I only just started working this new job, and already it warrants keeping some kind of online journal. The internet up here isn’t so great, but now and again when I stand in just the right spot, I’m able to get a signal. It probably sounds ridiculous that I’d have so much trouble, considering that I work at a broadcast station where you would imagine it’s downright necessary to have contact with the outside world. Well, in these last three weeks I’ve been here, I feel more ‘out of contact’ than ever.
Let me be frank with you all: it’s pretty lonely and boring up here sometimes, and other times it’s absolutely fucking bonkers. But during those days when it’s dull and painfully slow, I think I need some kind of outlet to talk and tell my stories. That’s why I’ve chosen this outlet, so that I can tell you all what it’s like up here. Right now I’m sitting next to the wall by the bathroom, the only spot I can get a tiny bit of WiFi today. My butt is cold, my back is sore, but it's better than not having any internet connection at all.
My name is Evelyn. It’s an old lady name, I know. I’m twenty four and I have a degree in Journalism, but the best I could do with it right now was apply for a radio DJ position. Three weeks ago, I started working at a broadcast station that sits fifty feet above the ground on a hill between an old rural town and a long, sparsely inhabited woodland. It’s a surreal, lonely, and sometimes maddening place to be.
If you live here, which I’m almost sure none of you do, I’m probably the only station you can listen to. The town is nestled between green-covered mountains, but the signal reaches far enough for travelers to hear sometimes. If you’ve passed through a very long stretch of road next to the woods, maybe taken a piss by the trees after passing the rest stop that’s been without plumbing for ten years, maybe you’ve heard my voice or listened to a couple of songs. There’s nothing else for miles, and somehow, our town doesn’t even pick up the tiniest signal from anywhere else. We play a bit of every genre of music to keep everyone in the town happy.
By “we”, I mean myself and the owners of the place who put me here. I’m the only radio DJ working right now. I know a few of you are probably thinking how this place stays running with only one DJ, and I’ll tell you. I live here. Since I got the job, I also received a back room inside the station with a mattress and fridge and the basics you would expect from a one-room apartment. At midnight, the radio plays an automatic playlist for six hours so that I can sleep, though I've been known to wake up several times in the night just to check how the broadcast is going. Living on site was a part of the deal that many others would probably reject, but it works for me. I lost my home recently, but … that’s another story for another post. What I’m trying to illustrate is that I’ve been working alone without more than a few five-minute conversations this entire time. And because I’m the only DJ, obviously there aren’t many things involved aside from playing music, sharing the weather forecast, warning the locals about emergencies, and talking about a bit of local news. Calls happen so infrequently that sometimes I easily forget that anyone is even listening at all.
But all that aside, I did say that things are a little maddening around here, didn’t I? I imagine what some would think. It’s a pretty remote place, only one corner store and one tiny diner for fifty miles, woods all around us, and it would be expected if I said we had some backwoods mischief makers roaming about. That’s not it, though.
Last week, the same song played on the radio for over an hour. I don’t mean it repeated over and over again and I couldn’t turn it off, like some technical difficulty. It simply never ended. I even remember the song. It was ‘Unchained Melody’, and I knew as I listened that it had never been seventy-five minutes long. There were no calls of complaint, and after almost eighty minutes of listening to the song seamlessly repeat its chorus as if it had been composed that way, I was finally able to simply switch to the next piece on the list. Not before getting a call, though. It was the first call I had gotten in this station.
On the other end of the phone was the voice of an old man, frail and hoarse. He simply croaked, “Thank you.” His words were agonizingly slow. Painful. Dry. It almost sounded like he had a mouthful of dust and I swear I could smell the mustiness from over the phone. He hung up before I had a chance to say anything to him, but I'm almost glad. I'm not sure he had the energy for another word.
Another time, just this last Wednesday, five birds killed themselves on the window. That is to say, they smacked against it so hard that they just dropped. I know for a fact that this tower isn’t invisible. It’s an eyesore against the view of the trees, really. But on that same day, just minutes apart from one another, five different birds hit the glass of my broadcasting room head-first, hard enough to … well, die. All in the same general spot, too. I’m surprised they didn’t leave a crack. They did, however, leave a bit of mess that bothered me for the rest of the day until I finally climbed out on the fire escape with a rag like some kind of old-timey window washer.
We also have … interesting rules. There’s a board near my desk with a list of guidelines I’ve been told I have to follow.
Rule 1: Never let the radio go silent for more than a few minutes. If the broadcast is down due to technical error, activate The Bell. (Note that I still don’t know what ‘The Bell’ is, other than the fact that there’s a button on the wall labeled as such. It remains a tempting mystery.)
Rule 2: Take care of the equipment. Don’t let anything break.
Rule 3: Any suspicious calls must be recorded. Never tape over a recording.
And Rule 4: When the fog rolls in, do not leave the building. Do not open the door. Sound the emergency broadcast.
It struck me as very odd that my employer would have such a strict rule about the fog. After all, this is the main reason why they insisted on hiring someone who could stay at the station twenty-four-seven, at least until they get me a co-worker. It seemed out of left field, so specific and yet unrelated to any of my duties. I was surprised the fog was enough of an issue to warrant an emergency alarm, really. But only a couple of days into my job, I saw it for myself.
On my second day of work, I was put to the test of getting the emergency broadcast out as soon as I could. You see, the entire room I work in has windows all around so that I can see outside into the woods. I assumed at first that this was just for the natural light, but now I’m thinking it’s more of a … watch. A fire watch, a fog watch, whatever kind of watch. I figure if I’m positioned so high in the trees, it must be for a good reason.
I had been switching between songs, getting ready to introduce an old classic by Fleetwood Mac, when my eyes caught a rolling cloud of white on the horizon. I let the song start, turning off my microphone and rushing to the window, expecting an avalanche coming this way. It seems absurd, I know, but that’s exactly what it looked like from a distance. It looked like an avalanche, rolling white and grey, moving like ocean waves as it spilled over its own form and moved closer and closer. Fog didn’t … walk, did it? The fog’s movements were so perfectly executed that it reminded me of steps. It undulated, as if its motions were being controlled by … weight. I almost expected it to make a sound. But that’s a stupid thought to have.
I didn’t watch for too long. Slightly startled by the thickness of the fog on its way towards the town, I did just as I was instructed to do and returned to my station, killing the music immediately and taking up the microphone.
“This is an emergency broadcast for Pinehaven.” I was speaking straight from a script, using my most stern, clear-spoken voice. “This is a heavy fog warning. I repeat, this is a heavy fog warning for Pinehaven. Return to your homes immediately and wait for further instructions. Please lock all doors and windows...”
I furrowed my brows at my own words. This was extreme for fog, I thought, but it wasn’t going to creep into anyone’s house and commit a breaking and entering, was it? I chalked it all up to paranoia. Perhaps it was an unnecessary precaution we were obligated to make for some legality reason, but it still sent a chill up my spine.
I turned my microphone off, leaving the music off as well. As much as I loved a bit of Stevie Nicks, I was too interested watching the fog to pay attention to the silence. My eyes were fixed downward. This insanely thick bank of misty-ass fog had almost gotten all the way to the station and was curling around the bottom of my tower. It didn’t quite reach where I was way up in the air. However, wisps of cloud still drifted in front of the huge, stretching window that showed me the entirety of the forest. I could see just how far this fog went. It must have gone pretty damn far, because it was just about the only thing I could see aside from the tops of a few of the tallest pine trees.
And those tall pine trees … were moving. I thought it was an illusion at first, brought on by the churning waves of fog beneath, but I was wrong about that. The trees that I could see were shaking, moving from side to side briefly and one at a time. It was almost violent, as if they were being pushed. The most ridiculous thought popped into my head as I realized what it looked like: it looked like something was on its way towards me, crashing through the forest and hitting the trees as it went. The motions were serpentine. I watched one tree shake, then another to its right, then another to that tree’s left, all the while it came closer. I watched all of this with more curiosity than anything else. Judging by the speed, I was about ready to panic any moment, when I suddenly heard something that startled me even more. It was an unfamiliar sound. The phone rang.
I ran to the desk and picked up the phone quickly, all the while my eyes continued to stare out the window.
“Hel--”
“Evelyn!” It was my boss on the other end. He sounded furious. I could almost hear the spit flying from his mouth with each word. “Turn the radio back on, now!”
“Sir, there’s a fog emergency. I didn’t think--”
“I KNOW! Now turn the radio back on!”
He hung up the phone before I had a chance to ask questions, but it’s a good thing I didn’t get that time. I glanced upwards, eyes fixed out the window to see that the fog was growing higher and higher. The treetops had all completely disappeared and the window was nearly covered completely. I swore in that moment, I saw something in the murky gray mass slowly pulsing on the other side of the glass. A shape. It was a dark, moving shape that was too concealed within the mist to give any semblance of detail.
I didn’t wait around to see what happened next. I followed my boss’ orders, slammed my ass back into my chair, shoved my headset back over my ears and turned up the music again. Within moments, the signal was live once more and some bit by Eagles was playing through my speakers and every radio in town as well. I breathed a sigh of relief. What was I so relieved about? As far as I knew, nothing was on the line just because I had forgotten to turn the music back up, other than perhaps my job.
There was still a sense of discomfort, however, as I turned my eyes back up to the window. The fog was still there, but it was creeping further and further down back into the woods. In moments, it had sank beneath the bottom of the window and out of sight. The pine trees came back into view. And then, before my very eyes, I watched the horizon appear as the bank of fog slowly dissipated and moved on through. Strangely, I got that same feeling that I was looking at something solid and organic again.
Well, the fog stopped after that. I didn’t have to make another emergency broadcast and it’s been two weeks since. Now, things are just a ‘normal’ level of weird. I get a strange call now and then, usually someone from the town I don’t recognize saying some gibberish message I can’t understand, or now and then a song in my music line-up begins to play backwards. Once or twice, I swear I’ve heard someone talking in the room even with headphones on, but it’s a muffled blur of noise. Yesterday I saw a bird perch on the edge of the window staring at me and I swear it has human-like eyes. But unless there’s some weirdo out there crossing bird DNA with human genetics, it’s probably just me being overly paranoid. I think that happens when you’ve been alone for a really long time.
I have a lot more to talk about. And I’m sure in the following days and weeks, I’ll have more stories and things to write down that might be of interest. But honestly, right now, my butt is starting to hurt something awful from sitting on this cold floor next to the bathroom. The twenty minute music block is almost over and I’ll have to go through the local news. Maybe, if you’re driving through looking for a place to stop, you might hear me. Oh, and if you are … don’t bother with the rest stop. The plumbing is still broken and their coffee tastes like gasoline. It probably is gasoline.
This is Evelyn from 104.6 F.M. Have a safe night and be careful out there.
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