#plot episode

[thinplacesradio]

orange booths in a diner, orange stools along a counter behind, light bright behind it. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[032] AN ACT OF KINDNESS. A CALLER SHARES A MEMORY. THE HOST FINDS IT.

listen to the season 2 finale here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] [cutlery clinking, low diner sounds]

I’m coming to you, I don’t know, from my studio. I don’t know how to feel. I’m at a diner. I went back and back and back. I let the road take me here. My memory doesn’t go this far back, but - I think this is what I’ve been looking for. I think it’s the last thing that I almost-remember. I wish I had something like my name, instead. But I guess this’ll have to do. 

It looks really ordinary. ROADSIDE DINER, it says in neon, but both the Es are burned out. It’s painted orange, mirrors lining the inside to make it look bigger than it really is. It looks warm inside. Booths in a U along the edges, a counter in that half-ring in the middle, by the kitchen. A thousand places like this in the continental United States. But nowhere exactly like it. Not really. 

So what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Have you been chosen for something you never meant to do?

Have you given a gift to a stranger? 

Have you forgotten how you… came to this place? 

[sigh] When - When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

You can hear me now, can’t you? Oh, you can finally hear me! Good. Good. It takes time for the planes to line up. Sometimes they never do, so. 

Please don’t worry. I can’t give you your name. You don’t need it anymore. But I can give you a memory. I can give you the night we met. 

You came into the Roadside Diner, just off of I-70. You had that look on your face - that driving-all-night look. That running-away look. Not like you were being hunted. Like you didn’t even know what you were running away from. 

You sat in that booth by the back window, near the bathrooms - yes, yes, the one your eyes flicked over to just now. Remember? You ordered a coffee. I was at the counter, talking to the server, and I told her I didn’t have enough to pay for my meal. I said it quietly. There was no yelling. You just noticed. You were paying attention to every person in that diner. Even me. You said, I’ve got it, don’t worry. [huffed laugh] An act of kindness for a stranger. 

I slid into your booth to thank you, and you said - and I’m not going to get this all right, because memory’s, y’know, tricky - you said, don’t mention it. You said, I’m sure you would have done the same thing for me. So much trust. How could I not honor it? 

I asked you if you were alright, and you told me you weren’t sure. You got out of work that day and you got in your car and you just kept driving. You missed your exit. And you just kept driving, all the way into the night. Are you happy? I asked you. No, you told me. 

You didn’t know what was missing from your life, but you knew it was missing. What do you want? I asked you. I wanted to give it to you. And this - this I remember, because this was the important part. “I don’t know,” you said. “I’m just so tired of being a person.” 

[radio static] 

I put my hands over yours, and I nodded. I knew how to fix it. I asked you if you wanted to be something else. I asked you if you wanted to stop worrying. I gave it to you for free. A deal is a deal. A gift is a gift. 

Please don’t worry. I don’t know why you keep worrying. It doesn’t matter what came before. I made it so you never had to worry again. Food, clothes, money. Where to sleep, how to live, how to keep your heart from breaking. The road provides. The road will always provide. I freed you from entropy. I freed you from death. 

[the radio shrieks and fuzzes] 

I thought you’d stop running away. I thought you’d be happy with the way I repaid your kindness. I took your kindness and your curiosity and your interest in every little person and I turned it into something better. You were a person. [The voice changes from the distortion of a phone voicemail to clear speech.] So what? [They are now beside the host.]  I made you a legend. 

And I know it’s lonely, at first, to be like us. But you’re not the only one. 

You’re not alone. 

[click] 

The host: It’s you.

The entity: Yes. 

[click]

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the ROADSIDE diner just off I-70-] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides -] [The entity: the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal. The voice of [STATIC] is Omar Najam. 

Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪[phone]. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[thinplacesradio]

stacked white pool chairs alongside discarded, tangled blue and white pool lane dividers. blue haze. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[029] THE CAT. A CALLER GETS A NEW PET. THE HOST FOCUSES ON THE REARVIEW.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] 

I’m coming to you worn to the sole like an old novelty sock from my studio, which is what I like to call the same motel I stayed in before, the one that looks so different than it did that summer night in this thin, winter light. It's not past the point of recognition, but it's not exactly the same place, not really. I’m sitting outside, on the concrete lip of the empty motel pool. Deep end. [dripping] [tinking sound] There’s a puddle of water at the bottom, rotting fall leaves swirling around in it, a plastic bag with a yellow smiley face on the side. And, as usual, there’s someone watching me. I can see their reflection in the windows. [cars passing] A little taller than me. Can’t see their face. But hey. What else is new. 

If I wave do you think they’ll wave back? 

[jacket swishing]

[static tuning]

[The host chuckles] Oh. Huh.  

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Are you yearning for an experience that you can't explain? 

Are you wondering how to balance your living pets’ needs with your dead ones’?

Are you dealing with a location-based curse?

When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

Hi, I’ve, uh, never called into a radio show like this, so uh, here goes, I guess? So I moved into this house 2 years ago, and for the first few months I was here, my roommate and I swore up and down that there was a ghost cat hanging around. Not - I mean, it didn't do anything bad. Just you know, we kept seeing cat-sized movement out of the corner of our eyes, or hearing the cat moving around upstairs or downstairs when we're on the other side of the house. And it stopped, unfortunately, after both of us got cats. And I didn't notice anything again until she moved out and it was just me and my one cat. And then suddenly the ghost cat was back, again. Same thing. It's just seeing it out of the corner of our eyes, just movement. A sense that something was there. Small and Cat-sized and honestly friendly. And - I  mean, do you think it gets scared off by too many other cats? I don't want to discourage it from hanging around. We all need company sometimes, I guess. So, I guess thanks for your time. Thanks.

[click] 

Thank you for your voicemail, caller, and thank you for taking the time to really notice - to pay attention to the blank spaces and strange noises. [eerie, curious music] It's a skill that gets harder and harder the louder the world gets. The more there is to notice, the more we overlook. But love lives in the still small voice, the quiet moments. I know you know this already, caller, but the inconveniences are a gift. The imperfections are a gift. Our lives must be rocked by the ripples of others in order to take us where we need to go. Even a small ripple changes our course. Even a cat-sized movement makes our whole lives different. 

So I’m glad you’re waiting and listening for her. You’re already doing something good. You’re making space for her. That’s all that she needs. Company. 

[click]

Right now, as you’re listening to this, an act of kindness is taking place. Acts of cruelty, too, and desperation, and hopelessness, and hopefulness. But also kindness - the kind that comes for free, out of love for another human heart. 

[frantic, mechanical music, slowed down]

Your partner calls you from the station where you’re supposed to pick them up, and they’re crying, and crying hard. I fell on the steps, they tell you, please come help me, it really hurts. Their foot is broken. And you try, but you’re not strong enough to carry them, and you see the tears streaming down their face and feel them pooling in your eyes, too. 

But then there’s a voice from above, and it’s saying, here, I’ve got this, go get your car. I can help. The man is built like a linebacker, easily 6 4, but he speaks gently. You notice the gray in his beard. Is it okay if I touch you, just here on your arms? He asks your partner. He is gentle when he takes on their weight. He gets them into the car. You dry your partner’s tears. You thank the man. It’s clear you needed help, he says. How could I not give it? 

[click] 

The sun’s starting to come back up, so it’s time for me to go. I’ve been watching the figure, this time, letting them come into my field of vision instead of staying at the edges. [dripping] I’m paying attention, this time. I hadn’t realized until now that they’ve been with me for so long - longer than I can - remember. When you don’t fix a dripping faucet, you stop noticing the sound after a while, the ripples in the sink. But it’s still dripping. 

[to the figure:] Hello? Who - who are you? …Are you?

[garbled, tuning in and out, voice layered upon itself:] Don’t worry --- Remember? 

Man, you know I don’t. Thanks a lot. 

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal. The voice of [STATIC] is Omar Najam.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Myr. The act of kindness was submitted by Alexis. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme and Unearthed, by Miles Morkri, and Junoon by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪[phone]. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[static clearing] [the figure:] Remember?

[thinplacesradio]

wooden pews in a small chapel with a shining floor, red and blue light. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[031] THE WRONG TURN. A CALLER LOSES DIRECTION. THE HOST REACHES BACK.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] 

[wind blowing] [wood creaking] [clock ticking]

I’m coming to you… from my studio, which is what I like to call this rickety chapel, closed up for the week, waiting for Sunday. I can hear the wind whistling in the cracks of the old wood, feel the whole frame shudder. There’s stained glass in the windows, but I can’t tell what color any of it is. Does God stay behind in the places we’ve carved out for him, when no one’s left? Does anything else? 

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Are you retracing your steps, even when you can’t remember where you’ve been? 

Are you lost in your own hometown?

Are you reaching out for something you can’t experience? 

Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

Never done anything like this before, but I figured that you might understand? I have a amazing sense of direction, I’ve - I drive somewhere once and I know how to get there, I never get lost. The other day last summer, I was headed to the post office by my house, and I'm driving down the road and I - I'm not recognizing any of the landmarks. And I’m like, well, that’s weird, I must’ve just passed it. So I turn around and I drive back, I’m driving further, and I'm passing the intersection, I’m like, well I must’ve passed it again. 

I drove up and down that road three times before I finally had to pull into a parking lot. And I pulled up my phone and my map and - I was on the opposite side of town? I wasn't anywhere near my house or near the post office and I have no clue how I got there. I was so freaked out that I went straight home and I put it in my GPS even though I knew how to get there, I just - just to double check. I thought that was kind of weird. And you know, if you're still looking for a name, Host, you know, hopefully you find yours, but maybe Jade would work in the intro? Just a thought. Bye. 

[click] 

I do. I understand. Out of all of the things I have experienced, this is the most frightening: a lapse inside of my own world, or inside of my own mind. [eerie, curious music] Sometimes when you’ve lived somewhere for years, you wake up one day and its familiarity makes you feel sick to your stomach. You think, why? Why am I here? What is my purpose? The same misery, every day, on its own reliable schedule? You get in your car after work and you begin to drive home. But you miss your exit. And you think, I could - I could keep driving. I could keep driving all night, until I don’t recognize anything. Until I don't - 

[music stops]

I’m sorry, that's... not what you were talking about. I don’t know why I said that. Let me try again, caller.

You were pulled into something wrong, on your way to that post office - something uncanny, unfamiliar when it should have been understandable. Transported, or perhaps transformed. It’s terrifying to look up and not understand how you got there. [searching music] To not recognize the shape of your own life.

I think that there are two things you can do when you get to that parking lot: one, you can take advantage of that strangeness your life has become and say, I’m somewhere new now. I didn’t expect to be here, but I’m going to explore it. Or two, you can do what you've already done: look around at this unfamiliar new place and say, no, no, no, I can’t be here. I have to find my way back home. 

Thank you for the name, caller. Jade. Carveable into a thousand different shapes but not easily broken. Resilient. It’s a good name. I wish it was mine. 

And, just in case - as always - say it with me - please check your home for carbon monoxide. 

[click] [clock ticking]

Something strange, listeners. There is a type of deep-sea squat lobster that eats wood. It is called Munidopsis andamanica. It waits there, in the abyss, for trees and shipwrecks, gifts from the waking world that fall slowly into the darkness of the water. It was made to subsist something it will never see - something that does not exist where it exists. The sea provides.

This is beautiful. I know that it is beautiful. It lives, despite all odds. It finds sustenance, despite all odds. [clock ticks louder] But I think it must be lonely. I wonder if it craves other food. I wonder if it is happy down so deep, or if it thinks of the surface. If it wants to see the sun. 

No, probably not. It’s a crustacean. It doesn’t know any of this. It doesn’t know how improbable it is - that it’s either a freak or a miracle, or both. It eats what it was meant to eat until it dies. However long that is. How are you supposed to keep track of something that’s down so deep? 

[click] [wind whistling] [wood creaking]

I am going to be honest, listeners, in this empty place. I am going to say it to the wind that's tearing apart this chapel and to you. I wish I'd never remembered that there was something to forget. I wish there was someone who could hear me where I am and not just over the radio. I’m lost. I’m lonely. I want to talk to somebody face to face. I want to see the surface. [eerie, curious music]

I don’t think I can get any of that back. But I have to find out what happened. I’m going back for what I lost, even if I lose it all over again. 

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. [heavy pause] I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by a mystery caller. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme and Unearthed, by Miles Morkri, and Umeed by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪[phone]. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

the - road - provides -

[thinplacesradio]

the driver's side of a silver car from the outside, hazy, headlights illuminating the road in front of it. the lights inside the car are streaked and blurry. the hood is popped. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[022] THE VISION. A CALLER REMEMBERS A MESSAGE. THE HOST TAKES A LOOK UNDER THE HOOD.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] 

[hissing] [car door dinging]

I’m coming to you sweaty from my studio, which is what I like to call the side of this poorly paved road that my car has chosen to break down on. It’s hissing out purple smoke, which seems. Well. I don’t know. I’m not exactly the expert in what’s normal or not normal.

I’ve got the hood propped up and am looking around inside hoping that any part of this triggers something in my mind. But it’s looking like fixing cars is an area I was, and remain, totally useless in – ladies. Hey, at least that’s something I remember about myself.  

It's a clear night – a beautiful night, honestly. The stars are bright overhead, and past the heat of the car, the air is finally starting to bite with cold. I don’t know how many seasons I’ve been on the road like this, but something about fall turning to winter just feels right.

On such a clear and beautiful night, the wind should be clearing away the sea of smoke that’s hovering around the car, but it’s settling down across the road itself, now, a strange, luminescent fog obscuring the old farm that I thought I saw off in the distance.

[strange burbling gasping sound, followed by clangs]

Hm. [clang] Do we think that’s good?

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Are you being tested?

Is someone beyond the grave getting a message to you just in time?

Has time been pulled out of joint? 

When the veil between worlds is thin, we get closer than ever to the strange and the unexplained - but also to each other. Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

So this happened to my mother a long time ago, when my sister was little. She - my sister was really sick, but no one knew what was happening. And my - and so the doctors were like well, we'll just send her home for a few days. See if that goes, that goes away or something. And my mom was so tired. So exhausted. And she says that the image of my grandmother who had just recently passed came to her and said, don't you let them send my baby away. And so she didn't and they found out what was wrong with her and it was really bad, but they were able to get to it in time. To help her and save her. So, just wanted to let you know about that because that was a little weird. My name is Slay. You can use the name if you want to. Have a good day. Thank you.

[click] [searching music]

Hi, caller. I’m glad your sister is okay, first of all. It’s still scary that she was sick, even if she got better, and even if it happened a long time ago. This kind of near-miss reveals history’s many branching paths, some of the things that could have happened but didn’t. What a relief. What an act of faith and trust – to hear a message from beyond the grave and to believe it. And to deliver a message in the hope that it will be received, in perfect timing.

All communication is like this – reaching out across an uncrossable space and hoping that the thing you really mean can be understood by the person who has to understand it. But your mother listened to her mother, and her own gut. Thank goodness your sister had an advocate like that. The last thing you know how to do when you are very young and very sick is to stand up for yourself – even, or maybe especially, when you know something is wrong.

I don’t know what happens when you’re dead, and I don’t remember what it’s like to be alive, but I know a whole lot about the space in between. That’s where your sister was saved. That’s where your Grandmother found her, and said, no, please, not yet. It’s not time yet. I’m deciding that. I’m coming back for her.

[click]

Something strange, listeners. There’s something on the ground here, half buried in the gravel on the road beside my car. Hold on.

[rustling]

It’s a postcard, waterlogged and pocked but not torn. It's a picture of an old radio tower, black and white, and the light at the top is lit, I think, with a hazy bright glow. it says WISH I WAS HERE. It feels like if I found the right place, I could hold the postcard up to the horizon and the light would start blinking, full color. WISH I WAS HERE. So... where am I?

[click]  

The air is finally clearing, and the car is quiet again. Now that it's cooled and I can see under the hood, I can see that there's a cap that's come loose. [cap screws]

There. Let's give her a whirl.

[hood shuts] [door opens] [engine purrs]

There we go, baby! Where to next? I’ve been moving for God knows how long, forward and forward and forward. Maybe it's time to try to retrace my steps.

Do I have a mother, a grandmother, that cared for me the way the caller’s care for them? Who did I leave behind? Why? When? I’ve been reaching out to all of you, and you've been reaching back. Communication. A conversation. Maybe it's time I reach back to myself and see who shows up.

[car door shuts] [engine shifts to a low rumble] [turn signal clicks]

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Slay. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri, and Umeed by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪[phone]. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[thinplacesradio]

a subway car (the Q to Coney Island), lit with purple-white light, a map of the city between two hunched figures, faces just empty black voids. the seats are blue. the window behind one of the figures is dark. the image is distorted by VCR static. white text reads:

[017] THE FUNGI. A CALLER HAS A CREEPING FEELING. THE HOST GOES UNDERGROUND.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] [quiet train track thumps, wind]

I'm coming to you drowsy from my studio, which is what I like to call this almost-empty train car, rumbling softly along its tracks. It’s dark outside, but it’s even darker underground, metal screeching, lights flickering with each bump and turn. There’s too much room in here, amongst the empty seats, even in this canister, even in the dark, even penned in with no way out. It's missing both of the things that make the train so special: the view, and the people.

I can hear the quiet drone of conversation in the next car over, but I can’t make out a single word. I can see movement, but not a single person. I think it’s reminding me of a nightmare I used to have? People talking, no sound coming out. Or maybe just the feeling of getting on an empty subway car, taking one breath in, and realizing it's empty because someone left something behind in there for everyone else. 

This car isn’t empty, though. Just almost. There is someone standing at the farthest end, shoulder up and arm holding onto the pole. But they’re facing away from me. Even when I got on the train, and moved to sit, and moved again? They’re always facing away from me. 

Somehow, I feel like that’s lucky. I feel like it’s keeping me safe. 

So what is Thin Places Radio?

Well, you can call in about anything strange that you've got going on in your life. 

Are your dreams getting more vivid and more strange? 

Does it unsettle you to think that one of your food groups will, one day, eat you? 

Are you trying to figure out how to mention to your cashier that she keeps changing into someone else when you go to pay? 

Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

Hi, Host - so, it’s recently come to my attention that I don’t like mushrooms. And it’s not a case of like, eating them, I don’t think I’ve ever voluntarily eaten a mushroom in my life. But there’s something about them that just - creeps me out. I don’t like looking at them, I don’t like the way the spores do their thing, I don’t enjoy watching them grow, it just - something about them creeps me out. And, y’know, ideally I’d like to be at peace with all creatures great and small, so, I was hoping maybe you could help - either figure out what it is about them that unsettles me, or convince me otherwise. Thanks!

[click] [quiet train clacking, squeaking] 

Hi, caller. Thank you for your message. The thing I appreciate most about it is your attempt at unearthing the hidden corners of your own mind and heart. Instead of letting your disgust keep you from something, you’re asking yourself, where does that first feeling come from? You’re pushing back against it to find out what's squirming underneath it, and that deserves to be celebrated. I'm not here to convince you of anything, but I'll grab a shovel to help you dig.

The thing about fungus, perhaps, that makes your stomach turn is that they are alive, in a way that we are not, and that they are growing, in a way that we never will. There is a whole alien universe sprawled out in humid earth and on rotting logs and near ponds and even, sometimes, on and inside us. There is a different space opera planet for anything you could ever imagine, of all textures and vibrancies, sizes and shapes, mimics and sorcerers. They glow. They ooze. They bounce like rubber. We put them in our food, and if we pick a little bit wrong, they kill us, and use us to keep growing. 

Fungus is slow. It’s alive, in little specific ways that even the most renowned mycologists are still trying to piece together. It responds to sound but has no sensory organs. It communicates. And all of these different creatures work together to do some of the earth's most important work, the work that terrifies us the most because it reminds us of the end of all things: decomposition. [searching music] Breaking down, so that everything can grow again. We build so many monuments to progress, so many highways and buildings and parking lots. But fungus takes the long view. It waits, it endures, it adapts. It is learning to break down plastic. In the end, it is always there, interconnected to itself in a network we can't begin to fathom, one enormous nervous system in the body of nature - one that connects not itself to itself, but trees and plants to one another. It's unstoppable, and inevitable. It's what the word awe was made for: something so great and terrifying in its beauty and beautiful in its terror that it becomes something else completely - something we don't have a word for.

We aren't like them. We live in our own minds in our own bodies in our own apartments in our own separate universes. It takes work to achieve what the fungus always knows: we are not just ourselves. We cannot be. But maybe connection is more important because we have to choose it. The only way to really thrive is to look to the fungi - terrifying, awesome. And to reach out to someone else with all the alien human capacity we have. 

[click]

Something strange, listeners. I - I just stood up to move closer to the doors of the train, which happens to be closer to the figure [static] on the other side, back still to me. Uh, but I - I can't. [static] My - my feet are moving. I am taking steps across the floor of the train car, but it stretches out in front of me, nauseatingly unchanging. [pause] Until now. [static increases] Because the figure is turning. 

[slightly out of step, various garbled voices, static, and the host, syncing up:]

Alpha - Golf - India - Foxtrot - Tango - India - Sierra - Alpha - Golf - India - Foxtrot - Tango

[it repeats, faster]

I know that face. Why do I know that face? 

[static] [[quickly: Alpha - Delta - Echo - Alpha - Lima - India - Sierra - Alpha - Delta - Echo - Alpha - Lima]] [static] [click] [sound suddenly cuts out]

[train pulling away] [crickets] 

Well I made it off the train, everyone, which is to say I am now standing on another platform, many miles from the last one, with a hopefully small gap in memory [static] between that moment and this one. 

But… [awed] They knew me too. They waved. 

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do.

As always, our number is 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by JD. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri, and Umeed by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪[phone]‬. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]

[thinplacesradio]

a black-sand beach, dark blue frothy-waved ocean, hazy fog. the image is distorted by green and pink VCR static. white text reads:

[018] THE CALF. A CALLER RELAYS A DREAM. THE HOST GOES TO THE SEA.

listen here, or anywhere you find your podcasts. transcript under the cut:

[static, radio tuning]

[Traveling Sales Rep: Don’t touch that dial! We’ll be right back, after these short messages.] [static, radio tuning]

[click]

Hello and welcome to Thin Places Radio. I’m your host,

and it is the middle of the night. But don’t worry. You’re not alone.

[Thin Places theme] [ocean sounds]

I’m coming to you small from my studio, which is what I like to call this rocky, small-stoned beach at the shore of an unending ocean, at the edge of the world. I took the train as far as I could, and I let my feet take me from there. I thought it would be leading me to something. But it’s just the sea, and I can’t even see it in front of me. I know it’s there by the great heaviness of the dark, and by the sound of the waves. 

I respect the ocean, violent with life, filled to the brim with undrinkable water. And, I respect her even more at night. In the absence of sight, just one thing remains: the knowledge that I am a single drop of life here, in the presence of an alien god, and that she could take me away and no one would even know that it had happened. No one, perhaps, except you. 

So… what is Thin Places Radio? Well, you can call in about anything strange that you’ve got going on in your life - feelings, omens, premonitions, hauntings.

Did you spot something a little too familiar while scrolling through the apps? 

Are you bringing a dream into your waking hours? 

Are you interrogating your opinions about mushrooms? 

Call in, get it off your chest. Lines are open.

[click] [voicemail:]

Hi, first time caller. Love your show. Just so amazing. But I had a… really disturbing dream the other night. I was getting into my vehicle, and in the passenger seat, there was a football shaped object wrapped up in, in fabric. and I, uh, picked it up, and when I unwrapped it, it was a small cow head. Um. It was alive. It was looking at me and blinking. It had brown fur and a white diamond patch between its big innocent brown eyes. It made no noise though, except for breathing out its nose and moving its mouth trying to taste my shirt with its tongue. It was no blood around the neck area. There was not even any gore present. It was smoothed over fur like the rest of it. At one point I sit down - or, I sit it down on the grass to see if it would eat. And it immediately tried to do so, but couldn't swallow the chewed up grass. That's all really all I could remember of the dream. I decided to write all of it down just to see if I could figure it out. And I think that the dead bovine head - or the undead bovine head - still alive, small, detached from its body, feeling helplessness when seeing it. Feeling an urge to help the poor creature. I wanted to protect it. Feeling like it was a lost cause, but feeling guilty for thinking those thoughts. I know it'll never live, with or without my help. But I found it in a vehicle all wrapped up. I thought it was cute. Like I could be friends with it. Like I wanted to protect it from harm. I knew no one would understand if they saw me with it. They would want me to throw it away. Did I feel ashamed for wanting to be friends with something or someone - anyone - so badly that I would call an undead animal head a friend? Cuz I - I don't know. That's wrong, but I did it anyway. Because I saw something doomed and felt like I could save it. Is this my subconscious telling me… what to fix in my life? Or am I reading too much into this? It was only a dream though. I just thought I'd tell you these things and see what you thought about it. Thanks. 

[click]

Thank you for sharing this beautiful, vivid dream, caller. It feels like I was in it with you. You aren’t reading too much into it, but I wonder if you’re reading the right thing. You read shame, feeling like you had to fix your life. But you described a miracle. 

[searching music]

Here’s what I heard: You saw something strange and impossible and frightening and precious, and you tried to care for it. You tried to help, you empathized, and you wanted to protect it. What is so shameful about finding friendship in an unlikely place? What is wrong about trying to save something doomed? It’s undead, which means it’s still alive. Just a different kind of life. That’s beautiful, too. And even if it doesn’t live, is its life less valuable because it is short and bizarre? Is your kindness wasted? Of course not. It never is, no matter how it feels. No matter how it turns out. 

[click] [bubbles] [sounds of a creature moving in the deep]

“Can you pull in Leviathan with a fishhook, or tie down its tongue with a rope? 

Can you put a cord through its nose or pierce its jaw with a hook?

Will it keep begging you for mercy? Will it speak to you with gentle words?

If you lay a hand on it, you will remember the struggle and never do it again!

"I will not fail to speak of Leviathan’s limbs, its strength and its graceful form.

Who can strip off its outer coat? Who can penetrate its double coat of armor?

Who dares open the doors of its mouth, ringed about with fearsome teeth?

Its back has rows of shields tightly sealed together;

each is so close to the next that no air can pass between.

Its snorting throws out flashes of light; its eyes are like the rays of dawn.

Flames stream from its mouth; sparks of fire shoot out.

Smoke pours from its nostrils as from a boiling pot over burning reeds.

Iron it treats like straw and bronze like rotten wood.

Arrows do not make it flee; slingstones are like chaff to it.

It makes the depths churn like a boiling caldron and stirs up the sea like a pot of ointment.

It leaves a glistening wake behind it; one would think the deep had white hair.

Nothing on earth is its equal - a creature without fear.

It looks down on all that are haughty; it is king over all that are proud.”

[click] [ocean sounds]

I was hoping there would be a big answer here at the brink, but there's only a small one: a child used to come here with her family. She collected shell fragments and screamed at how cold the water was and forgot to put on sunscreen. She's standing here now, still. Much changed. But still looking out into the same expanse, even if she can't see it. Even if she'll never see the sun again.

[click]

Thank you for listening, callers, and thank you for calling, listeners. I hope you feel a little bit lighter. I know I do. As always, our number is 717.382.8093. That’s 717.382.8093. Until next time. I’ll be here.

[static] [Traveling Sales Rep: visit us at the - diner just off -] [Various Garbled Voices: the - road - provides - the - road - provides -]

Thin Places Radio is a podcast written by Kristen O’Neal and produced by Kaitlin Bruder. The voice of Your Host is Kristen O’Neal.

Tonight’s voicemail was left for us by Timothy. Editing and sound design are by Kaitlin Bruder, and the music tracks you heard in tonight’s episode are: the Thin Places theme, by Miles Morkri, and Umeed by RANA. If you have a question to ask, a story to tell, or a suggestion for the host, give us a call at ‪[phone]‬. The lines are always open.

[Thin Places Theme outro]