Wrong Station

"Like a Goddess of the sea, she raised her pearled hand, and with her gesture came a rising wave that darkened as it grew until it hit the shore and burst; and from the wave the Lathe-Worm howled forth." The final chapter of this short series. --Written by Alexander Saxton Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The fog grew thick, and soon his only guide through the white void was the sound of running water up ahead. And now his foot rang not against soft loam, but hard, polished stone. As he knelt, he felt the cool touch of marble.  “Welcome.” The voice spoke from the belly of the mists ahead, from close to that sound of running water. It was not human. Its vibrations buzzed along his brainstem. --Written by Alexander Saxton Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In a place like this the fog might thicken in a minute, and then could last for days or months, or never end at all. How many others had set off with a light heart, into the mist and shadow of the Dimness Fens, never again to return? How many sets of bones were black’ning in the bogs; how many sleeping bodies were preserved beneath the still and pine-steeped waters of its sumps and sloughs? --Written by Alexander Saxton Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

“I’d like to wake up please," she said. "How do I wake up? I don’t like how this feels.” “It’s normal to feel a little bit off at first," he tried to assure her. "It took me a couple days to get the hang of it.” “I want to wake up: please, help me.” “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t let you wake up right now.” --Written by Alexander Saxton Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Just listen to those bells. They ring for peace. They ring for glad tidings. They ring for pushing the pain down, deep down, and for leftover sausage meat. 'Tis a beautiful time of year. --Written by Alexander Saxton, Anthony Botelho, and Jacob Duarte Spiel Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It was in the Maestro’s studio, all lit up golden and dark with the golden-hour light that streamed through its wide-arched window, that the Maestro asked Dulcamara to kill a man, for what would be the final time.“Of course Maestro,” The apprentice replied. “Shall it be the Dagger or the Poisoned Chalice?” --Written by Alexander Saxton Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It sat there, under the light. The Egg. Huge, murky and amber. It seemed firm, but still sagged just a bit where it sat. Whatever was inside—if there was anything inside at all—wasn’t clear. The golden casing and yellow-red liquid inside were too opaque to see through. --Written by Anthony Botelho and performed by Liz Der. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I knew then that it didn’t matter that the black mask gave no indication, no inkling of any emotion. The Harlequin was aware of my presence and, in some way, its attention was entirely directed at me. The thing was performing, but not for my... entertainment. --Written by Jacob Duarte Spiel Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

We've got sad ghost, mad ghost, not-a-child, big-ass skeleton, and *horrible* German man. Everything you need at this time of year. And nothing you want. --Written by Alexander Saxton, Anthony Botelho, and Jacob Duarte Spiel. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

He held up a jar containing a chunk of stone the colour of yellow pollen. Out of it grew a crystal like sunset or ruby grapefruit; striking in colour, yet… repulsive to look at in some way. It was small enough to hold in your hand, but heavy enough that it made his feeble hand shake. --Written by Alexander Saxton and performed by Rae Bernakevitch. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

One of those nights, huh? Sorry to pry; it just looks like there’s a lot on your mind. And typically when someone’s sitting at the end of the bar—at this bar, this time of night—staring into their drink the way you are, well… that’s usually a sign too. --Written by Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It didn't have to be like this—we could have gotten the big old Wrong ball rolling with Season 6 right away—but you vultures just couldn't leave well enough alone. So here you have it, you jackals, you cretinous imps, you rancid simpletons. Here are your responses to your properly filed FOIA requests. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Something strange happened during this rewatch. I started to cry. And it wasn’t for the sake of the man in the video. Like I told you: I’d seen him die before. I’d done my part, borne witness. But this time I was crying out of relief. I was crying because the algorithm had served me up something I could handle; something that couldn’t hurt me any more than it already had. --Written by Alexander Saxton and performed by Anthony Botelho Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

He told me he was a type of Latin called a Frank, and that he had sworn his life to the Knights Hospitaller, and within them, to the Order of St. Lazarus. I noticed he did not eat or drink anything, and that when the wind died away, he had a faint, unpleasant smell of rotten sweetness. “The Order of Saint Lazarus…” I began. “Indeed,” he said. “It is composed of lepers.” --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It was morning when we got there, barely past dawn, and we had a little surprise waiting for us right there on the road into town. Now, they said that there had been killings happening. But the Agency had spared the details. Or maybe the mining company had—who knows? But this was a little more than just killing. --Written by Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

“You mean a contest,” he said. A slow, crazed smile spread across Practical’s yellowed teeth. He glanced around the room, as if to reassure himself this was not a dream; it must have been the exact scenario he had fantasized about a thousand times. “Very well then, you have yourself a bet. And may the greatest Artist win.” --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The monster knew nothing. And then, to a chorus of gasps, it was born. Its flesh - once rigid, tall, and wooden - had been transformed into thickly-corded muscle and dense chitin. The body that had spent so many years upright now lay along the ground supported by two dozen different legs. --Written by Jacob Duarte Spiel. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

"No, altogether, people didn’t care too much for young Madeleine Graves, and though I don’t believe I would have much enjoyed spending an evening at the Graves Family dinner table, in the presence of that watchful, grey-eyed child who liked so much to gum at her hair and pick at her scabs, I can’t say it was anything other than a tragedy. And so, being denied the companionship of people, Madeleine wanted a cat." --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It began with a deep hum somewhere in the wall behind Samo, and then a tingle of static in the air. “Sail away, sail away, hah...” Doctor Martel said from behind the one-way glass, flicking a series of unseen switches to power up the machine. “Just like falling asleep.” Only it wasn’t like falling asleep; just falling. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

“There is no escape from the Valley.” That’s what they say, isn’t it? I see how you could believe that. Whatever direction you look, there’s nothing out there but those distant mountains scraping the horizon. And nothing between here and there but scorched wasteland. That, and the Sentries. --Written by Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices