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anotherkyoto · 3 years

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the ephemeral radio. joshua crane investigates a town filled with ghosts of the past, present, and future. though one can almost find proof of the non-existence of the paranormal, the little town is the exception for it.

content warning for the entire story: mention of child abuse, mental illness, violence, discussion of suicide, drug use, cadaver, and gore.

[archive of all the casettes]

Cassette no.II. [2K]

The rhythmical lull of the train wheels over the rail tracks is hypnotizing. Or at least they’ve put quite some people to sleep in the car. Some passengers lay their heads against the window, swaying from time to time.

Not Joshua Crane, though. His headphones are covering the calming noise of the train, and he’s listening intently to his cassette player. He could enjoy the view of the land from the window, but he’s too busy writing into his notebook. His handwriting is messy, and the page is almost incomprehensible by the way it’s full of arrows, crosses, and notes upon notes.

अग्र अस्ति समीप

“Amid life, we are in death...” The Host says, with a chill in his voice. “My dear listeners, you’re listening to 102.3, the Ephemeral Frequency.”

The usual short theme tune plays, as he says his catchphrase.

“Here’s a little history lesson for you. Although I’m sure you all heard the stories of the brig Kanaloa. Maybe during class, maybe from your elders. Or as a warning tale from your parents, when you were only little.”

A spooky tune starts playing, but not overspeaking the Host.

“One of the most terrible disasters ever occurring on our coast happened on Kitterland at 7:45am 28 December 1852. We all know about the sailing vessel coming from Scotland. Its original destination was Liverpool, but as we all know it never arrived with its cargo.

The storm was nothing like that night. The thunder and lightning were the least of people’s worries in Ephemeral. The real danger was the wild waves hitting the rocks and the docks. And just like that, on the terrible night of 27 December, the brig hit the rocks of Kitterland. At the sound of the crash, one young lass came out of her house. At the site of the ship, she called for the man of the town. The mayor, Hamish Northwest put up a rescue team.

Despite the weather, they managed to get to the ship. The captain along with four of his men was lost to the waves. But the real tragedy came after. Among the cargo were barrels full of gunpowder. For whatever reason, probably on the impact the barrels scattered below deck. One lantern was enough to start the explosion. 29 local men died in the terrible explosion which was heard up to 18 miles away.

Hamish Northwest, the mayor himself, and another man, one of the crew members were the only survivors.”

There’s a moment of silence before the radio host starts up again. His voice no longer sounded sad, but rather excited.

“One thing the tales miss to mention is the confession of the survivor. Dogan Fellows was badly wounded in the blast. But his mind was scarred the worst. He told a tale, of something lurking in the depths of the Irish Sea. It wasn’t the rocks. He swore. It wasn’t the storm. It was a monster.”

His chuckle is dark and chilling.

“Oh, we all know about the monster lurking in the water, don’t we? Dogan married, despite his strangeness and deformity. He had a son, and along the line of his family, our town still has a Fellows man amongst us.

There’s a rumor Dogan had kept the journal of the captain of Kanaloa. Maybe if we-”

The host suddenly stops as he speaks, and he chuckles.

“I see we have a caller. Maybe someone out there has something to add to the story? We’re listening, what’s your name, my dear caller?”

The line cuts to the caller, the voice a bit distorted, probably thanks to the state of the tape. Joshua has to turn up the volume to hear the other better.

“You know it’s bad to spread rumors...” the caller decides to not introduce himself, but it’s the voice of a man with an accent Joshua can’t really place.

“I see. Do you want to stay anonymous, a chuilein?” The Host’s voice is teasing.

“I don’t have the journal, stop bothering me.” the other replies, not answering the real question.

There’s a moment of silence before the host sighs.

“If you say so... Is there anything else, you would like to say or add?”

Another moment passes before the caller finishes.

“There’s a storm brewing. People should avoid the docks and the beach. Especially the island.” he warns before hanging up.

The Host seems disappointed as he speaks again.

“Well... that’s something. Now I have the need to sail out myself, maybe I can catch a glimpse of the monsters lurking in the shadows. But for you, my darling listeners, it is time to go. Enjoy this next song, dedicated to the one and only lighthouse keeper of our isles, Captain Jonathan Fellows. You have been listening to the Ephemeral Frequency, I’m your host, and as always, I’ll be here for you all night, every-”

अहम��इदानीम्एवआगतवान्

Joshua hits stop on the recording. It’s been less than a month since the University got the anonymous package containing these tapes. All of them are numbered in order.

It was pure luck Joshua came upon them, and because of his job as a journalist for the institution, he got the assignment. Find out more about the tapes, especially the ones that contain paranormal stories. Visit the town of Ephemeral and get to the bottom of it all.

It all seems like a hoax, at least to Josh. He gathers his things, a light green tweet coat, and his worn-out leather shoulder bag. The train stops and he gets off at the station. The wind blows wildly and he puts on his coat. He’s the only one getting off at the station.

He had to fly all the way from Edinburgh to the Isle of Man. Then he had to take a train to get to the south. Roughly an eight-hour trip, his legs are stiff from all the sitting and waiting.

He didn’t pack much, thinking his trip would be short. He studied parapsychology and he knew how to spot the difference between the ‘real’ paranormal and hoaxes. The town of Ephemeral was all but real, in his opinion. And this radio station was nothing more than a horror-loving podcast. To think of it, he didn’t meet anything that was proofed to be an actual supernatural encounter. But he’s interested, nonetheless.

But, he had to write an article about something. So here he was, walking on the muddy road leading to the heart of the town.

He sighs, swearing under his breath for there being no cabs around. His curly, medium-long brown hair is flying to his face, some flocks sticking to his face. It’s rather annoying, but he’s quite used to it.

His boots are for hiking, so it’s not that uncomfortable.

It takes him roughly half an hour to get to the edge of the town. Why did they have to put the train station so far out of town? He thinks, getting closer to the buildings. There’s a hospital just across from a school. They look so different, so out of tune from each other. One is a modern building, the construction wasn’t creative, that’s for sure. Meanwhile, the building of the school looks like a mix of a mansion and a church. It was probably built in the 18th century. A renovation here and there, to not let the structure fall down, but nothing too modern.

Joshua passes both of them, getting on the main road. He passes a couple of small shops. Nothing mainstream, there are copies only. Star Crucks, Duckin’ Donuts, and Taco Hell. Joshua snorts reading the names, and he stops at his destination. Next to a tall gothic building, which is a library, there is a small cottage.

It seems out of place, with the white painted wooden fence around it. There’s a pathway to the back of the building, and Joshua follows it. It’s a two-story building, and with a hand-painted sign it says: “The Dark Swan”

It’s a stone building, much like every other building in Scottland, so he feels right at home. There’s a ring bell over the door as he enters. The warmth of the building almost punches him in the face. He unbuttons his jacket and looks around.

Despite it being a structure of stone outside, on the inside, everything is made out of wood. Quite strange, but Joshua doesn’t mind. There are paintings on the wall, depicting sail sailboats in the storm and animals in the forest. They’re all made by the same painter, as far as the journalist can tell by the style.

The reception is under the stairs, like some kind of small tent, and a woman in glasses is reading a heavy-looking book. Her hair is short and black, her skin fair. She doesn’t seem to notice him.

He walks up to the desk and awkwardly clears his throat to make an attempt at being noticed.

The woman looks up, her eyes cold and blue as the sea in one of the paintings behind her.

“Something wrong with your voice, lad?” she asks, quite rudely.

He raises an eyebrow at that but introduces himself.

“I’m Joshua Crane. I have a room reserved?”

It comes out like a question, even though he didn’t mean it like that.

She looks him up and down, which the man doesn’t appreciate that much, awkwardly shifting from one leg to the other. Then she slowly looks down at her desk, getting out an even heavier and much more dusty book. She flips through the pages.

“Yes, I see...” She says, almost surprised he wasn’t joking. “How long will you be staying?”

“Three days. At least that’s the plan.”

It’s her turn to raise an eyebrow, but she doesn’t comment on it. She rotates the book, so he can see it properly.

“Sign your name here, and I need the price in advance. Here’s your key to the room. It’s 2B. Upstairs, the first room to the right.”

He takes the pen from the table and he notes the last visitor was signed in the book on the date of 2018. Almost an entire year ago. But what actually catches his eye is the name written next to it. Margarethe Shelley. The woman from the first cassette tape. He signs his name in, along with the date, then takes the key to his room.

“What happened to the woman?” he asks, too curious about his research already.

The receptionist looks at him funny.

“What woman?”

Joshua points at the book, which she already hides behind the desk again, closing its dusty pages.

“Ask around, Joshua Crane. I have better things to do.”

With that she picks up her previous book, he can only read the title, but can’t make much sense of it as it is written in Latin.” Omnes videntes inoculum”. Whatever that might mean. And with that she disappears behind a door, saying ‘employee only’.

Without much to go on, he climbs the stairs to make his way to his room.

#os: the ephemeral radio #the ephemeral radio #casette 2

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anotherkyoto · 3 years

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gifted. during the cold war, instead of keeping the peace, people fight with the worst nuclear weapons. due to the radiations people’s dna changes and some become gifted. present days are much different from ours as some mutated groups get to be in power, while others suffer. there’s a resistance brewing and who can tell if it will end in another nuclear war or if it will wipe out the entire planet this time. but peace was never an option…

content warning for the entire series: violence, blood, torture, non-consensual sex

chapter I

#os: gifted #gifted #original story

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anotherkyoto · 3 years

Text

the ephemeral radio. joshua crane investigates a town filled with ghosts of the past, present and future. though one can almost find proof of the non-existence of the paranormal, the little town is the exception for it.

content warning for the entire story: mention of child abuse, mental illness, violence, discussion of suicide, drug use, cadaver and gore.

[archive of all the casettes]

Casette no.I. [1K]

Silence lays heavily on the small manx town of Ephemeral. The streetlamps, that look a lot like old gas lamps, but since then renovated to be electrical, are illuminating the town square. There's not a single soul outside, not after the disappearance of Margarethe Shelley.

It's past midnight, as the clock on the library tower says, and as such as this time means that the teenagers and the odd folk of Ephemeral are intently listening to their radios.

"Local police announced they're still on the lookout for the beast that has been spreading fear throughout the entire town. And that has claimed four victims since Friday night.

Authorities asked to remain indoors until the creature has been captured and the curfew is lifted.

You're listening to 102.3, the Ephemeral Frequency, all night, every night." The calming, yet eerie voice of the Host announces his intro for the night. A soft and short tune follows, as they usually do in podcasts and radio stations, and then the Host continues.

"Unfortunately, against the usual method, you need to leave a message for now, if you have any stories to tell about your encounters with the supernatural. Because tonight I have prepared something different for you. We have a very special guest joining us tonight, basically a celebrity since her disappearance from town."

The man says with an excited voice into the microphone as he hangs up an incoming call to the radio. He looks at the woman infront of him, bound to the wooden chair by ropes.

"Margarethe Shelley, an outsider, not so long ago, am I correct?"

"What is this?! Why am I here?!" The young woman answers in a panicked voice, just woken up from her forced dream. She can barely remember where she was or how she got here. She tries against her bonds but to no avail.

The Host doesn't even acknowledge her existence as he continues his monologue.

"Say hello to the audience, Margarethe."

Of course the young woman doesn't reply. She remembers the man from somewhere, but she can't quiet put a finger on it. She barely lived in this town anyway, only arrived a couple of months ago. Her employer sent her there to investigate the strange phenomenas, that's been rumored to happen around this strange old town.

"You know, Margarethe, there has been a lot of speculations about what has really brought you to Ephemeral. No one knows exactly for sure what you were doing here or why, not even our dear mayor, but there have been a lot of theories and rumors."

She scoffs, her blonde hair falling into her face as she angrily replies.

"There's no mystery. I'm only here because of my work. I was doing renovations of old books in the local library."

"Oh is that right?" The man counters quickly with a mocking tone. "The librarian didn't know anything about this mystery renovation of yours."

"My employer is someone else." She bites back bitterly.

"And whom might that be?"

"That's confidential." She says and there's a couple seconds of silence between the two.

The Host smiles and it scares the woman.

"Of course, I understand... yet people have wondered when you left so suddenly, without any warning. Even missing person posters have been put up all over town."

"I wasn't missing." She replies shortly, still there's a sudden change in her voice. No more vice, no more bitterness, only sadness.

The Host knows the reason and he smiles with a grin and continues.

"Oooh, I know. But there have been other missing person reports. Children, barely old enough to leave their house by their own."

"I've had nothing to do with that, please. I'm begging you... I was going to go home to my family, they're surely missing me by now, if I don't return-"

"But of course your family can be glad, because you're not really missing. Unlike the children, brutally attacked and murdered by some beast."

There's silence again before a few tears slide down on the woman's cheeks.

"Please." Is her only reply.

The Host opens his desks' drawer and pulls out a silver revolver, already loaded and he points it at Miss Shelley. She sobs as she closes her eyes.

"If there's anyone listening, come to the radio station please, I'm begging you-"

"Of course, but the children were begging as well, I bet." The Host replies coldly without emotion.

The room is suddenly illuminated, not only by the few neon signs, but the moon as well.

"What's happening?!" An afraid shriek leaves the woman as she starts to shake in the chair, her whole body feeling like it's on fire.

"Margarethe, thank you for being here tonight. This month's celebrity in Ephemeral. We wish you safe travels home... the raining has stopped, the weather is clearing and we featured Miss Margarethe Shelley on The Ephemeral Frequency. We'll be right back, stay tuned."

XXX the radio remained silent for almost an entire minute, as the music was cut off suddenly - note, by J.C.

"We heard from the authorities, and the creature has finally been captured. Our next song is dedicated to them.

The creature has been identified as a wolf, and has been brought down by our brave officers. The victims of this creature are forever in our memories and we keep their families in our thoughts.

I suggest, my dear listeners, you stay inside tonight, though it stopped raining and the last full moon of august is brightly shining...

You know what they say... if there is one wolf, there is usually more around the area.

You have been listening to the Ephemeral Frequency, I'm your Host, and as always, I'll be here for you all night, every night."

#os: the ephemeral radio #the ephemeral radio #casette 1

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anotherkyoto · 3 years

Text

masterpost | you’re on chapter I ; chapter II [in the works]

summary; people no longer trust each other in Cannon Beach, not since the disappearance of Siobhan Adams. but when a body washes ashore everyone has to question their reality. people no longer trust each other in Cannon Beach, not since the disappearance of Siobhan Adams. but when a body washes ashore everyone has to question their reality.

warning; gore, mention of a dead body

Cannon Beach would be a nice small little town in the corner of Oregon, if it wasn't for the always rainy weather that makes it almost impossible to actually enjoy it's beach. Or the fact that for almost a year now the once friendly neighborhood became a cold and rigid community.

Even for someone who has been living there since their birth, the town became an unwelcoming place. Mostly because the people who once were your friendly neighbors, the compassionate classmates or even the loving church members now became a standoffish crowd.

That's the reason why Casey wakes up on her 18th birthday, but instead of excitement she feels blue.

She feels like a record, stretched too wide. At least that's how she described her feelings to her psychiatrist a week ago.

He's not helping her, nor does her mother. Even if they try to fix her, even if they want to help.

For her mother's sake she puts on a fake smile and gets out of bed.

Her room is a mess. She used to be a tidy person, but for almost a year now, her room reflects her state of mind. All out of place and messy.

Even so, she makes her bed. At least she can do that much, tiny steps, as Doctor Richard would say.

Putting on some music from her laptop, she gets ready for school. The gentle guitar playing in the background and the outside noises of kids in the neighborhood are her soundtrack for the morning.

She tries to tune out the moaning in the next room. Her mother and her new boyfriend. If she can even call him that.

Detective Freddy Bailey was everything, but not a professional person. At least that's the impression he made since he slept with her mother.

Ever since then he sneaks in and out of their house, like a thief in the night, pretending that Casey is an idiot, for not noticing their affair. But she notices, only she might actually be an idiot for playing along and pretending to not hear or see anything.

A part of her doesn't care, as long as he keeps her mother happy. Another part is annoyed, for Freddy once used to be her friend.

His little brother Toby and her used to be best friends. And so when visiting their house she met with Freddy more than a couple of times. Back when he was still at the academy, learning to be a good cop.

He should have learned more, she thinks begrudgingly, as she hears the end of the duet from the next room.

Casey puts on her favorite gray hoodie, which advertises the Oregon State University with it's orange beaver logo. Her father's hoodie. A year ago it was sitting and dusting in one of the boxes from her father's things. Since then she brought it down, and started wearing it, almost everyday. She didn't want to wear flashy clothes as she used to. She didn't want to be the center of attention, not anymore.

So wearing the hoodie that still had some of her father's scent, bringing her some comfort, she heads downstairs. Ignoring the closed door of her mother's room. She makes as much noise as possible, so the guest knows she's awake and out of her lair.

God knows they don't want an awkward meeting, especially not today. So instead of grabbing a toast or sitting down for breakfast, she heads towards the door, and shouts:

"Bye mom!"

She doesn't wait for a reply, as she closes the door behind her.

There's the detective's old black Ford. He sure doesn't know how to hide his tracks, she scoffs to herself as she plugs in her earphones.

She's not even listening to music, it's just her defense against people trying to talk to her. Not that they tried, anyways. But just to be sure.

She walks past lampposts plastered with soggy from the rain, and bleached from the sunlight posters. But she can still make out what they say. She knows it by heart by now.

MISSING

Have you seen this person?

HELP BRING SIOBHAN ADAMS HOME

Last seen on May 12, 2019 at the beach wearing a white floral dress. Age: 20

For any information about her whereabouts please contact the authorities.

They used her graduation picture. Casey hated looking at it, because she knew Siobhan would have hated it just as much.

She wore a phony smile on it, and it the graduation clothes made her look like any basic white girl with blonde hair. Ready to take the world, party her brains out at university and fuck any guy that came her way.

She was everything but that.

She was a kind girl, a good listener. Her best friend. Mother to a now two year old boy, Alex, who she loved more than anything in the world. A great sister to her brother Edmund. A responsible worker, a smart student. A faithful christian, who volunteered when she could, helping out the local youth pastor, Father Deacon.

Yet here was this faded poster, making her look like any runaway teenager.

The newspapers weren't any better, making her sound like an 'irresponsible baby mother who ran away from her responsibilities'.

Mr. Adams was the worst, drunkenly claiming the same thing about his daughter to anyone who came across him. Especially the detectives that got assigned to Siobhan's case a year ago.

Since then it's been declared a cold case and everyone seemed to forget about poor little Siobhan. Except for Casey, because they were like sisters. And you can't let your sister go, just because people think she is a runaway. Especially if you know her best, and know that she would never go away without Alex.

Casey sighs as she nears the building of her school. People are gathered outside, even though it seems like rain.

Everyone is discussing their summer break and how they spent it with getting drunk and having sex. The most loud out of the crowd are the jocks, standing in a group by an expensive looking red Mustang.

The car belongs to David, Casey's ex. He wears his green varsity jacket that goes well with his red hair. He smiles, and Casey's heart skips a beat.

It's been months since they last talked. David has been avoiding her all summer. Sure, she was the one that asked for them to take a break. She just had to deal with too much and didn't want to be a burden to her boyfriend. But he never called once, never even texted.

And now Casey's heart drops into her stomach as Olivia Marshall goes up to David, grabs him by the neck and kisses him passionately. The red headed boy wraps his arms around the honey gold skinned girl's waist.

For a moment Casey just stands there, being dumbstruck, then she starts walking past them.

Well, guess life just has more and more ways to kick her in the guts. It's that simple. A year ago she was the most popular girl in the school, head of the cheerleader squad, best friends with one of the coolest kids, girlfriend to the captain of the football team. It's every highschooler's dream.

Until life comes in and feeds you a big spoonful of reality.

But as she passes the happy couple, she can't help but to say out loud:

"What a fucking joke."

***

"What a fucking joke." he mutters as the cheap automat coffee spills out on the car seat.

Detective Noah Gray has been called to a crime scene this morning.

But he can't work without his morning coffee, so he stopped at the local coffee shop, where he realized the prices for a frappuchino-macchiato-what-the-fuck-ever are the same as a whole ass meal, so he decided: no thank you, I'll be fine with the cheapest option out there.

By the time he found of the the coffee automat's he knew he was getting late, so he thought to drink it at the crime scene.

Now that his drink was spilled on his seat, nothing remaining in the plastic cup, for a second he considered sucking out the remains of it from the seat.

But he quickly gave up on that idea, as he didn't want to make a fool out of himself in the parking lot, not so far from the crime scene, where possibly reporters are waiting to get a glance of the washed up body.

How morbid, he thought, that a bunch of people with their cameras are being paid to take photos of some rotting corpse. And they probably get more money than him.

He sighs, looking at the rear view mirror, checking out his tired eyes and the growing stubble on his face, as he opens his jacket and takes out a bottle of pills from the inside of his pocket. Without counting, he chugs a bunch down his throat. Then he puts the bottle back where its out of sight and gets out of his crappy old car.

The beach is loud with the waves hitting the huge, razor blade sharp cliffs not far from shore. Seagulls are flying in circles around the beach. There's a yellow tape glued lazily around a bench, at the other end stands a police officer holding it with great enthusiasm. Just like a dog waiting outside the vet.

As Noah reaches the line, making his way through reporters and curious onlookers. From three cops standing there, an officer stops him, holding up his hands.

"No passing beyond the line, Sir." He says with an automated voice.

Noah takes out his badge and holds it out for a second.

"Detective Gray. I've been called about a body?" He asks, already leaning under the line as one of the officers walks with him toward the covered body.

"Y-Yes, Detective! A body of a younger female. She's been found by a woman walking her dog this morning."

Noah looks at the sand, all these footprints, probably by the woman and her dog, also boot prints. Same as the officer is making. Noah groans. Amateurs, fucking up his crime scene like this.

"Has the body been moved?" he looks at the subject of the conversation, as they halt to a stop.

"Yes, by the woman who found her. Thought she might be hurt, so she called out, checked the body. When she saw that her eyes were open, she immediately let go and called the cops."

"Fantastic. You can go."

Noah stands next to the corpse, the wind picking up the plastic just enough to make a sound. The coroner comes from behind him. His ex-sister-in-law.

"Detective."

She hands a pair of gloves to him, and he takes it, putting them on.

"Sarah... What do you have for me?"

The woman takes off the plastic cover, making the photographers insane beyond the line, taking as many pictures as they can. If he could, he would walk up to them, and smash every piece of device they have.

But they can't. He doesn't need another probation from his work.

The body is face down, the skin blueish. The dress she was wearing is wet and dirty from the sand. There's no blood, not any that he can see.

"Woman, in her early twenties. She's been dead for at least 24 hours. She was strangled by the looks of it. There's abrasions on her skin here and here." She picks up the neck and turns it so the bruise can be seen by him.

"What about these bruises?" He asks, pointing to the tiny purple colored holes in her skin on her calves.

The coroner looks up. "Seagulls."

Great... "Anything else?"

"There are rope marks around her wrists, but these formed after her death, not before." she mutters as she closes in to look at the body.

"The attacker must have been a male, strong built, by the strangulation marks."

Noah stands up looking around the beach.

"The body has to have been moved here. 24 hours is enough time for somebody to find it. Especially during the daylight."

The coroner nods along.

"She died somewhere else, then she was moved here. Though why bother to tie her hands up, if she's already dead?"

"Exactly. Our killer isn't one of the smart ones." he chuckles darkly, then motions for the body to be turned around.

"Let's look at her face."

The coroner picks the body and turns it. Noah almost stumbles back, as soon as he sees the girl's face. It's a face he looked at for a long time, and one he knew by now. Even with the glassy eyes and the broken skin on her face. The woman gasps as well, though she doesn't hide her shock.

"That's Siobhan Adams!"

Piss off. Noah thinks to himself, almost angry at the dead woman. He feels his hands shake before he turns them into fists.

A year of investigating, of being the ridicule of the town folk. A year of being demoted from his job as a lead detective, almost losing his house. Losing his wife.

All because of Siobhan fucking Adams. He thought the brat had run off from her drunkard of a father.

And now here she lay, almost accusingly looking at him through her dead eyes. "You didn't believe them, you didn't find me and now I'm dead. It's all your fault." Through his medicated and sleep deprived state he could swear he almost saw the lips moving, saying this to him without a voice.

"Fuck..." he mutters.

#os: metanoia #metanoia chapter 1 #metanoia: 1

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