This is an edited and revised story that I originally wrote in a 1979 writing workshop. It had no title.
The Radio
Here I am, stuck in my room for something that I didn’t do. I was accused of taking food without permission from the downstairs ice box. But how do I prove something that I didn’t do with no witnesses? I was about to leave my room to seek proof, when…
I heard it once, and I could hardly believe my ears. I was stunned for a moment. As I attempted to go, I heard it again, “To all listeners, beware of evils in the night.”
I reached the door and heard it a third time. The voice said, “Do not leave the room!”
I’m shakin’ down to my knees. If I hadn’t pulled the plug on the radio, I would have thought it was Caleb pulling my leg. He’s been known for pulling practical jokes, like the time he made a subscription to Widow’s Journal under Sister Becky’s name. I was the only one who knew about that one. It was funny at the time. If this were a joke, then someone really went overboard.
I didn’t know whether or not to leave the room. Pa was just down the hall, but crossing this ghost or whatever it was didn’t seem like the right thing to do.
“KRM, KRM,” the voice sounded again. It sure did sound like it came from the radio, but I didn’t see how. I was prepared for another message.
“Greater men than you have been warned of the danger of crowding airways with all these radio waves,” the voice bellowed.
“Why are you talking to me?” I said. I felt like a fool talking out loud, knowing that no one was there. I couldn’t help but feel some presence there, even though my eyes couldn’t see anyone.
“You are but one cog in a wheel.”
I couldn’t make out what this ghost or whatever was saying. “I’m who?”
“You are but one of many,” it replied. “I give you both a warning and a choice.”
I couldn’t quite understand how getting in trouble for raiding the ice box and giving me a choice were related. I nervously asked, “Did you take the food? Why?”
“To show I can be both physical and spiritual,” was its response.
The clock struck twelve-thirty, and I looked up and saw the radio set unplugged and my hand on the door. I knew it couldn’t be a dream. I still couldn’t help but wonder, “Why Me?”
“Radio waves will crush the earth. People must be warned,” the voice said.
“How?” It amused me to think I was someone who had to warn the world. Who did he think I was?
I waited for an answer, but none came. How was I to act, think, and respond to what I had heard? What was it? Pa would never believe me.
——–
Thinking back on that time right now seems rather strange. Twenty years have passed. The world hasn’t been crushed; however, there sure is a lot of junk going over the airwaves. We never get to hear any programs anymore. All stations interfere with each other, and rarely can you zero in on anything.
My remembrance of that time brings things to mind that still chill me to the bone. Was it real? Was I chosen for a reason? Who was it?
I thought I’d never have to think about it again. That was until my son, Jeb, who is only 8, came up to me this morning after leaving my study and asked, “What does KRM mean? I just heard it on your radio.”
My radio hasn’t worked since my son was born. Why me?
