Have you noticed, there’s always a faint orange glow on the horizon, in the air, like a prairie fire, or a gas explosion, ever-burning just beyond the visible distance? Is it, perhaps, the shy sunrise, and the hesitant sunset lingering together on the edge of the night? 

One entering quietly, slowly, humbly- one holding on to every last second it can get of shimmering. 

Anyways, it’s, uh, orange. Kinda funky, huh? 

*INTRO*

And now, the weather: 

Sharks. 

There have been reports of sharks in the fields. 

Yes, you heard me correctly: sharks. The one terrifying mammal us land-locked folks thought we’d never have to worry about. Dorsal fins have been spotted peeking out from the fields, slowly stalking back and forth in the blood-red light of the sunset. 

That’s all the info I really have. Weatherman Todd sounded pretty surprised when he called the station with the forecast, but said he wasn’t really too familiar with sharks or any other kind of dangerous, aquatic predators, so he couldn’t give any official recommendations. 

I asked if maybe this was due to the influx of strange but  natural phenomenon we’ve been experiencing recently- the meteor shower, the storm that wasn't a storm, you remember, the one we’re still not sure what it was- and the river flowing backwards. Just to name a few. 

Not the dinosaur skeletons coming to life and terrorizing the town, because as we all know, that was a completely misinformed and misleading story. And definitely didn’t happen. 

Weatherman Todd paused for a moment, pensive silence and the crackling of the poor and possibly monitored phone connection the only sounds between us, until he sighed the sigh of a defeated academic who’d grown tired of intellectually analyzing impossible events, and said, quote: “I’m tired of intellectually analyzing impossible events,” and added a slightly embittered: “probably” before hanging up.

So, uh, stay out of the fields, I guess. 

*TRANSITION*

Local law enforcement are calling for any information or sightings of local punk Elliot Housely. He was last seen three nights ago by his friends, who claimed, on a dare, he packed a lunch, a flashlight, and set off to explore the shimmering void that appeared behind his family’s antique store and hasn’t been seen since. 

The ‘void’ had reportedly appeared in the alley that morning, and rumour has it, this appearance may or may not have had something to do with the old camera found in the Crawfords’ barn, when local photographer Sam Tracy tried to develop the film in her home studio. 

Sam has said that the camera has also since vanished, and, in her usual happy tone, that she is, under pain of death, not allowed to share what she saw in the pictures. 

So, we’ll update you with any information that is passed on to us. If we’re allowed to share it with you. 

If you have any information on Elliot’s whereabouts or what may have happened, please contact the RCMP office. 

We hope and pray for Elliot’s immediate and safe return. 

*TRANSITION*

Now, a word from today’s sponsor, which will just be me, reading this strange, promotional email that was waiting for me in my inbox this morning with the subject line simply reading “sponsor.” 

*MUSIC*

Your time is running out! We have many amazing things! There’s not much time left. What are you waiting for? You won’t believe this! The clock’s ticking. We’re making progress. 

We’re closing in. 

We are almost at your doorstep and you are almost out of time. 

*MUSIC DONE* 

The sender’s simply named “you know who this is.” 

Well, I can confidently say I do not, but whoever you are, thanks for sponsoring today’s show!

And Martha, that policy we have on sponsorships… Can we sit down and review it sometime? 

*TRANSITION*

Here’s a bit of advice for any of you passer-throughs who may have picked up our frequency out here in the golden seas of canola and dry grass with mountain shores: 

If you feel like you’re being watched by something when you’re driving out here, you most certainly are. Don’t panic. There could be worse things. Far worse. Still, it’s best to not look in your backseat. Certainly don’t try to look at them through the rearview mirror. Mirrors add a level of complication we don’t have the airtime to discuss today. When driving at night, it’s recommended you listen to something. Like, the radio! The silence out here will take you if you give it the chance. And if the silence doesn’t, sleep might, and we all know how dangerous it is to fall asleep at the wheel. 

If you’re driving alone and suddenly feel compelled to answer questions that no one could have possibly verbally asked, it is polite to answer them out loud. Your new passenger is speaking to you, it would be rude of you to ignore them. Besides, angering a spectral hitchhiker may not be the wisest of moves when you’re driving alone on a wide stretch of highway with no other traveller in sight. 

To avoid the presence of unwanted passengers of such a nature, be sure you do not leave an empty passenger seat in your vehicle. An empty seat is an invitation. Either avoid travelling alone, or a substitute such as a piece of luggage or a sweater should be fine. 

However, if these tips should fail you, well, all I can really say to you is:

Safe travels, I guess. Wherever you are, our prayers, our love, and little bits of dust go with you. 

*TRANSITION* 

What’s coming up this week? Let’s look at the community bulletin!

Hmm. I’m sorry, listeners, but the two bullet points on this week’s list are… somehow stranger than usual. 

The first one, it seems, consists solely of question marks, and the second one consists of exclamation points. 

Take those how you will. Safe to say, something will happen. And it will most definitely be strange. But it’ll probably be fun. 

*TRANSITION* 

An update on the weather. 

It’s still sharks. 

There have been no human fatalities as of yet, but farmer Crawford reports one of his cows has already been consumed by these deep sea predators. 

Again, and I cannot stress this enough: stay out of the fields. So far sightings have been limited to the fields West of town, but it's probably in everyone’s best interest to just avoid any tall grass altogether. 

Sure, sharks are, in all actuality, not this great, terrifying, bloodthirsty predator- this is a hollywood hyperbole. However, we are caught up in what you might call an unprecedented circumstance. Specifically, land sharks. I’m not sure how accurate or appropriate any previous understanding of sharks really is.

You know, not to toot my own horn but I’ve gotten really good at not sounding surprised or confused or skeptical when reading these broadcasts. I guess, having no formal “broadcaster” training and therefore no formal understanding of what ordinary news is supposed to sound like, it would take a lot to surprise me. 

Anyways, just to reiterate: stay out of the fields. 

*TRANSITION*

Folks, will you all please join me in a moment of silence. I accidentally just killed a moth in the studio. I put my arm down and I did not see it sitting there, just as it did not see my arm, descending down upon it. 

I am sorry, gentle creature. You deserved so much better than what you got. 

Look, while we’re off topic for a moment, here’s a friendly bit of advice: if a kijiji ad says “haunted” or “dangerous” or anything like that, just don’t buy it. Sure, the warning may be fake, but we all know these sorts of things have a funny habit of becoming real- especially here. 

You know, you born and raised Braedonites may not realize this but Braedon is… I wanna say, special? I don’t wanna say weird, because weird is relative, but in comparison to other places- anywhere else, really- Anyways. You’re probably wondering where this is coming from.

If we were having a conversation right now, you might ask me: “Jess, did you buy something off kijiji that said haunted in the ad and completely ignored that warning?” And I might respond by saying something like: “Whether I did or did not isn’t important. What is important that I may or may not have a kettle that keeps aggressively whistling at three in the morning with no reasonable cause.” 

If anyone has any suggestions, preferably reasonable, contact us here at the station with advice. I’d like to get a full night sleep, undisturbed by the screeching sounds of this haunted kettle I may or may not have. 

*TRANSITION*

Carla, whose family was never given a surname, is running a seminar this weekend in the town hall/ rec centre on the pros and cons of blood pacts, and why they might benefit your employer-employee efficiency more than traditional employee contracts when hiring workers. 

Everyone is welcome, and there will be childcare offered in the form of a fenced-in 2m by 2m area in the basement. Lunch and refreshments will be provided. There is no registration fee, but those who register before Friday will receive a free dozen eggs from Carla’s chicken farm. 

Carla, in the email she sent to the station, said she would like to make it known that this seminar has nothing to do with magic- magic isn’t real, Carla correctly and helpfully reminded us- but that these blood pacts were essentially, and I am paraphrasing here, sophisticated pinkie promises. She goes on to say something about appealing to people’s innate honour system in a more intimate, visceral way invokes a sense of loyalty, but… 

As someone with first hand experience with blood pacts, I would like to remind all of you: what happens in a blood pact stays in a blood pact. And, when making a blood pact, it is always important to be as clear as possible about the potential, agreed upon consequences should either party betray the pact. 

Just so everyone knows exactly what terms they're consenting to with their own life fluid. It’s the courteous thing to do. 

Carla’s closing remarks said the seminar was made possible by the helpful support- both emotionally and financially- of our guests The Faceless. Between this, the fossil exhibit at the museum, and the dusting of red dirt they left in the station doorway the other morning- it's nice to know that they’re really getting involved in and giving to the community. 

*TRANSITION* 

Listeners, reports have been coming in of a development regarding the weather:

11 year old Sophia Cardinez has done something remarkable. 

Sophia, we all know, is an incredibly accomplished and strong young girl: the first scout to achieve Sapphire Hawk scout status, and is well on her way to becoming a Violet Eagle. 

During the break, I am told Sophia went down to the fields just west of town- the fields in which today’s shark sightings have been occurring. It is said she approached the field in her uniform- a deep blue sash across her body filled to the brim with a felt and thread exhibition of her accomplishments, and the emblem of a hawk feather stitched on each side of her shirt collar. She held an emergency roadside flare gun in one hand, and clutched a large paper bag dripping with blood in the other. 

It was a perplexing yet awe-inspiring sight. Sophia, approaching the grass. The sharks approaching her- nervously, respectfully. Sophia stood steadfast, and if she was nervous, she did not show it. 

For a moment, all of nature held her breath. Waiting to see who would make the first move, and wondering what that move would be. 

After this pause, Sophia raised a sturdy arm in the air- the one holding the flare gun, not the bloody paper bag- and fired one of those flaming bullets, glowing like a comet against the dusk. The sharks converged even further towards her- the field a waist high stretch of golden stalks and dorsal fins. 

There was a soft, gentle intake of breath.

Then, Sophia sang to them. 

Whether the trembling vibrato in her voice was due to fear, emotion, or was a stylistic choice, it did not matter. For she sang- hymns, folk songs, strange, vowelistic sounds in intuitive melodies- and they listened.  

A shaking voice is still stronger than no voice, folks. Think of it this way: no matter how terrified you were, you still spoke- or, in Sophia’s case, sang- in the face of the unknown and potentially carnivorous. That is a very courageous thing to do. 

Sophia sang for- well, it couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes, but what seemed like hours. Melodies both familiar and new pouring into one another like waves rolling onto the shore. When she was sure she had the sharks’ attention, she, still singing, reached into the bloodied paper bag, and pulled out crimson chunks of raw meat. 

She then began walking- a controlled but driven pace, down the west-bound dirt road, chucking these bloody handfuls of what I assume was cow over her shoulder, a trail of proverbial breadcrumbs leading away from the town, away from the field, and towards whatever lay beyond the west. Then, this brave, young scout and her shiver of sharks disappeared, along with the burning sun, over the ever-elusive and orange-tinted horizon, fading specks of matter and courage and beauty. 

We have since received word from Sophia’s parents, stating that she has returned home, bloody but unharmed, the white shirt of her uniform splattered with red- assumedly, from the meat she was throwing. 

We have also received word from weatherman Todd stating that the sharks have yet to reappear, and he seemed confident Sophia’s actions worked. 

So folks, it seems in a way, we have come full circle. With the closing of the day, the setting of the sun, we are, more or less, back where we started. Waiting to see what weird, incredible thing life has in store for us. Sure, strangeness lingers sometimes like an ache in the shoulders or a residual taste in the mouth, but I believe we are the better for it. 

I feel a little bit more ready for tomorrow, don’t you? Witnessing the bravery and grace and strength of those around you? Of your community. 

I am inspired by you, listening. So thank you. 

And thank you, Sophia, for your songful courage. 

Tune in next time for Mandie McCarr’s story about how she died for four minutes and returned with the ability to speak to coyotes- and what they’re really crying out there in the fields at night. 

Here’s a hint: I would never have guessed coyotes were fans of Poe. 

Thanks for tuning in.