the same chilling warning. The voice was relentless, insisting that I had to act if I wanted to survive. It whispered dark suggestions into my ear, urging me to kill Emma before she could make her move.

I wrestled with the idea, my mind torn between my love for my wife and the terror instilled by the radio's prophecy. The thought of taking Emma's life was monstrous, but the fear that she might take mine first was overpowering.

As the days turned into weeks, I found myself succumbing to the radio's influence. I began to plan, to consider the most efficient and discreet way to carry out the unthinkable act. Each time I looked at Emma, I no longer saw the woman I loved – I saw the threat she had become.

My life had become a living nightmare, haunted by the constant hum of the radio and the ever-present fear of my own impending death. And as the fateful night approached, when I would finally decide whether to heed the radio's warning, I couldn't help but wonder – was I about to become a murderer, or was I merely a pawn in some twisted game?

The dark place is crawling in my brain.