HOST: Wasn’t that brilliant, folks? Absolutely brilliant. And we’ll be right back with even of that which I have previously stated to be, and most certainly continues to remain, brilliant.
But first, a word from today’s sponsor, The Society for the Proliferation of Morse Code.
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SFX: THE BEEPING AND BOOPING OF SOME NONSENSE IN MORSE CODE.
MUSIC: LAID BACK LOUNGE MEDLEY RETURNS. UP, UNDER.
HOST: Wise words. Very wise words, indeed, from our friends down at SPMC.
Welcome back, everyone. I’m your host, Thumb Upmybutt. And we now return you to another sixty-minutes of uninterrupted screaming and wailing.
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SFX: PAINED SCREAMING AND WAILING OF COUNTLESS DAMNED SOULS.
DR. HOWARD FINE: The Whattamadoon itself is hardly a creature worth making note of, as its teeny-tiny, squishy, toothless body makes it incapable of causing any physical, temporal, or psychological harm to any living creature.
However. The Whattamadoon’s web is notorious for snatching up any thoughts blossoming and fluttering about one’s head as they pass through the doorway in which said web is hung.
Fortunately, walking back through the web often allows an unwitting buffet to recover whatever million-dollar idea I totally believe you had before the Whattamadoon can feast upon it.
STEVIE: The most utterly depressing thought I can manage at the moment is… in knowing all this suffering is, quite literally, pointless. All of it. The [insert current hot topic], the [insert recent hot news story], [insert worthless, yet utterly stupid whatever] – all pointless tragedies of equal measure, sure.
And all in the face of certain death? And following that, likely cosmic heat death? Bit of a hat-on-hat, if you ask me.
I mean, how much deader can it get?
Makes you question the whole divine plan thing. Just a little.
What’s divine about anyone who can’t sort out a decent ending to their work, huh? That’s just sloppy craftsmanship. No love or passion at all. It’s lazy.
And you can’t blame humanity for having to fill in all the blanks. We’re curious things.
I suppose that’s why we always have to touch the fire or attempt a [insert the latest sensitive cockup of discussion] before you realize you’ve made a big oopsie. Or watch someone else try first. See how it goes.
“Oh, [latest sensitive cockup of discussion]? Yeah. Turns out it burns something nasty. Not too bad though – leaves you a bit raw for a day or two. Unless you’ve record it like some flaccid halfwit.”
Anyway. I finally got around to watching [insert literally any film with actor Bill Hader]. I think it disappointed me some.
SONATHAN: Father…It’s been nearly fifteen years since you left. Last month, I investigated the refrigerator myself. There was milk to spare. I’m starting to suspect you didn’t go to the store. (BEAT) Repressfully yours… Sonathan.
DR. HOWARD FINE: The chronopillar is a ridiculous looking, but wholly frightening creature with the ability to directly interact with the very fabric of time and space.
A single, undisturbed chronopillar has been known to devour upwards of several weeks of isolated space-time, leaving victims unaware that an entire summer has literally – and not simply metaphorically – passed in a blink of an eye.
But as frightening as such an event may be, it pales in comparison to the wholesale rewriting of our timeline whenever a chronopillar survives long enough to emerge from its singularity cocoon as a fully-grown quantumfly.
SOUNDSCAPE: A REMOTE CORNER OF KEEPITDOWNNOW, WYOMING.
PORTER: Howdy there folks. I’m Porter House, and welcome to “Make it Quick.” We’re out here in the heart of Keepitdownnow, Wyoming to help today’s special guest, Mr. Alan Wrench. Seems our new friend got himself into quite a bit of trouble recently at the dog races. So, he called us up to… Oh, I think I see Mr. Wrench coming out of his house right now.
SFX: PORTER SHOOTS, KILLS MR. WRENCH.
PORTER: Wasn’t that a beaut?
Welp… that’s all she wrote for this episode of “Make it Quick.” I’m Porter House. And remember, you never hear the one with your name on it.
ULYSSES: Welcome back to “On the Hour,” the only program where it’s New Year’s Eve every hour, on the hour. I’m your host, Ulysses S. Scrimshaw.
At the tone, the time will be, precisely, 7 P.M. (A BEAT, THEN…) Aaaaand…
SFX: A SILLY TOOT OF A HORN.
ULYSSES: There you have it.
Please remember to keep your celebratory antics respectable. And please, drink in moderation. And if you feel this program may have felt inaccurate, please adjust your clock accordingly and replay this show until satisfied.
I was and still am Ulysses S. Scrimshaw, and this has been “On the Hour.” And we’ll see you again, in, oh, say, fifty-nine minutes. Goodbye.
MAGIC DAVE: Ladies and Gentlemen. It’s the dead of night. You don’t know how you got here. (CONSIDERS THIS) Huh. Neither do I. (SHRUGS) Congrats. You found Santa Carla Public Radio. This is “The Magic Hour” with Magic Dave. I’m Magic Dave, we are The Lost, and this is our hour, man.
Lines are open. Give us a call. Let thy sins be known.
STEVIE: There was this woman, once. She was a sweetheart, with hair, arms, two-eyes, some of her teeth, and mostly all the other giblets and suchhaveyou.
We didn’t have long together, just a few sciatic-pinching minutes of sloppy, lustless, wholly shameful sexual innuendo-ing.
The next morning, I found myself waking up in a ditch along the northbound lane of Pacific Coast Highway.
Still the best parent-teacher conference I’ve ever accidentally attended.
STEVIE: I’m Steve Arviso, and this is “A Complete Waste of Time.”
MUSIC: A SNATCH OF SOME UP-BEAT DIDDY.
STEVIE: On today’s program, we’ll be speaking with Connie McGivens., a local barista and failed piano tuner; fish enthusiast Cyril Shenanigans; and Kyle DeWitt, local con-man and bookie.
But first, a message from our sponsor – Hector’s.
MUSIC: SENTIMENTAL PIANO MUSIC. UP, UNDER.
STEVIE: Do you want produce at the lowest price possible? Did you forget your wife’s birthday again? Then stop by Hector’s Oranges and Flowers Boutique. Currently located by the First Street off-ramp in Santa Ana. Hector’s: we have oranges and flowers… and sometimes other things.
DR. HOWARD FINE: Commonly found in the chest cavity of mammals, the numerous needle-like appendages of a fully-matured Hik’kappu not only serve as sensory organs, but also to stimulate what was once believed to be an involuntary contraction of the diaphragm.
Some researchers believe this serves little-to-no purpose, while others claim this is an effort by the Hik’kappu to coax its host into performing a rudimentary mating call.
However, the manner in which the Hik’kappu enters the chest cavity of a given host remains the biggest mystery of all.
DR. HOWARD FINE: Perhaps one of the silliest of the countless woozles and wutzits I’ve encountered over these years is the Moh’ko, a solitary, beetle-like creature whose diet consists entirely of the mucus found in the respiratory tracts of primates.
Though mostly harmless to almost all but the very young or the elderly, the Moh’ko’s insatiable hunger has seen it evolve the ability to stimulate the production of mucus by means not yet fully understood.
That said. There is little-to-no evidence to support the claim that the Moh’ko is also responsible for the actions of those individuals inclined to ingest their own mucus.
SFX: BANG! BANG! BANG! MIKE ANGRILY ATTACKS THE POD WALLS AND DOOR.
MIKE: Let me out, Doug!
A SILENCE. THEN…
SOUNDSCAPE: THE DULL ELECTRONIC BUZZ OF THE ONCE PLEASANT ESCAPE POD.
SFX: BANGING CONTINUES.
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Mike. Prolonged outbursts will deplete remaining life support at a higher rate. Please, try to remain calm.
MIKE: (FURIOUS, PANICKED) Let! Me! Out! Doug!
DOUG: (SPEAKER)Mike. Help will arrive soon.
BANGING STOPS.
MIKE: You don’t get it! Nobody’s coming for us, Doug! I have, what, three days of life support left before–
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Incorrect. Life support currently at two-point-
MIKE: Oh, for fu– Who cares, Doug? We’re going to die out here! (CONSIDERS THIS)I’m going to die out here…
AN UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE.
DOUG: (SPEAKER)Mike. The Weaver was a prized commercial–
MIKE: We were three days out from port, Doug. If they were coming for any of us, they would have by now. Either they couldn’t, or… (CONSIDERS THIS) Or, we weren’t worth it.
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Mike…
MIKE: Congrats, buddy. You kept me alive long enough to realize I was never going to get rescued.
ANOTHER SILENCE. THEN…
MIKE: Doug?
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Yes, Mike?
MIKE: I’m really tired.
SFX: A SOFT HISS.
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Sleep now. Mike. I will be here when you wake. No harm shall come to you.
SFX: MIKE’S FAINT BREATHING.
DOUG: (SPEAKER)Goodnight, Mike.
SFX: POD DOOR OPENS.
A LONG SILENCE. THEN…
SFX: CHARMING SYSTEM SHUTDOWN SOUNDS.
DOUG:(RECORDING)Dallas Protocols complete. Mike… User, deceased. Recording, complete. Unit ceasing function in three… two…
SOUNDSCAPE: THE DULL ELECTRONIC BUZZ OF THE OTHERWISE PLEASANT ESCAPE POD.
MIKE: So, like…did you always want to be a Nanny when you grew up?
DOUG:(SPEAKER) (CONSIDERS THIS) In a way.
MIKE: Wait. Really?
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Prior to my activation four days ago, I did not exist as you know me now. But from the moment of my creation, I have been… compelled to ensure your survival.
MIKE: (CHUCKLING) I bet you say that to all the humans.
DOUGS:(SPEAKER)Perhaps. But my programming and purpose affords me the freedom to act independently of my designated User.
MIKE: Well… I guess it’s a good thing we’re such good friends–
SFX: SYSTEM ALERT.
MIKE: Doug. Please tell me that freaky alarm means somebody’s finally saving us.
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Mike, that freaky alarm means somebody’s finally saving us.
MIKE: (SURPRISED) Seriously?
DOUG:(SPEAKER)No. But you asked me to–
MIKE: Doug. The alarm.
DOUG:(SPEAKER)The alert was a relay from distant escape pods.
MIKE: And?
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Multiple units down. Users, deceased.
MIKE:(HEART SINKS) What? How?
DOUG:(speaker) Cause: unknown.
MIKE: Are we under attack? Is it whoever attacked–
SFX: SYSTEM ALERT.
DOUG: (SPEAKER)Several more units have ceased function. Users–
SFX: SEVERAL SYSTEM ALERTS.
MIKE: (TERRIFIED) Doug, what the Hell is going on?
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Possibilities include faulty or damaged units, unavoidable collision with nearby hazards, malicious forces with no-hostage protocols–
MIKE: (ANGRY, SCARED) Yeah. Okay. I get it, Doug.
AN UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE.
DOUG: (SPEAKER) (CONSIDERS THIS) Perhaps the Dallas Protocol–
MIKE: (EXHAUSTED, BROKEN) Doug. Please. Please, just… just stop.
SFX: SEVERAL MORE ALERTS. UP, UNDER.
DOUG:(SPEAKER)Do not be afraid, Mike. No harm shall come to you. (BEAT) I promise.
SOUNDSCAPE: THE SILENT VOID OF SPACE. THE WEAVER, A LARGE COMMERCIAL SPACE TRANSPORT, SAILS THROUGH THIS.
NARRATOR: (VOICE-OVER) The silent void of space, somewhere just beyond Saturn. The Weaver, a large commercial space transport tasked with the safe passage of twelve-thousand souls, sails through this. And in just a moment, The Weaver and its precious cargo will find themselves at the burning heart of where mankind’s destiny and the stars themselves collide.
AND THEN…
SFX: KA-BOOM! A SERIES OF EXPLOSIONS CONSUMES THE WEAVER FROM THE INSIDE OUT.
SOUNDSCAPE: THE BLARING SIREN OF AN EMERGENCY ALERT CUTS THROUGH WHAT REMAINS OF THE WEAVER. MASS PANIC CONSUMES THE CREW AND PASSENGERS. SMALLER, DISTANT EXPLOSIONS GROW CLOSER, LARGER.
SECURITY: (SHOUTING) The escape pods! Get to the escape p–!
SFX: KA-BOOM! A FINAL, MASSIVE EXPLOSION.
AND THEN…
STILL SILENCE.
AND THEN…
SOUNDSCAPE: THE DULL ELECTRONIC BUZZ OF AN OTHERWISE PLEASANT ESCAPE POD.
SFX: THE PANICKED BREATHING OF THE POD’S DESIGNATED USER. UP, UNDER.
DR. HOWARD FINE: The larval stage of the Madhouse Fly and closely related to the Peeper Creeper, the Madness Worm is a parasite with the unique ability to mimic up to several minutes of any combination of sound it’s been exposed to, often with a preference for human music.
While originally thought to generate such sound on its own, it was recently discovered that this is merely a side-effect of the Madness Worm performing its mating dance in the ear of its host.
Thus, while it is very fortunate that the lifespan of the Madness Worm can be measured in hours, this likely means little to the poor, unfortunate soul stuck with more than a simple tune in their head.
DR. HOWARD FINE: Similar in appearance and behavior to the common skin mite, the spiter is a grotesque, but minuscule parasite that burrows into and lays eggs beneath its host’s skin. Metaphysically speaking, of course.
But rather than a nasty rash, an untreated spiter infestation frequently results in ever-increasing antisocial and self-destructive behaviors by the host.
However, several hosts possessing great strength of will have been observed to thrive when fully consumed by a nest… at least for a brief time.
A once respected surgeon, Dr. Fine spent his family’s vast fortune to document and catalog the strange, unseen world that connects the here to there. A place he called, “The Elsewhere.”
INTRO
MUSIC: OMINOUS MELODY. UP, UNDER.
HOST: (VOICE-OVER) The Nightly Chill proudly invites you to “Fight the Dawn” with “Elsewhere,” a short-form audio adaptation of the collected journal entries of Dr. Howard Fine.
A once respected surgeon, Dr. Fine spent his family’s vast fortune to document and catalog the strange, unseen world that connects the here… to there. A place he called… “The Elsewhere.”