Two in the morning is the worst possible time to finish reading a particularly unsettling novel. There isn’t a chance in hell you’re going to sleep anytime soon, not after what you’ve read, even if you know it’s fiction. You pace around the cabin, get a drink, try to clear your head, but all you wind up doing is staring out the windows into the pitch darkness until you swear you’re seeing shapes that aren’t really there.
So you turn on the radio and let the somber, sober voices of whatever late-night broadcast you find on the AM band carry you until morning. You try to find refuge in that voice while something wild howls out in the thick woods behind the cabin, the prairie storms batter away at your creaking walls and a whole host of nightmares wait grinning in the wings for your lights to go out. You can’t move from the armchair, can’t close your eyes.
All you can dare to do is listen.
That was me, a little over ten years ago, in a cabin somewhere in Saskatchewan.
I don’t think I’ve ever quite recaptured that particular feeling since that summer.
But I’m going to give it a shot.
Duggan Hill is a serialized radio drama, and we start recording next week.
More on the story as it develops.
Please, stay tuned.
Featured Art: K. Rose