Enter: James, like a Dream. 

*INTRO* 

It's October, so you know what that means: 

Winter could start any day now!  

Out here in the great wide open, the weather’s a bit… unpredictable. All the things that make life interesting are, though, wouldn’t you agree? 

Here’s some advice for surviving those long and heavy prairie winters: 

Wearing a few extra layers as the temperatures start to drop is always a good idea- and can be stylish too. Adding a scarf, or six, to any layered winter outfit says “I know how to accessorize and am knowledgeable about how easy it is to prevent frostbite!” 

This is your reminder to make sure you arrange to change your tires to winter tires in the next little while! I know how it goes, you always think “I can do it tomorrow, there’s no way it’ll snow tomorrow, it’s October. I’ve got time.” No, you don’t. That’s a dangerous way to think in the winter. If you think it won’t snow, it will snow. 

Act now, act fast. Be ready for anything. 

At night, when you're cozy in your home, stay there. Do not look out your windows into the blackness. If you hear something outside calling your name in the night,

DO NOT GO TO CHECK WHAT IT COULD BE. 

Lock all windows and doors, and keep a light on. You are safe inside. For extra comfort and security, keeping all limbs underneath your blankets works well. 

If you live with someone who hears their name being called, do not allow them to venture into the darkness either. Do not let them respond. If they are beckoned and pulled by the supernatural sway these voices can sometimes possess, resorting to locking them in a closet or tying them to something is acceptable. They will thank you later. 

If you happen to be outside when these spectral addresses call upon you, I’m sorry to say all I can offer you, listener, is this: whistle in the dark. Drown out the sound with whatever little tune you can think of and do not stop until you have found shelter. Do not approach the sound and never, ever, look behind you, especially if you hear the snow crunch. 

In fact, dear listeners, any noise on the snowy prairies at night is reason enough to apply these protective measures- better safe than sorry, when sorry means being eaten alive by the eldritch beings whose spirits are tied to the snow. 

On a happier note, Evelyn Gallagher’s baby was brought into the world today, born at dawn as all babies are. She would like to thank everyone for their prayers, kind words of encouragement, and prophetic dreams about her child. They did have a daughter, just like many of you said they would. She is 7 pounds, 3 ounces, and though the Gallaghers have asked the name remains secret for the time being, they would like everyone to know they were right about that too. Although, to be fair, that’s probably just the power of suggestion. 

Congratulations to the Gallaghers on the newest edition to their family, and a warm welcome to their daughter. 

*TRANSITION*

On a similar, familial note: 

The Cardenis family would like to thank everyone who joined them for Sophia’s special scout badge bestowing ceremony last night, where she was awarded the “honorary marine biologist” badge as well as the “shark tamer” badge, both of which interestingly existed prior to Sophia’s heroics. However, it’s unlikely either of these badges will be earned again anytime soon. 

She was also approached by some members of the Faceless, who asked if they could record her singing for future reference, and offered generous financial compensation for any time she would be sacrificing for them. 

Sophia told me all this by the juice station last night, where we both agreed that when it comes to drinking watered down juice in a gymnasium, peach juice is the best flavour. She also made me swear- scouts honour- to not reveal any other details of our conversation ever again. 

I suggested perhaps we did a blood pact instead- as I am not nor have ever been a scout, nor have I ever been involved in a situation where I have exercised that level of honour, but we then both agreed maybe it was a little extreme. 

Well, Sophia, if you’re listening, while still honouring our agreement, I’d just like to say: you raised some very interesting and enlightening points. If you’d ever like to talk over a nice cup of juice again, let me know!

*TRANSITION* 

Parents, you may remember a letter that was sent to your homes earlier last month regarding potential changes in the school curriculum starting next semester. Last week, these changes received all necessary seals, stamps, and blessings for administrative approval. So, the high school will now be adding several new courses to their curriculums, starting in seventh grade and moving on sequentially. The following is is the finalized list of new classes submitted to us by the school board: 

-disaster management

-stealth and survival

-teleportation

-advanced mathematics- wait, no, my bad, that one’s an elective

-raid strategy

-alchemy

-and foreign language poetry. 

Dana Smith, superintendent of the school board, said in her statement accompanying this announcement: 

“We want your children to be as well-prepared for their futures as possible. That’s our job as educators- aside from screening your children for any psychokinetic or clairvoyant abilities, or tactical aptitude that might make your child the subject of government interest.”

*TRANSITIONS* 

Alright, listeners, we’re gonna take a break from our regular content and to fill the gap in our program, I’m gonna tell you what happened last night. 

Martha- this show’s producer- and I often go out for a coffee and maple dip at Tim Hortons after we’re done in the studio for the night, if neither of us receive any picture-based visions from the Town Council by the time we’re done. Y’know, to celebrate a job well done. We go to Tim Hortons because it’s the only place that’s open that late and every time we try and use the station’s coffee maker after midnight it just tastes like crude oil. 

Anyways, we head on over to Tim Hortons, and it’s about 1 am, and you’ll never guess what happened. You know those feral cats that hang around, like work sites and farms and stuff? Well, there’s a shop yard next to Tim Hortons, as we all know, and while Martha and I were there the cats were just doing their thing, climbing on cars, enjoying the cool night air, shedding their skins and howling at the moon- cat stuff. Martha always has to convince me every time we go that I can’t bring home a cat. That their freedom is beautiful, and they’re naturally independant creatures ill-suited to trailer life. 

However, last night, there was this creature. She caught my attention immediately, sitting on the hood of Martha’s pickup truck, soaking in the residual warmth of the engine. She had a patchwork, ragged coat and the most gorgeous, heart melting green eye. Just the one. She had only half a tail, I’m not sure how she lost the rest of it but it in no way affects her loveliness. There’s this- this growth on her head- I’m not gonna go into too much detail but it grosses Martha out- but it’s interesting. 

Anyways, she’s sitting there, and before Martha can shoo her away I am instantly filled with the feeling that this creature- this adorable little creature- and my destinies are intertwined. She looked at me, and I looked at her, and I knew we were the same. Well, I have both eyes, no tail and no strange growth on my head last I checked, but we’re kindred spirits. I know she felt it too, because she came right up to me and just pressed her head right up against me. 

After much discussion and much convincing, I successfully argued that while Martha said no cats, but she didn’t say anything about coyote pups! So, you’ll be happy to hear, Martha let me keep her as the studio pet! A mascot, if you will. Martha won’t, she prefers the term rescue- but I will. 

She is sitting on my lap right now, as I tell you this story, sleeping peacefully. Her name is Jamie, short for James,. 

There’s a new sense of completeness in the studio now. We were missing something, a part of our family, and now she’s here. 

Sitting in my lap. Safe. Home. Her little paws feel worn with wandering, but now they can rest. 

Awww- she just made the cutest little noise- 

Okay, Martha’s giving me a look from the booth. Time to move on. 

*TRANSITION* 

I’m sure at this point we are all frustratingly aware of the previous issues with submitting insurance claims for damages inflicted on persons, places and things during the thunderstorm that wasn’t a thunderstorm we had a few weeks ago. 

However- and I’m hoping this is the last update we have to give on the storm so we can all finally move past it, to grieve and wail together-  we’ve been contacted by the Housley’s, who run the antique store slash insurance firm, and they have said that they are now able to process and approve claims, and that the unprecedented logistical complications, trans dimensional issues, and strange, glowing barriers they were coming up against have since been resolved with the help of Town Council. 

Not that they were convinced these things weren’t implemented by Town Council to begin with. But that’s besides the point. 

So, good news! You can expect to hear from them soon in regards to what damages are covered and what level compensation you are entitled to. 

The Houselys also contacted us in regards to their eldest son Elliot, who is still missing, with an announcement that they are organizing a search party to look for him. Tomorrow night, and the next few nights following, volunteers in conjunction with the RCMP, the group will be meeting outside the Housely’s store on main street and 2nd, and are hoping to cover a majority of the eastern fields and the down in the river valley over the next few nights. 

Regarding this community effort, here’s a not-so-friendly reminder from Town Council:  

As you may have guessed, judging by the new, 10 foot chain link fences adorned with barbed wire and aggressively red and purple warning signs, the land on the other side of the river is off limits, out of bounds, restricted, off the table, and trespassing is indefinitely prohibited, outside the limits of earth set for you to walk and park your physical form, beyond the reach of your legal activity parameters set by Town Council- 

You are free to obey whatever set of sounds and mouth shapes best communicate to you how ultimately forbidden the other side of the river is, so long as the sentiment of the message is clear: 

Do not cross the river. 

Thank you, Town Council, for that helpful reminder. 

A little, much friendlier reminder from me to you, is: don’t wander too far. 

How far is far? Well, I guess that’s up to you. What’s far to me might seem like a reasonable amount of distance to you. Is far a measurable distance, or more of an intuitive understanding of one’s separation from the familiar? 

Or, is far measured by the time a journey takes? The time it takes to traverse across physical distance, from one point to the next? To get where you’re going? 

The nowhere you cross in between? The nothingness that feels sometimes like the only thing that is. 

Sometimes, living out here, where the horizon is endlessly far away, eternity seems so normal, wouldn’t you say? It makes you feel like everything will just go on forever. 

Maybe, it will. Maybe you will. 

Think about it: it can take a very long time to realize you’re immortal. But, if you think you may be, we encourage you not to test this theory. Patience is the best course of action. 

But, you probably aren’t immortal. And that is okay. Death is the most natural thing there is. It is the ultimate sign of progress. Proof we are ever-moving forward. Life is arguably far more terrifying. 

So, look at you. Courageous, powerful, fearfully and wonderfully made and alive. All teeth and nails and pulsing. Living, despite how strange and scary and sometimes slimy it all may be. Pioneering forward into unchartered territory. Unaware of what the future may be. 

Could it be… animal? Vegetable? Mineral? Something, beyond? 

Maybe it has fangs. Maybe- maybe it’s smiling. Is that a smile? Or is it- too wide? 

Maybe it smells like cinnamon. Or honey and blood. Or… worse. 

Maybe it’s rough against your palms like the skin of a mountain. Maybe it tastes like sandpaper and rotten oranges. 

Maybe it’s gentle, like an old friend you once lost who has now found you again. Or a new friend who’s eyes seem to have some deep, ancient familiarity. 

Whatever it is, and however ready or not so ready you may feel to face it- 

I wish you well. I wish you discretion and grace and most importantly, compassion. And, also luck. 

Well, not that I believe in luck as an invisible, external force that can manipulate outcome. All luck is, come to think of it, is the positive outcome of chance. 

So, I wish you everything you need to achieve a favourable, kind outcome. 

I am rooting for you. 

Thanks for tuning in.