For context, I am a radio mechanic. I fix radios for a living. I own a radio shop where customers can order a replacement radio, or have a broken one fixed in complete mint condition. Oftentimes, these would be radios that belonged to cars that just so happen to malfunction in unknown circumstances. For the most part, it would be water damage or a loose wire which would require just a simple fix.
Most of my customers are elderly folk who just so happen to own a vintage radio. Vintage radios are as timeless as they come, the antique finish on the wood to the marblelike finish on the plastic film that enveloped the radios back in the 90’s.
Oh, to see the look on the customer’s faces when they can tune into their favorite radio station and listen intently. Turning up the volume and going about their day. Nothing particularly too bad about the job.
One night, a strange aura had surrounded the shop and I had this unquenchable thirst in my throat. It felt like I had been dunked in ocean water despite not having been to the beach in a few years. I brushed it off as a slight fever, though the taste was foreign.
“Maybe this job is getting to me.” I said to no one in particular. It was approaching December, the winter was the worst.
It’s easy to hear phantom sounds, especially when you’re surrounded by voices coming in sudden waves of static. It’s not that comforting to hear voices when you’re alone in a shop at night however. I wouldn’t say I am unable to handle it though, most voices on the radio are discernible as long as the signal is in good condition.
Everything around me had always been in good condition.
An older gentleman, dressed in a military navy, possibly freshly ironed, suit with a sailors hat had come up to me. He reeked of bitterness and the desperate longing of a life that was once known.
“What can I do for you gentleman?” I asked politely.
“It seems that this darn radio won’t catch a damn signal!” He heaved with a thrush breath. Actually, I would call it more of a thrush breath combined with a sweet stench of whiskey.
How odd, he spoke of a radio not receiving a signal, but the device he bought in was a transmitter. The transmitter he bought in was of a tactical style, dating back to the era of the 1900’s. Of course it didn’t receive any signals, it wasn’t even designed for that.
Noticing my nose crinkle up, the older gentleman intuitively noticed my hesitation before proceeding to utter another sentence.
“Don’t mind the smell, son, it’s a little cold out.” I looked at him with a puzzled gaze, of course I knew what whiskey was, I had a few bottles back in my cabinet in my apartment myself. Was this man possibly making a mockery of me due to my age? Nevertheless, I firmly grasped the radio transmitter in my hand feeling the rough texture of the metal in the soles of my fingertips. Dust and metal bits had embraced my palm as I delicately put it back down on the counter.
“Fancy models here, you made them yourself?” Asked the old gentleman curiously. It seemed like he didn’t recognize the models on the wall, I doubt that he truly did not know and it may have been just another roleplaying question. Still, I decided to just play along with it.
“These models here are brand new! State of the art technology, you won’t find any place with radios like this!” I exclaimed. I’m not much of a marketer myself but pride can come a long way when you own a store. Something was off about this particular customer though, I doubt he would be coming back. He seemed a little puzzled, a little amused as if my words were a marketing ploy rather than the truth.
I don’t usually get a customer right smack dab in the twilight of the day. I don’t usually get older gentleman who like to roleplay like they were sailors from the 1900’s often. I don’t discriminate, it just occurred to me that this was not an ordinary sight.
Examining the transmitter closely, it was quite simply a classic case of water logging. Perhaps spilled tea, or perhaps it fell in the toilet. Classic. It was such a simple fix. I gestured over to the man and told him I could get it fixed and returned at the same time tomorrow. The man looked pleased with himself and just left the store without any mention of payment. I would have said something, however it was time to go to bed and the thought of ushering a frail gentleman on his payment at such a late time in the day rubbed me the wrong way. I thought better to just bill him tomorrow.
The bell on the top of the door usually had a little chime ring as the customer left the store, but this time there was just no sound. Like a crack had just been heard in the dead of the night. A little off, I should admit but I thought better to think nothing of it.
Unbeknownst to me, the waterlogged transmitter had started to groan with static. I found it odd, however not impossible since it happens when the electricity mixes with water.
Something really really strange happened though.
The groaning static became a moan, a moaning static. It’s hard to believe simple static could have humanistic qualities, but it grew a bit harsh. Almost like, like it was crying. There was no voice behind it, it’s a transmitter so it obviously wasn’t receiving signals. It just, the pattern of the static mimicked that of a person who had a lump in their throat struggling to get the words out. The static created such a frequency that I instantly froze when it started to cry in desperation.
Wait, no radio’s can’t do that, can they?
Almost like it was turning off and on, pausing and repeating, the motion of the sound waves of the static going up and down. Like a baby who had decided to interrupt their mother at 3AM because they need a good tummy rub. Yea, that kind of crying.
Maybe I was losing my mind, I wasn’t prepared for this kind of thing. What kind of transmitter did that old man bring to me?
Suddenly, my head turned towards a static like rumbling coming from one of my newer radios. These radios were the kind that modern day cars would use. Its in mint condition, it wasn’t supposed to have that kind of sound unless the signal was incredibly bad.
The static noise went on for a few minutes until finally I heard the sweet noise of modern society. I was relieved and a tad bit embarrassed to be in such a fright in my own store.
Just as suddenly as my relief came on, it went away as the calmness of the noises I heard had suddenly been pushed to a screeching halt. A static screech if you will. The screech transformed the sound the radio had been playing to a sound that belonged to a man in desperation.
I heard a familiar voice.
****(THIS IS ROB—ROB—-HARR—-IS-HARRISON—–DO-YOU——-COPY?)****
“What the hell?” I whispered in a shocked tone. It was that old man’s voice. Was he playing tricks on me? Or, oh god I am really starting to lose it aren’t I? Just then, another voice came, It wasn’t the old mans voice, it sounded like an acquaintance of his.
****(WHAT—–HE—SAID—–IT—WAS—-STATE—OF—THE—-ART—-TECHNOLO——-GY)****
I could tell that they were mocking me for what I recited earlier. I don’t know who they were or what prank they were intending to play but it wasn’t funny at all.
I suddenly jolted to a loud banging that was being received through the radio. It was accompanied with what I believed to be sounds of thunder and ocean waves. The banging got increasingly louder and louder and louder. Whatever it was, it sounded like they didn’t want it coming in. I really didn’t understand the prank they were intending to pull on me. If they were intending to scare me, they were nothing more to me than just a few teenage dirt bags in the bodies of old men.
I heard one last voice until it was suddenly shut off.
****(OH—GOD——–ITS—-OUTSIDE—–WHY–ISN’T-THIS——WORKING)****
I was frustrated, what a terrible prank I thought. Looking around to collect my belongings and drive home, I felt that ocean water in my throat again. I was going to seriously start crying if I didn’t leave right then and there. Before I could slip my way past the entrance and leave, I heard a blaring static coming from every radio in the shop. A blazing hum replaced the static before being replaced by an even stranger sound. Coming from every radio, a heightened static screech was accompanied by 3 letters akin to something that would be received by transmitters in the 1900’s.
****(S———O———-S)****
Before I could hear the last of it, I sprinted to my car, turned the ignition keys and felt relief as the sensation of my throat had disappeared replaced by the familiar air of the city. The city, away from the beach, away from the oceans. Seriously, if I had to feel that stench in my throat again, I would vomit everywhere.
Returning to my post tomorrow morning, the familiar sight of the radios had soothed me. Perhaps last night was something akin to a fever hallucination. I mean those do happen, right?
I came to my senses and starting my job of fixing radios again. That’s when I reached the transmitter that had been given to me by that old man. I felt really frustrated at the prank he decided to pull yesterday, but alas I had to complete my job nonetheless. I heaved a sigh of relief as I returned it to mint condition, the transmitter could now transmit audio signals to modern radio technology.
The old man returned at the expected time, he looked pleased to see me despite the fact that I wore a slight scowl on my face as he walked in.
Again, the bell on the door didn’t chime, just a sudden thud as the door closed behind him.
As he reached in his pants to shell out a payment, I interrupted him with a simple but assertive question.
“Why did you prank me yesterday?” I asked him, a stern stare in my gaze.
“Excuse me?” He asked confused. “I don’t recall doing such a thing.” He replied.
“Y’know what? Forget about it.” I exclaimed, I didn’t want to get into a conflict this late at night.
The old man smiled, and gave me his payment making a sudden remark on how expensive the repair service is. He was pleased to hear that his radio was in mint condition and was able to transmit to “newer” devices.
I was a bit hesitant for him to leave my store again in anticipation of the prank that may be awaiting me later on tonight. As he left, a folded piece of paper had fell from his pocket and lay on the ground. The old man left, the door heaving close with just a sudden thud. The old man had gone, but he forgot possibly an important document. Picking it up, I unfurled it and read the contents apprehensively.
“Dearest Rosemary, I write this to you in preparation for my new occupation as a lighthouse worker. My bags have been packed and I am ready to embark on an exciting new chapter in my life. The sights that one sees out in the ocean cannot compare to the beautiful rose colored skin that await when I return. I will be accompanied by two other gentlemen as we guide the sailors to their destinations. I am writing this letter in the event that if I do not survive or make it out alive, one of my acquaintances will deliver this letter for you.
I love you,
-Rob Harrison December 1, 1900.”
My throat sunk to my stomach.