Carbon Ghost Signal

They told me it wasn't real. That the signal was static in my head. But I found it. In the cellar, where the darkness isn't empty, but woven with voices. There it was. My hand moved on its own, or maybe it was pulled. I felt the pulse before I touched it. A cold, electric burn. I didn't touch paper; I touched the skin of something that was once human, now coded into oblivion. The numbers... I felt them imprint behind my eyes. They are reading my frequency. They know where I’ve been. They know what I touched. I have touched the ghost's trace. And now the ghost is tracking me. I can't turn off the static. It has become my skin.