32) BROADCAST #001.8: “THE SIGNAL EATERS 01”

(THE SIGNAL EATERS) [spoken] That’s when the shadows got clever. Slithered into the airwaves. They crawled through anything that could transmit: radios, intercoms, HAM sets, baby monitors. Whispering, mimicking, begging. [whispered] Let us in.... [spoken] We started calling ’em Signal Eaters— ’cause once they get on your frequency, they don’t stop until you’re gone. And oh! The cults came next. People worshipping the whispers, kneeling to static, praying to feedback. Radio-religions. Praise be to White Noise. [spoken] [ENTER: THE LAST SIGNAL] [spoken] One host— one idiot genius— figured it out. How to block ’em. How to talk around ’em. How to keep broadcasting without letting the Signal Eaters puppeteer his skull. [spoken] That dummy is me... Or someone wearing me like a coat. Not like it hasn't happened before, mind you. Or maybe I’m just a bad dream on repeat. [spoken] Either way, this is The Last Signal Radio. I don’t know if you’re alive, or listening, or even real. For all I know, I’m babbling to the crater so the Beast doesn’t eat my voice. [spoken] Sometimes.... Hell, most times... I talk in other voices. Sometimes they talk in me. Sometimes I forget which one’s the original. Do I sound British today? Southern? Am I a woman right now? Am I a frog? Doesn’t matter. Keeps the shadows guessing. Just always remember listeners. It's just little ol' me speaking.... [manic laughter — then sudden calm] [spoken] So I keep talking. And you keep not answering. And together, we ignore the hum. Because that’s what’s left of the world now: [spoken] Ash. Dark. Whispers. And me. [radio hum gets louder for a moment] [spoken] This is The Last Signal Radio. If you hear me… don’t say anything. Don’t answer. Just listen. [spoken] I’ll be here until the static eats me too. [—broadcast cuts with a metallic shriek and fades to silence—]