AM 1330: Sign of the Airwaves

"This is AM 1330, YSNG, Sign of the Airwaves. Can you hear us? Perhaps you are a new listener. And if you are, welcome..."

The disembodied female voice drew Mrs. Jean Condon to her classroom door. It was already second hour. Jean could hardly believe that roughly 10 minutes ago, the 3rd floor hall of Hoyle High School resembled a rushing stream packed with students fighting their way against the current to make their next class on time. But now it seemed as if the hall--and the entire building--was empty, as if the place had been hastily abandoned.

Mrs. Condon crossed the hall and peered through the slitted glass panel of the door to room 311. She saw her colleague, Mr. Sidon, standing at the blackboard in front of the usual group of about 30 bored looking juniors and seniors. It was Government class and the topic had something to do with the judicial branch, although Jean was uncertain of what he was saying exactly. The sound of the man's droning voice passed through the door but barely. She could see his mouth moving and sound coming out, but the words were mashed together and fuzzy; a diffused word salad.

"I sense among you, a lifelong learner, looking for knowledge and eager to expand the boundaries of your limited understanding..."

Jean pulled away from the door of room 311. She walked down the empty hall for several paces, following the disembodied voice. She could hear the sound of a radio replete with the sizzling feedback and low key whines and popping. The Social Studies teacher rounded the corner at the end of the hall by the stairwell. She paused for a second, listening to an eerie whickering sound."Fortunate are the few who find the sign..."

There, near the end of the 3rd floor wing, the door to room 319 was open. A small wedge of wood held the door in place while the odd whickering and pops continued."This is the Nightflyer!" A sudden awful burst of piercing noise and static stunned the middle aged woman."Rise and awaken! The time has come! Can you hear us?" Another painful burst of noise rattled the woman's skull, piercing her eardrums. Her hands went to the sides of her head. The tips of her fingers pressed hard against her temples, pushing in, while she fought the reflexive urge to scream in pain."This is the Nightflyer! We shall rise en masse! And you shall see the sign!"

The audible outburst faded and the benign sizzles and pops returned. Jean took a few tentative steps towards the open classroom door. Another disruptive audio burst tore through her skull. Her jaw clenched painfully and her fists balled up. The voice was harsh; noticeably so."We are now in communication with ten thousand listeners! DoNOT turn this dial!" A sense of dread came over Mrs. Condon while she listened. But she wasn't bothered by the words, bizarre as they were.

The voice, still clearly female, rasped with a flatness that reminded her of the ominous Emergency Broadcast System teletext, warning viewers about tornadoes and severe thunderstorms. The voice distorted and continued to rasp, competing with the whickering and pops."Aldebaran! A storm is coming soon! Listen and look, and you will find the sign..." Jean stood in room 319, staring at the empty desks, her eyes drawn to the seated person in the back of the room behind the last row of desks.

Mrs. Agnes Wilde, English teacher for over 20 years, was also the Publications and Yearbook adviser. The classroom itself was large--double the size of the others found on this floor. This side, behind the rows of empty desks, had a couple long tables with electric typewriters the students used to write their articles. Mrs. Wilde's back faced Jean and she leaned forward with her arms folded on the tabletop, listening to the radio in front of her. She seemed unaware of her colleague standing there, staring at the back of her head. "Agnes?"

Jean cleared her throat and raised her voice. "Agnes?" A plucky chorus of brass instrumentals filled the empty space. Sam Lanin wondered if he's"wasting my time thinking you're mine..." while his orchestra played on. The seated woman's back straightened but she did not turn to face her colleague. "Oh, I didn't know you were there, Jean." She said. There was an odd, flat affect to her reply; nothing like her usual cheery voice. "Is everything okay, Agnes?" Jean asked.

Now the seated woman spun around, as if awakened from a dream. The English teacher looked startled and her eyes roved around the empty room behind the Social Studies teacher. "Oh, Jean, didn't hear you come in!" She offered her colleague a seat, though she declined. "Mr. Hawberk thought we should start a radio broadcasting club." Agnes said. "And while I was hunting up some materials to help us get things started, I found this!"

It was an old brown Bakelite tube radio. The tabletop model was a sleek piece of art deco elegance with a large round face and concentric dial. There were two knobs beside a silver plate badge. "H. Radiola..." Mrs. Condon read. "That's an odd name for a manufacturer. I've never heard of it."

"I've never heard of it either. But it looks almost brand new. I found it on the second shelf where they store all the unused textbooks, room 111. I asked around, but no one knows where it came from or who it belongs to." Agnes shrugged. "Ah, well, finders' keepers!" She laughed.

Another song began to play. The slow, darkish bray of a brass ensemble accompanied the female voice Mrs. Condon heard earlier:"You're listening to AM 1330, YSNG, Sign of the Airwaves. I am the Nightflyer, asking you, dear listener, if you've seen the sign..." The Social Studies teacher reached around the back of the radio for the cord, intending to pull it. "Agnes, I think you should--"

"No, no--listen!" Agnes Wilde's voice was snappish.

"A new ruler will appear..." The whinnying riff of a bugle began to slow, melding with the big band ensemble until it stretched, like musical taffy. The sound became distorted, and the disembodied voice buffered."The stars will blaze hotter than the hottest fire while the unborn thoughts of men wither and fade..."

"The cord..." Jean's voice trailed off in disbelief. "It's...frayed! Don't touch it, Agnes, the electrical cord's come apart!"

"I know." Agnes said. She stood there, staring out of the large window that overlooked the faculty parking lot and the back field stretching out between it and the tennis courts on the far side. Her eyes were alight, like twin fiery globules of deep amber, ogling something out there. Her fingertips absently touched the collar of her light cardigan. The corners of her mouth twitched spasmodically and an ominous, deviant grin spread across the English teacher's face.

God! That music, and that...voice!"The time has come...soon. The people will know the successor to the crown, and the whole world will bow beneath the black stars when you find the sign..."

The classroom lights flickered for a moment, and Jean looked up, wondering whether she should leave and say nothing, or get help. She looked out the window, her eyes riveted to the sight of the parking lot and the row of trees obscuring the grassy lawn behind. The shadows cast by the trees and cars lengthened, growing darker, while the day quickly dimmed to twilight. The overcast sky undulated, distorting lenticular cloud formations, and it began to rain. Thunder rumbled ominously."Have you found the sign? Can you see it?" The voice taunted from within that poisoned box on the table with the severed cloth cord dangling behind the table by a thread, changing things--transforming everything--while Agnes Wilde stood there, grinning like a damn Cheshire cat.

Agnes turned around. "Where did you get that?" She pointed an accusatory finger at her colleague. "Give it to me!"

Jean was caught off-guard. She blundered backwards a few steps and flinched when the English teacher tried, and failed, to snatch her necklace. "Cecil found it at this little store in London when he was on business--" The woman flinched again while the reedy sound of a saxophone accompanied the droning auditory whirrs and pops emanating from the radio. "Your husband has good taste in jewelry, but a piece like that is not meant for everyday wear."

"And you would know..." Jean muttered. Her hand instinctively went to her necklace; fingertips touching the delicate gold chain and pendant. In the center was a glyph, or symbol of some sort, in shining gold inlay. The Social Studies teacher edged closer to the window, keeping one eye on her colleague and the other on the radio. She meant to try one of the knobs. She wanted to see if it was even possible to change the station or turn the volume down, but something new caught her attention.

Outside, the rain fell harder now. And Jean's eyes widened with quickly mounting horror at what she saw through the window. "The rain...is it raining?" The precipitation remained as steady as when it started. But now it seemed to reach some kind of inexplicable entropy because it fell in long, slow motion drips. Viscous drops became globules and beads, stretching and snapping away to the ground and parking lot below. Cars not parked beneath the row of trees shading the back row were covered in a clear, gummy shroud. It was getting darker, too, like night or the small hours of the morning. A few distant streetlights came on while the gluey, gummy rain continued plipping and plopping.

"You're listening to AM 1330. I am the Nightflyer asking someone--anyone--if you have found the sign."

"I have." Agnes Wilde said quietly and with conviction. Her voice was low and calm. "But this interloper has stolen it!" She walked slowly towards Jean Condon, eyes fixated on the pendant around her colleague's neck. "Agnes, do you even hear yourself?" Jean stumbled closer to the window. "Get a grip!" She drew a hitching breath.This isn't happening, she thought.Is this happening? She put a hand to her chest, as if to soothe her racing heart. The rain hit the side of the building and the window in soft coagulating clots, and it made her think of the time she accidentally knocked a bottle of light corn syrup off her kitchen counter while making divinity last Christmas.

"GIVE me that necklace, Jean!" Agnes barked. "You don't even know what to do with it!"

"What are you talking about?" Jean glanced at the radio. She was aware of a humming, barely perceptible, filling the classroom. Nausea rose in the pit of her stomach, joining the hideous dread. "Shut that damn radio off!" She shouted. "Shut that fucking thing off now!"

The voice inside the radio buffered while the snotty rain outside ate holes through the window glass. The sills, the radiator, and a few unfortunate empty desks began to melt. The desk legs sagged into drippy, bowed arches while the top of the radiator beneath the windowsill cratered inward and sagged, as if hugging itself in comfort. Great gummy pores formed in the plaster walls, exposing the laths to let the chilly air inside.

"God, get away from me!" There was a scrape, followed by a sticky, squelching sound when Jean bumped against one of the melting desks. She stumbled, but quickly recovered. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted around the empty classroom. It was barely recognizable now--a drippy melting sarcophagus with gaping humming mouths in the walls. The high-pitched caterwauling of an invisible violin oscillated between sweet and despairing notes. That was when she saw her colleague, Mrs. Agnes Wilde, lunge at her chest.

Something dripped from her hand.Plip, plop! Plip, plip... "Oh, God!"

She saw the English teacher reaching for her necklace. With one swipe of her hand, Agnes snatched the medallion while the chain came undone. "I have it!" she shouted at no one in particular. She turned to the radio, addressing the disembodied voice. "Oh, Nightflyer, I have it! I've found the sign! I've found the sign!"

Jean was speechless with fear. She took a few squelching steps backward, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of there. The smacking, snapping sounds mixed with the plipping and plopping of the snotty rain. The slim bit of plaster wall between the windows sagged and another crack formed. It widened into a gaping hole like a mouth, letting a blast of cold rain-tinged air inside. Jean stared in stunned silence at the gossamer shape of a figure behind Agnes Wilde. It lingered for a moment or two over the English teacher before dissipating while her feet slowly sank into the floor.

"Can you hear me, Nightflyer? I HAVE THE GODDAMN SIGN!"

"Agnes, shut that fucking radio off and LEAVE NOW!" Jean turned around, and without looking to see if her colleague would follow, tripped into the still empty hall outside. The Social Studies teacher took a few shambling steps before straightening her back and picking up her pace. She was relieved to hear the muffled sounds of a class discussion emanating from the room two doors away from her own. Going by the clock on the wall, 2nd hour wasn't over yet.

Jean opened her classroom door (it wasn't locked) and her face split instantly in a smile of relief when she saw the sunlight pouring in through the windows. She rubbed her nose and softly laughed, trying to ignore the fact that her hands were shaking. A towering Accolade Elm stood proudly on the lawn outside. The abundant leaves quivered in the light breeze. Some were already turning brilliant shades of yellow and gold. "What happened back there?" The Social Studies teacher wondered. She went to her desk and dropped in her chair. The stack of 6th and 7th hour chapter 4 quizzes she'd been working on were almost complete. "Only...a handful of these left..." She thumbed through the pile, grateful for the quiet and sunshine. A brief return to sanity.

A loud ring brought Jean back to her senses long enough to realize it was the classroom phone ringing. She stalked across the room and put her hand out to the old wall mounted phone and snatched the handset. And when she put the handset against her ear, she heard, at first, a strange clicking sound. "Hello?"

There was a moment of silence before she heard a familiar voice. "Ah, Mr. Hawberk!"

"I tried calling you about ten minutes ago." The principal's voice seemed dull; flat. "You didn't answer."

"I'm sorry I missed your call, Bill. I just stepped out for a few minutes to talk to Agnes Wilde." There was another moment of silence followed by an odd clicking sound. "Bill, is everything alright? I keep hearing this clicking sound..." Jean's voice trailed off.

The voice that replied scared the middle aged teacher. What started out as a facsimile of the principal's voice buffered and an eerie whickering and popping sound rose through the handset, prickling the skin around her ear and the back of her neck. The voice changed, straddling something between a human and machine generated voice. "A severe thunderstorm warning has been issued for the following location at latitude north, 42 degrees, 15 minutes; longitude west 89 degrees, 3 minutes. At 10:17 local time, a severe thunderstorm was spotted carrying the Nightflyer. The new ruler. Hold the sign!"

The Social Studies teacher listened with quickly mounting horror. She swallowed hard, hand trembling. Her back was facing the windows. She didn't want to turn around. She didn't want to look, but already she couldn't help noticing that the light in the room dimmed considerably."Deadly storm, local time 10:18. Classroom three-one-one. Have you found the sign?"

Jean dropped the handset. A feeling of intense nausea overcame her as the salty taste of her own saliva flooded her mouth. She took a fumbling step backward and glanced over her shoulder at the large classroom window. The sky outside was gray and eerily quiet. The disembodied voice continued to drone from the now swinging handset."Am I wasting my time thinking you're mine? Local time 10:18. Am I wasting my time on you?"

Sam Lanin's orchestra played on, taunting her with its tinny big band melody. But she wasn't paying attention. Not now. Through the large classroom windows, a storm was coming. The sky, once blue and clear, was a black veil of undulating lenticular waves. She glanced down at her now heaving chest and remembered that her necklace was gone. She heard the unmistakable sound of rumbling; the sounds of thunder and lightning streaking the low hanging clouds. "I've gotta get the hell out of here, but--"

She started for the classroom door when a blinding light flooded the room. As quickly as it came, it left. Jean opened her eyes and stared in stark disbelief at the fathomless, black night stretching before and above her. The classroom was gone, and above her, sinister constellations glimmered dimly while the crescent of a gas giant hovered ominously above the horizon. Chilly, wet winds brushed her face while she stood and stared at the edge of a dark lake and the cyclopean towers of a distant city rose skyward. The icy wind kissed the woman's cheek, turning her face to meet an inexplicably horrifying figure, in tattered resplendence, leering over her. The figure reached to touch the pallid mask that was its face and removed it.

Beneath the mask she saw moving lenticular forms. They weren't clouds. They were, instead, something both hypnotic and terrible. She saw the slit of a mouth open and heard the screams of Mr. Hawberk, Mrs. Wilde, and Mr. Sidon who ran out of his classroom when he heard the distant sounds of chaos in the hallway. The mouth opened wider, revealing rows of monstrous teeth and spittle. Jean wanted to scream, but no sound issued from between her slackened lips. She did, however, hear something else.

A gagging sound rose from the combined diffused screams of her colleagues. Were they real, or were the screams mimicked by this...thing? Jean had no way of knowing. The screaming, gagging maw started retching. The figure in the tattered robes vomited a putrid mixture of dark blood, tissue, and a few fingers. On one of the fingers was the lovely wedding set that belonged to Agnes Wilde.

Something broke inside Jean's mind even though she still couldn't scream. She couldn't cry either, though her eyes quickly glazed over and her vision blurred through her tears. She laughed; softly at first. Then her laughter was louder and almost screaming when she saw the small medallion from her necklace drop from the figure's mouth. It landed near Agnes's severed fingers...the remains of Jean's friend and colleague of so many years.

Jean's legs buckled and she fell to the ground on her knees when she heard the ruler's parting and distorted whisper:"Fortunate is the soul who finds the sign and outruns the coming storm." A moment later, and Jean Condon was alone again. Alone beneath the alien night sky and those wretched, baleful stars, twinkling and taunting her.Fortunate is the soul who finds the sign indeed...

The middle aged woman reached for the lonesome rings nestled in that abhorrent mixture excreted from the mouth of that resplendent, but execrable creature's mouth. With trembling fingers, she added this talisman from home to the necklace her husband had given her. She re-fastened the delicate chain around her slender neck and slowly stood up. The dark and distant city twisted and jutted in ways she didn't like. But among the non-Euclidean forms, she saw an oddly slender spire piercing the starry expanse with an eerie pulsing glow at its apex. Drawn by this, Mrs. Condon began walking towards the light.

Thank You for reading!