Episode 31: Long Night

Feeling sleepy yet, listeners? Some *possible* instructions for turning off your radios. Some details on the fire that feel familiar, and... an update.

The voice of Officer Carlton is Carson Rafuse. The voice of Tanner Walling is Charles Raymond. The voice of ??????? is ?????? ????????.

CW: Mentions fire, death, loss.

Sound effects thanks to Freesound.org contributors: sheyvan, jamitch2, MootMcNoodles, tambascot, InfamousJase, and tabook.

Nowhere, On Air is created, voiced and produced by Jess Syratt. Cover art by Moon Hermit Crab on Instagram.

We'd love to hear from you! Email us at nowhere.onair@gmail.com. Or, find us on twitter, @NowhereOnAir

Transcript

[THEME MUSIC. END OF BREAK MUSIC]

JESS: For those of you still up and listening, welcome back. We’ve got a long night behind us, and a long night ahead of us.

Sleep if you need to, if you want to, if you can. If you don’t want to, or can’t, we’re here to keep you company in the dark. Well, mostly me. The others have been in and out, and some have gone to bed. I don’t know where River is, come to think of it. 

For those of you who maybe haven’t been following along, before that break we’re just coming back from, we said we were going to try and do some things. Those things being a) risk getting closer to town, as the last time we tried to get a look at what was going on, we couldn’t figure out all that much. I say we, Martha and Tanner are the ones who are actually going. If I left, who’d be here to… say things? And b) something I’m going to touch on in a second. 

We have had the conversation a few times as it gets later, that we might risk just playing the music files we have looped so we can all get some sleep, or do other things, but… I don't know. I imagine there are those of you struggling to fall asleep. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep, even if I tried. Even if I wanted to. I know that the quieter a night is, the lonelier it gets when sleep seems to be the guest you’re waiting on that never arrives. 

I mean, the others have been trying to convince me to sleep. And Tanner’s offered- not to keep an eye on, but I guess an ear on things- [SHE LAUGHS WEAKLY AT HERSELF] with the music, but admitted he’s too mentally fried to think of things to actually say…

But, I don’t know, maybe it sounds dumb, or paranoid, but as this carries on, the sounds we put out feel important to me. Like, music is just a placeholder. It’s nice, but it isn’t personal. It isn’t connected the same way you and I are connected when you hear the sound of my voice over the speakers. I feel like, when our sound is intentional… its, stronger? I can’t think of the exact word I’m looking for. 

However, if something comes up, which ‘somethings’ have a tendency to do, or I no longer feel like staying awake, we’ve got our usual tunes lined up to be sure the night isn’t hollow. Or defenseless. 

In the meantime, folks, the point b) I was talking about earlier. Now, I really don’t want to get your hopes up, but we have some possible instructions on how to turn your radios off. Possible as in we’ve brainstormed some ideas. Brainstormed as in over that last break, before Martha and Tanner left, we sat around the table, placed an old, broken radio we found in the basement in the middle, and… asked it how to turn the radios off. We then took turns sharing the first things that came to mind, and I wrote them in a little ‘step by step’ list for you folks. We just- we wanted to be able to try and do something. Instead of just sitting and waiting. 

We haven’t, like, tested this or anything, but consider it a principle similar to our advice regarding electronic devices during storms and the prevention of black outs. 

Those of you listening might want to get a paper and pen so you can try this at home and let us know how it goes, and also so you can maybe share it with those who aren’t listening at the moment. If it works. If you don’t have pen and paper onhand, I’m not sure exactly when we’ll be getting a newsletter out to you, but if we hear that this worked, then we’ll be sure to include this list. 

Also, we’d love to hear that it works because then maybe we can bring this all-night radio broadcast extravaganza thing we’re doing here to an end. If it doesn’t work, then at the very least it was an interesting team-building activity for us.  

Alright, so, first things first, if it's not a car radio you’re dealing with, be sure your radio is located near a window. Though, this has always been municipal regulation regarding the use of radios in the home, so that should be a given. After that, the first step is to politely greet your radio. Greet it according to the time of day at which you choose to try this, and be sure to ask how it's doing. Make sure you’re sincere, it’ll know if you aren’t. It’ll answer you if you are. If it answers, move on to step two:  

[VOICE MOMENTARILY DISTORTED] Think of radio static. The sound. The feeling. The taste. The way it moves and shakes and churns and writhes  on the air. [END OF DISTORTION] If you’re having trouble fully visualizing it, place your hand on the radio– after asking permission, of course. It’ll help you. If you’ve made it to this step, it wants to show you. 

Think of your favourite memory involving a radio, preferably one about you listening to the radio. If you don’t have your own memory, whether you don’t have a favourite moment or you don’t have your memory… you can have one of mine. Your own memory would probably be more effective– y’know, if this even works, but it's probably better than nothing. 

Anyways, here it is, for those who need it: 

[SFX: Car rumble, bird song, breeze.]

Picture it. The midmorning sun creates a mottled mosaic across the inside of the car, across your lap as it spills, angled, through the passenger window. You are young, and with your father, and he is driving on a road tightly walled by trees on either side, dappled and shifting in the light, in the breeze. It is a gentle summer morning and you are driving with your father in his truck. The windows are cracked just enough to let the cool breeze in, and the wave-like sound of the trees ebbing and flowing intertwined with birdsong and the low rumble of the running vehicle fills your ears. And you watch him reach over, and turn the radio on. [SFX: Switching radio channels] He switches the channel a few times, until a song he likes begins pouring from the speakers, crackling here and there. And you watch the light catch some corners of his face as he smiles at you, sighs, and says 

“I can face the world when it’s like this.” 

It doesn’t matter where you’re going. It doesn’t matter what song is playing- I’ll let you folks choose that part for yourselves. But you are there. Maybe it's not with your father, but someone you love. Someone who loves you. And you think “I can face the world when it's like this.” With music playing, sun shining, with the road ahead of you open and inviting. 

Once you have your memory, or borrowed memory, clear your mind, listen closely, and offer it to the radio as a sort of… offering. If the radio accepts it, you should hear it in the static. Beneath the air waves, kind of buried deep beneath the here and now- the way a memory is. 

This is more of a bonus step, but if you have any goldenrod, wild rose, or red clover on hand or in your garden, now would be the time to place it on or in front of the radio. 

And the last step is to wish your radio a goodnight. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is like in the first step. Bid it a good night, and sweet dreams. 

And that’s it. If this works, you should be able to, at the very least, change channels, but ideally, you should be able to switch your radio off now, and find some reprieve from the constant sound. 

Again, all these are just hypothetical and sort of, stream of consciousness responses to a radio we found in our basement, a basement which wasn’t there a week ago. A broken radio that none of us had ever seen before. A broken radio that’s sitting on the table in front of me, still. 

I wonder if I’d be able to fix it… 

[SOUNDS IN THE BACKGROUND- THE DOOR]

It sounds like Martha and Tanner are back. We’ll touch base, and be back in a moment. 

[TRANSITION]

Apparently, though not surprisingly, the fire’s still going. Still burning. Reportedly, efforts to put it out have been ongoing for the last hour since the fire first ignited, and while it sounds like they’re making a difference, the heart of the blaze is putting up a fight. It seems those responding have been successful at containing it to the initial field where it started, though, which is good news. Well, bad news if you’re Farmer Crawford, because then it's your field, and… well, I don’t know. It's not the kindest of thoughts so forgive me, listeners, but if the fire were to spread- spread beyond what it is now, that maybe, someone out there would be forced to intervene. Would be drawn to come help us. 

Reports also came in through Martha and Tanner’s return that there are some… peculiar volunteers fronting the fire fighting effort. And by “fronting”, I mean it sounds like they’ve outright refused any offers of assistance made by the local volunteer fire department. ‘They’ being… well, I’m sure you can guess. 

There was an element of deja vu to Tanner’s recollection of the situation, reminding me, again, of the last time we had a field of lavender burning in our little town. 

Getting as close as they felt comfortable, Tanner explained they could see… shapes, person-shaped figures in suits gathering around, though a good several meters back from, the edges of the field, arms extended out their sides, faces obscured by the wavering shadows. And closer, just on the border of the field, people wearing suits that were not quite hazmat suits. Covered head-to-toe, visors reflecting the dancing orange light, masks to keep out the fumes, dousing the flames with what they assumed to be water. 

Over the sound of the hoses, the roaring fire, and the rushing wind, both Martha and Tanner swore they heard whispering coming from the people in suits, like… instructions for the fire. And, they both said, it seemed to obey. 

Which also sounds familiar. 

It seems like the main course of action is going to be: keep the fire contained and let it burn itself out, which, if I recall correctly, was also more or less what The Faceless did when they helped us out…

[PULLED BACK] Martha, have you seen River recently?  No? Me either. Hmmm. 

[LEANING BACK IN, YAWNING] Excuse me. Lastly, I know we described the strange smoke earlier, folks, but now Martha brought back a description of the fire itself for those of us who could not, or do not want to be there to see it.

Picture a field. The field. It's a field I’m sure we all know. Picture flames, reaching higher and higher towards a sky full of stars, sending their own sparks upwards to join them, carried on a continuing trail of thick, sickly smoke. 

The light from the inferno stretches outwards in all directions, casting a deep, hot glow outwards into the dark, and even deeper shadows. Shadows which swallow everything into unwavering blackness. A nothingness so strong it almost hurts to look at. 

And the flames. You know how the uh, the hottest parts of a fire, will burn blue? Faint wisps and tufts and tongues of blue just appearing at the base? Well, this fire seems to have purple roots. Violet shoots fading upwards into orange at the heart of it. Purple stems of lavender turning into purple stems of flame, before charring, burning to ash, to nothing. Burning out. Piece by piece. 

Tanner and Martha also both described how weary they felt standing near it, staring into it, and how difficult it was for them, once they had turned their faces to it, to turn them away again. 

I think I understand. The heat, the light, the– the comfort. The strange nature of the thing being burned and possibly released into the air. 

But no fire can burn forever. No hunger can continue indefinitely. If you keep consuming and consuming, eventually there’ll be nothing left, you’ll- you’ll burn out. 

Let’s hope the fire, and this night, burn out before we do. 

[TRANSITION.]

So, listeners, um, we just had a delivery here over the break– thank you to the person who came by to drop it off— and along with some rather thoughtful supplies, they shared with us an update on the situation in town. Specifically, [A DEEP BREATH] um, casualties, I guess is the word. 

Now, we figured, us being farther from the heart of things, we were perhaps affected less by the sound and its… behavioral influences, and, hearing some of your accounts and experiences passed on, it sounds like that was the case. It sounds like… it sounds like it was bad. And people died. 

This is… hard to say. I can’t even imagine what people must be feeling. I don’t know what comfort we can really offer those of you who… The details regarding these losses are vague and, well, we don’t have a list of specific names, just- a number. Which, I think the names of all those involved are best left unknown, for now. 

The number is 4. 4 people are dead. Well, 5, actually, as it also seems the lavender had drawn somebody into it mere moments before the fire was started. We do have some details there. 

Witnesses, who were not specified to us, say that William Glendin, former local officer of the RCMP and known… accomplice, I guess, of Farmer Daniels, was seen walking the dirt road running north-east of town. Now, this road also runs next to a large, open field on the Crawford’s farm. This field is the one that’s burning now, the one where the lavender wasn’t, and then… was. 

Apparently, William walked up, right up to the edge of the field, and reached into his pocket. He must have been standing just centimeters too close, as it seems no one could get to him in time before the wide sea of purple shifted, and he just… sank forward, like something grabbed his ankles and the earth crumbled beneath him…. By the time anyone else made it to the edge of the lavender, there was no trace of him, save for a box of matches scattered amongst the gravel, and the first sparks of a fire increasing in the dark, between the sprigs. 

I didn’t know Bill all too well, but Don, uh, Officer Carlton who’s with us here worked with him on the force, and knew him for many years, so, uh, he’d asked to say a few words about him, to remember him, [QUIETER, TO CARLTON] if you’re ready? 

[PAUSE. A SHAKY BREATH. FOOTSTEPS, WALKING AWAY] 

JESS: Um, Tanner?

TANNER: He okay? 

JESS: Could you follow him-?

TANNER: Yeah, sure, I’ll keep an eye on him. 

JESS: Keep him out of trouble, too. 

TANNER: [WALKING AWAY] No promises. 

[JESS SIGHS.]

To the friends and family of William Glendin, to his wife, Jodie, his brother, Scott, to the lives he touched, and to all who will miss him: we are so sorry for your loss. 

We will all miss him. 

To William, if you can hear us, thank you. Thank you for- for stepping out into the night and striking a match and facing that wide open field, for us. 

And to the friends and the family of the four others lost to this long and ever-darkening night… we are so sorry. This night has gotten a little emptier, a little colder, a little quieter. 

To all who are grieving tonight, we are with you in thoughts, in prayers, in tears. 

[LONG TRANSITION]

Sorry, folks. I just needed some fresh air. And the wind’s actually changed direction, clearing the air, carrying the strange, twisting and turning smoke elsewhere, so I stood outside for a while, and I got to just… breathe. Martha popped outside with me, but I don’t think she’s come back in yet. It was nice. 

If you haven’t had a chance to do that yet, listeners: stand outside with someone and just, breathe in the no-longer smoke filled air– I highly recommend it. 

If this show tonight had a sponsor… it would be sponsored by the wind. The breath of the earth. 

[SOFT:] What am I even saying? Man. Remember when we had sponsors? 

[SHE YAWNS] 

I stood outside for a while, and let the sounds of the wind swell in my ears. Let it brush its spectral hands through my hair, cool my cheeks, warm with… exhaustion. Grief. 

Do you ever wish you could blow away? Just… wonder what it would feel like to be that free? A wild sort of freedom. So free that you can never be lost. 

[REMEMBERING] 

Uh, also, Weatherman Todd, I realized I never gave you an answer. The answer is yes. Sure. 

[TRANSITION. SILENCE. SOUND OF COFFEE BEING PUT ON TABLE. JESS WAKES UP AND SIGHS]

Thanks, Martha. And, thanks again to you who dropped off the coffee pot. Cheers. 

[SHE TAKES A SIP] 

Uh, yeah. I fell asleep there, folks. Sorry. Sorry. I don’t know if any of you remember my early days of being this show’s host when our show was at three in the morning, but that… isn’t actually the first time I’ve fallen asleep on air, I’ll admit it. 

I was, uh, dreaming. You know those dreams that feel so real that you kind of get… stuck? Even after you wake up. The occasional tangibility of dreams. For something so internal in nature to have such a striking external grasp sometimes…

I was just… yeah. I was dreaming of James. 

I dreamt she was sitting here, on my lap. That it was just a normal show, and we were… we were content, together. I could- I could feel her fur against my palm. The rise and fall of her little chest as she dreamt about running. You could always tell when she was dreaming about running, her legs would twitch…  Martha and I were gonna go for our usual Tim Hortons double-doubles after… the spot where we… [SNIFFLES] It was a good dream. Haven’t had too many of those these days. 

[CLEARING THROAT] 

And uh, speaking of three AM, I just looked at my watch here, and– well, it's three AM folks. Is that as surprising to any of you as it is to me? Surprising both ways, like “it's only 3 AM?” but also “it's already 3 AM?” Time, if you subscribe to such a notion, feels like it… it's going at its own pace in many ways. This night has felt both infinite and momentary. I’m equally surprised that it hasn’t ended yet and surprised that it hasn’t just started. I don’t know. Time is at the very least subjective in many ways but, do you all feel the same? 

Anyone else feel like a pile of barely smoldering embers? Doing their best against the cold and the dark, but… 

A light stretched thin. A warmth that doesn’t reach far enough. 

[SHE YAWNS AGAIN AND GROANS/ RUBBING HER FACE] 

Maybe I should try and get some sleep. I’m fading pretty fast here, folks— 

[DISTANT FROM THE MIC, A BACK DOOR OPENS AND ANOTHER DOOR CLOSES.] 

JESS: Hey, I didn’t know we had a back door to this place… 

[GETTING UP. MUFFLED YELLING BETWEEN TANNER AND CARLTON]

JESS: What’s going on? 

[WALKING AWAY]

JESS: They’re going to wake the others-

[MUFFLED:]

CARLTON: Just- hold it* down!

TANNER: [LOTS OF EFFORT, FIGHTING AGAINST STEPHEN] I’m trying—!

[JESS OPENS THE DOOR.] 

JESS: What the hell… 

TANNER: Uh, shi- We can explain– 

[MUFFLED YELLING FROM GAGGED FIGURE. MUSIC, INTO:]

[AN EXTENDED PIANO VERSION OF THE NIGHT POST’S OPENING THEME PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND.]

Hello there, citizen. You’ve lived in Gilt City for a while now. Maybe you’ve wondered, when you wake in the morning and retrieve the letters tucked neatly into your postbox, just where your mail comes from. It comes from the Night Post, of course. Those faithful couriers deliver it while you’re sleeping--all the better that they stay out of sight, and keep the unseemly strangeness that follows them out of our city, in the Skelter, where it belongs.

Ahem. If, for some reason, you’d like to know more about Gilt City’s conscripted couriers and the burden that chose them, their secret hopes and fears, the ancient, untamed threats that hound them on their nocturnal journeys--you have only to listen. The Night Post is a queer supernatural audio drama, delivered weekly, in dead of night, to wherever you listen to podcasts. 

Find answers at nightpostpod.com.