[THEME MUSIC] 

JESS: Hi, folks. It's me. Back once again. Because what else would I be doing! Hello. Hope you’ve all had a good day, and that good day is coming to a good end, and a good night is on its way to you now. Coming down the road, footsteps dark and gentle. Approaching your doorstep. Raising its shadowed fist to knock on the door…. Are you ready for it?  

[SIGHS] I’m not. 

I have become a dreamer of strange and unpleasant dreams as of late. Stranger and unpleasant-er than usual. And I refuse to believe I am the only one who has been plagued nightly with pictures and sounds and symbols so vivid I might be compelled to call them visions, only, I do not want to. Because of the implication. And the legality. They are certainly not visions of the future. And I certainly haven’t been drinking coffee. Cross my heart. 

What is it exactly I have been dreaming about these days, you ask? Or maybe you’re not asking because you don’t care, or don’t want to know. Too bad. Sorry. 

I have dreamt of a face with no face. I dreamt of a storm that spoke to me of the end in a voice, terribly familiar. I dreamt I was standing at the edge of a dark forest and the forest went silent. 

I dreamt of reaching out across a field, only to find I had already turned my face away. Only to find a shadow in the wake of the thing I had been reaching for and…

The field goes on forever, like an ocean stretches all the way to the horizon… 

I dreamt of a doorway. An empty door frame filled with swirling purple and emerald and deep blue light that swam and sang, and I could see the echo of a familiar place on the other side. Ruined and dead. Familiar faces, too. I dreamt of many, falling through.

I dreamt of the sinkhole. This black, gaping void burrowed into the earth. I dreamt it became a mouth that swallowed me whole. I dreamt the sensation of falling. And then- no longer falling but climbing. Climbing down. Descending. Dirt beneath me electric and buzzing beneath my skin, the air thick and hot and my eyes hurt like there’s a bright light shining, but I can’t see anything. 

I dreamt about Elizabeth Shaw. Alone in a dark, quiet home. About the figures in suits outside her doorway. I dreamt they stood outside the door to my room. I could see their shadows through the faint crack of light at the base of it. I dreamt I held my breath and waited for the knock that never came. A sound, suspended just before the sounding. 

I have dreamt of things, of awful things, I am too frightened to repeat for fear something sinister is listening.  

And I dreamt of this place, of a time so beyond this that there was nothing here. Not land, not sky, no mountains or dirt. No sounds. Silence. Just swirling darkness and fractured colour and an eclipsed sun, a black iris. I don’t know if it was the past, the future, or both. Who’s to say they’re not the same thing? Who’s to say time isn’t just the entirety of everything sandwiched together and if you tilt your head far enough one way or the other, you’ll see something? 

What are the things we can only see or know in a dream? What do we do with the odd, subconscious, often abstract or straight-up nonsensical yet so incredibly important things we are given or told in the quietest hours of existence? What do we do with the things only we know, but don’t understand? 

I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll ever know. And what do we do with the questions we will never answer? I think I asked that last time we spoke. Well, not spoke. I spoke to you. You, I assume, listened. And that’s… that’s what this is. And sometimes it feels like that’s all I do. Speak too much and listen too little. Which I suppose is acceptable when your career, as mine is– or, was– is talking in a format that is solely intended for listening. And I just have to hope you do. I have to hope you're out there and hope I’m reaching you as the voice calling out in the wilderness hopes it's reaching the ears of those who need to hear… hope that my existence is confirmed like the tree falling in the forest. 

And that’s the radio business! And, as I’m technically still your community radio host insofar as I have not been fired, brutally killed by the unknown force that has historically killed all other radio hosts in town, or received any notification or paperwork indicating that we are unlicensed broadcasters who should not be doing what they’re doing, I will continue to do it. And, who knows, maybe even then, I’d continue doing this. 

So, continuing on with the radio: 

You’re not gonna believe this, folks, and I honestly can’t explain why it seems like we’re inching our way back towards a familiar structure for this show– though, perhaps, missing the most important elements of that show like— a proper space and funding— and— beloved producers- [CLEARS THROAT] but! 

We’ve got a… sponsor ad? Don’t know how, don’t know who from, don’t know what it's for, don’t even know how I’m going to play it, but I just- as weird as this sounds- know it's there, hovering in the static, so I'm just gonna… play it while I get myself a non-caffeinated beverage. Be right back. If this works. 

[DISTORTION] 

COMMERCIAL VOICE: Looking for a way to escape? Looking to add something new to your every day? Looking for some way to free yourself from the humdrum ins and outs of mundane existence, and be a part of something better? Something bigger? More cosmically significant and transcendent than anything else your small, mortal mind could ever fathom? 

Outside time, outside light, beyond sound, come hop on in to a mouth that swallows everything like a sudden sinkhole in the earth! Stand underneath a storm cloud darker and more alive than any you’ve seen before, and let it consume you! Wade into the dark patch of the river, where the muddy water rises, and sink! 

Stare down into the void to see the shadow that moves in the great wide blackened sky, listen to the voice crying out in the distance to hear what beckons you forward, and accept the inevitable ending all things must endure!

Open the door to the thing that knocks in your dreams, bask in the shadow that rises over the horizon, and submit to the vanishing. The shifting. The changing paths. Become one with that which will Be All! 

Act fast! Time is running out. 

[TRANSITION]

Okay… kind of fun, maybe? Possibly? Perhaps? An echo of the old show, to have a sponsor ad… though, not one based on any mutual agreement of airtime for you know, money, but… it really lines up with the old structure of ads I end up wishing we hadn't played. Sometimes not sure what they’re selling, and certainly feeling more threatened than advertised to. I have to admit I even turned to look for Martha… in the booth… there was this face we would make at each other while the ads played. Ads that burrow a little hollow, cold pit in my stomach. Both nostalgic and… troubling. The kind of thing you don’t want to experience alone. But, she wasn’t there… obviously. 

Cause there’s no booth here [WEAK LAUGHTER]

[MUSIC]

Though, I’m sure it's nothing you have to worry about, folks. Nothing to trouble your own hearts and minds over. Certain, even. Because surely there’s nothing to be worried about. And if there was, and I knew about it, or sensed it… I think I would tell you. Y’know? 

You trust me… don’t you, listeners? To be- forthcoming. About any potential danger and its possible imminence? And about any recurring instincts regarding shared, existential concerns? 

I hope so. You know me, right? You’ve all- known me. I’ve been in this game a while. Not to sound like an old, grizzled… someone but, I have. I’m the longest standing radio host in this town. Whatever it was that uh… dispatched the previous hosts seems to have shown me a sort of favour. Yes there’s been… unpleasantries, but those have all been– external. And here I am, at this end of it all, alive. I’m… alive. Still talking, still, kicking. A little more tired and– a little more… lonely but: who isn’t? 

Anyways. I do have real things to talk about tonight. 

[PAUSE, WINCE] 

I also have a pretty killer headache, so… woo.  

First things first, for those of you curious, there is something to address: I was able to listen to the recording of the other night's surprise broadcast. The one that was me but not me. I have no explanation for you, unfortunately, and I don’t want to talk about it. I perhaps might say something on the lawlessness and fluidity of time, space, and reality, but I must sound like a broken record on the matter at this point. And, the past is a difficult subject, I’m sure you all share a similar sentiment to a certain extent. When it raises and rears its head to call us to turn our own head around to face it again… well, looking back is a motion that often aches. 

Reminder leads to recollection, which leads to regrieving… and it's hard not to feel like there is enough grief in the present moment, here and now. Individual grief, yes, but also, communal. Like we’re all standing underneath that one tree that makes us all feel… something, wailing into a night that’s only growing darker no matter how much we beg it for the reprieve of starlight, watching as those stars start to disappear…  

We’ve lost so much to death, and even more to the unknown. Nothing looks the way it used to. There’s… a lot going on right now, to put it bluntly. Our lives have been upended and it's okay to be upset by that. It hasn’t even been two weeks yet, but… god, this feels like it's… dragging along, doesn’t it? Things are happening in increments, yes, but something’s bound to change, right? It has to. 

[INTERMITTENT STATIC AND DISTORTION] 

It's as frustrating for us as it is for you, this stagnant strangeness. I just- I feel like it's going to change. Not just because it has to, but… there’s something… lying dormant. It's getting ready. Brewing over our heads. I know it is. Because the air feels… electric, doesn’t it? I know a broadcast a little while ago I said I felt like… like I was going to be struck by lightning. To be honest that sensation has been intermittently returning. I don’t know how to explain– maybe I’m just becoming hyper aware of my body but whenever I think about the air and my place in it, I feel like… there’s an immense radiating of something around me. Palpable static. It feels distant but… imminent. Does that make sense? I think it might be just me. 

TANNER: [DISTANT] Yeah, it's just you. 

JESS: Okay. Cool. Thanks, Tanner, for the weigh-in from the kitchen. Apologies for a non-relatable tangent, then, folks. I just…

[LONG PAUSE. FOOTSTEPS]

TANNER: [CLOSER] You okay? [SNAPS FINGERS] Hey. 

JESS: Yeah. What? 

TANNER: You zoned out. 

JESS: Do I… look different? Or weird? I just, I feel– 

TANNER: Feel what? 

JESS: Nevermind. Nothing. I just need to– go for a walk or something. Something feels weird. I feel off. 

TANNER: You might– just be freaking yourself out. I mean, you’ve talked more than once about dying, and you’re stressed–

JESS: I’m not having premonitions or visions of the future. 

TANNER: I didn’t say you were. 

JESS: I’m just–... what…?

TANNER: What? [NO RESPONSE] You sure you’re feeling okay? [PAUSE] Jess, what are you–? 

JESS: That wasn’t there before. 

TANNER: What, on your hand? 

JESS: My knuckles–

TANNER: Whoa… what happened? Is that from – “definitely not” punching glass at the museum–?

JESS: It didn’t look like this, I mean… 

TANNER: Does it… hurt? 

JESS: No. It's just– it's peeling. It didn’t look like that before, like… 

TANNER: Like a burn. Your skin’s all… What did you do?

JESS: Nothing. I didn’t… I haven’t been doing anything. Just, walks.

TANNER: Where did you go last night? 

JESS: The sinkhole. 

TANNER: Again? 

JESS: I was… it's just so big now, I don’t know how to describe how much it's growing. Almost like a black ink stain on the surface of water, or even paper, just… spreading. Stretching and reaching. Cracks like streaks, expanding. It's this gaping black mark on the land. It’ll swallow the mountain soon. The mine, too. If it hasn’t already. 

TANNER: You think? 

JESS: I ran into Charles from the mountain watch, he was there too. He thinks the same thing. 

TANNER: What were you doing at the sinkhole? 

JESS: Just… standing. 

TANNER: [THAT’S WEIRD] Why? 

JESS: It feels like… it's stupid to say but it feels like there’s something… [LAUGHS WEAKLY] well, it's just weird to me that nothing’s climbed out of it. I don’t know, it's just kind of… the perfect mix of horrifying and weird that usually happens here, y’know? I’m just surprised it hasn’t yet. 

TANNER: Well, don’t jinx it. 

JESS: It's not like I’m trying to. 

TANNER: Sure. 

[FOOTSTEPS AWAY] 

Sorry, folks, I would’ve gone to a break if I had been thinking… 

Do you ever feel like you’re eavesdropping, listeners, when interruptions happen? Sure, we don’t really have that many secrets from you. Where we are is supposed to be a secret, but I know there’s more than a few people who know where we are. 

I don’t mean to pose this question as an accusation or in a condemning manner, I mean to ask whether or not it makes you uncomfortable… which I know you can’t answer me, but I don’t know if I’ve ever truly considered that before. How much you actually want to hear. I know of course you have the agency to turn this off and stop listening, but… yeah. I’m sure there have been things on this show, truths, happenings, that you did not want to hear for one reason or another. Considering all the times I have felt fearful when hosting, you have probably also felt fearful in those moments, and while on my own journey I have wanted to face fear, I realize now that in many ways I have brought you along with me, whether or not you wanted me to. I have made you face my fears with me, or face your own fears, perhaps, without asking. I realize there is something innately selfish about it, even if I want to deny it, even if I want to insist I am doing this for you, for the greater good of the community though I can’t say I’ve ever necessarily stopped and considered what that truly is. 

I just– assumed you wanted me to do this. The radio. Or if not you, then- someone. Something. Why would I be filling a need if it wasn’t a need to be filled? Well, then I guess it wouldn’t be a need, it would just be… trivial. Periphery. Unnecessary. But silence is a need, isn’t it? A gaping hole? Not always, I guess, but… 

I guess I am the kind of person who has to fill a silence with something. But I think I’ve just– I’ve heard an echo of what’s out there, what lurks and waits in it, and– I’d rather be sound, y’know? I’d rather be that voice in the distance, or in the other room, unintelligible and incomprehensible and odd, than no voice at all. 

[MUSIC]

Aside from the update on the sinkhole that I guess you got second-hand, I wanted to read something for you tonight, folks. Like the poem yesterday evening, I just- I was reading on my own and, for a reason I cannot quantify or justify, I felt compelled to dictate the following… uh, journal entry. Of a journal that’s not mine, but… in my possession. If you catch my meaning. You know what? Let’s call it local literature. That sounds better. 

[SOME PAGES TURNING. JESS CLEARS HER THROAT. MUSIC FADES IN]

“Strange day today. Was out in the Northern most fields, where John Muarray said he saw a bear this morning. I admit I was hoping to catch a glimpse of it myself. Quite suddenly, a fog rolled in. At first I didn’t think much of it, except it is a strange time of year for fog. I thought it best to head for familiar ground as fast as I could, to avoid losing my way, and it's a good thing I did, for when I made it to the town, it was like the whole world had been swallowed and shrouded in mist. 

I stood still for a while, for reasons I cannot adequately communicate. I felt within me for a brief moment in time something akin, I imagine, to the instinct a rabbit has when he is being stalked, and has been seen by a creature with sharp teeth in its jaws, and hunger in its belly. 

After what must have been several minutes of standing there, perhaps in a trance, familiar voices began to call out, and forms approached me, soon stepping through the curtain of fog to reveal familiar faces. Several townsfolk in succession then reported to me that there were strangers in the mist. Men, women, children, and even folks dressed in odd, sharp, dark suits who by all appearances seemed to be human except for some untraceable detail that unsettled many. They walked in pairs, I was told, and one carried a case in their hand. 

I took it upon myself, upon hearing their reports, to see what I might find for myself in the mist. I wandered for quite some time before one last shadow approached me. Vague and shifting at first, it soon took shape and form. A wanderer stepped forward, scarred, strangely dressed, and utterly unknown to me. She seemed just as surprised at my being there as I was hers. We made our introductions, though neither of us seemed to have any answer or understanding of the circumstances of our meeting. 

We spoke briefly. It passed in a haze, I don’t recall exactly what was said, or even her name I regret to say. I only know that not long after we parted, the mist receded, and I was left with a distinct feeling in my core I can only describe as homesick. It is as if, as ridiculous as it may sound, our brief meeting was the purpose of it all.”

[MUSIC FADES]

JESS: [PULLING BACK FROM THE MIC] Oh, uh, what’s…?

Listeners, Clark is hovering at the other side of the table, armed with bandages and gauze and… a bottle of ibuprofen, I didn’t know we had that. I’ve been trying to learn to read expressions on this new face of his, cause, y’know, they’re not exactly the same as his old ones… He’s– either about to cry, sneeze, or he’s both concerned about whatever Tanner must have told him and frustrated I did not do so myself. I guess we’ll see. 

I will take this as my cue for our next break. 

[BREAK MUSIC] 

JESS: Well, thank you, Dr. Oleson, for bandaging my hand, and for also being openly baffled by the odd, opposite- of -healing process it seems to be undergoing. For some reason, your honest “I don’t know what’s happening” was weirdly reassuring. 

And thank you, Tanner, for *cough* tattling *cough*. It's not a big deal. I’m fine. Appreciative of your concerns about my wellbeing as my friends, but fine. 

Why don’t we read another journal entry while we’re here. This is kind of fun, it's like, history, y’know? Like the past is waving at us, saying “hello! I was here!” And, it's Braedon’s history, so of course it's weird. And, I don’t know- why would I have been encouraged to— acquire this– if I wasn’t supposed to read it? 

I’m just gonna flip to a random one… 

[THE SOUND OF PAGES TURNING]

Let's see. Oh, wow, this is a long one. Should be good. 

[CLEARS THROAT. READING. BRAEDON’S VOICE FADES IN]

JESS & BRAEDON: I dreamt last night of a field. Not any particular field with which I am familiar, though, and foolish as it may sound, part of me felt assured that this was in fact every field that had ever existed and would ever exist thereafter. I was both sure this was the only time I had ever stood in this field, and certain that I had been there before, and would indeed go there again. 

[WIND SOUNDS, GRASS, AND MUSIC FADE IN]

BRAEDON: The grass shifted before me and around me with no specific length to it, the Earth beneath my feet neither too firm nor too soft. The imprint I dreamt my boot made into it was indescribably perfect. Just right. 

The sky above this field was dark, and growing darker still, like every storm in existence was gathering over my head. The wind was sharp, yet warm and heavy as it tore through the grass in this field, which seemed unbothered by its intrusion. Gusts blew in the rhythm of breathing. The acres before me rippled and rolled like waves as I gazed upon this field, which spread out in all directions, on all sides of me. 

And the edges of this field– or what I can only assume were the edges as I felt the instinctual knowing that neither this field nor this storm would ever end– were distant and expansive. Blurred, much like the horizon appears to be when you stand before the ocean. Only, in my dream, it seemed the horizon, that already unreachable, ever-distant border between our dwelling place and all that lay beyond, was incalculably far away. Farther than it should have been. 

I do not know how to describe it, or the feeling it evoked within me, beyond the sense that there was no end in sight or inception. There was no end to this field, or this sky, and so, in some strange cosmic ruling, this field and this sky in my dream were the end. The ends of themselves. 

And, perhaps, I begin to wonder as I write this now in waking, the end of me, too. Perhaps I was offered a glimpse into the inevitable, the finite nature of myself, and some natural destiny to which all things would eventually succumb, even creation in its entirety. 

But that is not where my dream ended. Rather, as I stood there in this field, watching this great storm churn above me, colour began to seep into the clouds. Blues and greens, and then purple and oranges like dancing gasps of steam in the air. The mass of clouds itself began to lower, pass down into the firmament, and with celestial arms began to reach for me. Tendrils of vapour, descending slowly like serpents. 

In these final moments, where the clouds parted unto themselves and seemed to ebb and flow with the very movement of breath, I felt myself begin to dissipate. Dissolve. Break apart invisible piece by invisible piece, as if whatever was pretending to be this storm had grabbed hold of the very inner parts of my body and was pulling me apart. 

I don’t recall if it was painful. All I can remember is something like heat, at least the sensation of burning. My vision erupted into darkness, then into light, and lastly into nothing, as I was no longer in the field, or anywhere, and I had become something other than myself. 

In what last moments of awareness I had in this dream, I heard the voice of this storm echo in my ears:  

“I will Be All,” it said with a voice of many voices. “I am the Be All.”

[JESS’S VOICE FADING BACK IN] Upon waking, it is difficult to deny the sense of revelation, though pertaining to what, and for what end, I am not sure. 

JESS: And, uh, that’s… that’s where that one ends. The next one is about… grain yield and building housing for the men who came to work in the mine, so… 

[CLEARS THROAT]

Interesting! Certainly, uh… certainly not a dream I’ve ever had before. 

Anyways, uh, I guess– [BEAT]

Oh, my gosh… listeners, I just looked out the window… and the world is… gone, consumed in a cloud… 

Um, I- I’ll be right back, folks. 

[STANDING, PUSHING BACK CHAIR]

[DISTANT] Tanner, look outside– are you seeing this? 

[MUSIC, STATIC, DEPARTMENT OF VARIANCE OF SOMEWHERE, OHIO TRAILER]