The Last Laugh

The morning fog sat heavy over the little town of Gullport. Nathan stretched back in his creaky chair, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee as he prepared for his segment. "Coastal Waves", his radio show, mostly consisted of local news and easy-listening tunes. People loved it—easy to digest, like their favorite clam chowder. Today, though, would be different. There had been something...off in the air lately. Maybe it was the fog, or perhaps the incessant whispers of seagulls overhead. Nathan couldn't quite place it. As he flicked the switch and the red "On Air" light illuminated, an unfamiliar chill filled the room. "Good morning, Gullport! It's Nathan here, bringing you the tunes to get your day started right..." As he queued up an oldie, a sound crept into his earphones—faint laughter, interspersed with crackles of static. No more than a whisper, really. He frowned and fiddled with the controls, trying to pinpoint the interference. The rustle of bizarre laughter seemed to have embedded itself into the soundwaves. During a commercial break, Nathan called Jimmy, the station's engineer. "Hey, Jimmy? Is there any way a signal from another station's overlapping ours? I swear I heard—" "Sounds like a case of good ol' radio gremlins," Jimmy mused. "Sure it'll pass." But it didn’t. Over the days that followed, Nathan noticed patterns in the laughter—it sometimes played when discussing trivial matters, but grew louder during serious topics. His curiosity piqued, Nathan decided to sleuth around town. He met Mrs. Foster, the town's local historian. As they sipped herbal tea in her quaint, lavender-scented home, he mentioned the eerie laughter. Mrs. Foster’s eyes widened. "Could it be related to Tarra Finley’s incident? Her laugh was pure sunshine, even with... well, the way things ended." Tarra had been the talk of Gullport thirty years ago, a vibrant woman with an infectious laugh. She 'disappeared', residents said, into the whispers of the ocean. No one ever found her. Intrigued, Nathan spent hours sifting through the archives before stumbling upon something peculiar—an old photograph. Tarra's arm was casually slung around... his younger self. Vague memories rushed through him like thunder claps in a stormy night. Hidden beneath the laughter was something darker, tethered to Nathan's own past. The laughter grew insistent, looping into Nathan's dreams, chipping away at his sanity. Sleep-deprived, he found solace in the studio, hoping to unravel the truth. "You still listening, Gullport?" He spoke into the microphone with new intent, reaching into his buried memories. "I think I know where the laughter's coming from." As Nathan drove to the edge of town, a memory jigsaw fell into place. Tarra was his babysitter, vibrant and full of life. A fun day at the beach had turned tragic due to a freak accident. When he arrived at the rocky peninsula close to Tarra's old home, the fog parted slightly, as if in welcome. A hissing wind carried laughter mingled with ocean waves—a chorus of the lost. Nathan leaned into the car to tune in. By now, listeners had increased tenfold, as people across Gullport shared a collective curiosity. "Tarra," Nathan's voice cracked at the fragility of his memory. "We all miss you." The radio static faded into a silence that lay bright as silver. The laughter subsided—a gentle sigh over the rush of waves. The unexpected twilight draped an ethereal calm over the beach. A weight lifted off Nathan, and for listeners, a final broadcast rolled through the airwaves—a reminder of the bond between the living and the departed. It was ungraspable, yet eternally shared.