Ghost Radio by Leopoldo Gout Page B

stories of other callers. Soon I couldn’t keep up with all the calls pouring in. This piqued the interest of the radio station; first, they assigned me a permanent sound engineer (up to that point, I’d worked with whoever was on the clock), and then they started adding assistants to take calls and attend to the growing needs of the program. Most remarkable of all, I gained the respect of mycolleagues and bosses. My placid oasis of calm, the pitch-black ocean of tranquillity where I had floated aimlessly, became a frenetic anthill of activity. There were still dead hours, and slow days, but Ghost Radio , as we started calling the program, consistently registered the best ratings in both its genre and its time slot. Calls flooded in from across the nation and other parts of the world; Latinos residing in the United States bombarded me night after night with their stories, but soon they were also calling in from as far away as Australia and Namibia. My bosses were happy, and so was I. I wouldn’t have changed a thing, but change came anyway…with a vengeance.

chapter 24

A PECULIAR EXCHANGE
    The new show with InterMedia was certainly different from those early days. The office was nicer, the coffee was better, and the paychecks substantially larger. But one thing was the same: the callers. They were the same mix of bizarre, sincere, and ridiculous.
    Joaquin liked this mixture. His fears about being in America slowly disappeared. But they would return one night when a peculiar caller lit up line two.
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    â€œWe’re here with a caller who won’t give his name,” said Joaquin, pushing the button for line two. “Go ahead, anonymous friend, you’re on the air.”
    The silence seemed endless.
    Usually in situations like this, Joaquin would jump in, yelling: “Caller, are you there?” If the caller didn’t respond instantly, he’d be cut off. This time, though, Joaquin sat quietly. He didn’t rush the caller and didn’t check to see if the line was still active.
    â€œDead air!” hissed Watt.
    Joaquin didn’t respond. Alondra opened her mouth to say something. Joaquin signaled her to wait.
    Silence.
    The seconds passed.
    Tick…tick…tick…
    A raspy voice resonated through the speakers.
    â€œJoaquin. I’m glad we can speak to each other again.”
    â€œSpeak again?”
    â€œWe’re old friends.”
    â€œI usually recognize my friends.”
    â€œI saw death.”
    â€œTell us what happened.”
    â€œJust what I told you. I saw death. Nothing happened to me; I wasn’t pulled from death’s grip; I didn’t lose my will to live. I simply saw death’s face, its poisonous snout squealing a few inches from my own.”
    â€œLike Alien 3 ?”
    â€œNo, nothing like that.”
    â€œThe first Alien film?” Joaquin said, suppressing a laugh.
    â€œYou’ve seen him too, Joaquin. He remembers you.”
    Joaquin was intrigued.
    â€œAnd how do you explain this apparition?” asked Alondra.
    â€œLet’s just say at this point I wouldn’t consider it to be a solitary apparition, but rather a recurring event.”
    â€œSo you see death often?” asked Joaquin.
    â€œOften.”
    Joaquin felt a chill run down his spine. This call was making him very uncomfortable. It wasn’t the usual. It demanded attention. He looked at Watt, who had stopped eating and was motionless, staring at the monitor. Like a cat thinking it’s heard a mouse.
    â€œI am something special. Unlike anyone you’ve ever talked to before. I am Ghost Radio ’s beginning and end, its alpha and omega. I am a transformed and transfigured being, waiting for you in the night.”
    Joaquin’s arms felt numb. He wanted to stretch or maybe stand up, but he could barely move. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a change in the shadow that the table cast on the wall. It looked different, as if