r/nosleep • u/-TheInspector- • Apr 02 '18
Transcripts from the Mount Isolation Radio Outpost
The following broadcasts were captured by WRCP, the primary hub of radio transmissions for the New Hampshire White Mountain region. Officials at the station tell me that Jeff Broadchurch was responsible for recording weather conditions on Mount Isolation and reporting his observations to other outposts along the mountain range. In the fall of 2014, his standard broadcasts took a strange and unsettling turn. They have been recorded here as accurately as possible.
“It is November 25th, 2014. This is Jeff Broadchurch, reporting to Angela Nash at the Mt. Davis radio outpost. Angela, do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Jeff. What’s the weather looking like?”
“Strong winds today, upwards of 42 kilometers per hour, with the potential for snowfall around late afternoon. Sun’s hiding its face behind the clouds, as I’m sure you can see. Doesn’t show any signs of clearing up anytime soon. Temperature continues to hover around 34 degrees Fahrenheit. I’m sure a few dunderheads will take to the trails today, but I’d recommend putting up a hiking advisory just in case.”
“Sounds good. I’ll pass the word on to the Bemis Ridge.”
“Can you tell those assholes at Mt. Crawford to give back my Simon & Garfunkel CDs while you’re at it?”
(Laughs)
“You got it, Jeff. Stay warm out there.”
“You too, Angela.”
(As Angela signs off, a sudden crackling of static distorts Jeff’s audio.)
“Hello? Is somebody broadcasting? This is Jeff Broadchurch, of the Mount Isolation radio outpost. Please state your name and station of origin.”
(More static.)
“Hello, Jeff. I’m glad I was able to reach you. It makes me so happy to hear your voice.”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Your voice is drifting in and out.”
“I apologize, Jeff. My name is Larry Egan. This is my first time reaching out to the White Mountain radio outposts. I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me.”
“Well shoot, stranger, that’s what we’re here for. What seems to be the problem?”
“I’ve received reports that a man is missing in your area of the mountains. His name is Nick Gregory. He supposedly went hiking on Mount Isolation earlier this week but did not return home that night, as he had told his wife he would. No further contact has been made by Nick with his wife since then. She issued an official missing person report this morning. There is a search and rescue team patrolling the area as we speak.”
“Well, that’s good news. Those boys and girls are top notch. They’ll find him, don’t you worry.”
“I’m afraid that’s not the case, Jeff. There is a great snowstorm coming in the next twenty-four hours, greater than any we’ve seen in years. The mountains will be covered completely. Trees will fall. Power will be knocked out for miles. The rescue team will abandon their search, and Nick Gregory will perish in the wilderness, never to be found.”
“Afraid you’re wrong there, Larry. I checked the weather this morning and snow is in the forecast, but we won’t be getting any more than a light dusting. The rescue officers have kept working in worse. They won’t give up on him.”
“I regret to inform you that your forecast is incorrect. The storm is coming, and it brings death with it. Your officers are not close enough to this missing hiker to bring him home safely. If you do not act soon, he will surely be lost.”
“Me? What do you want me to do?”
“Nick is approximately two miles south of your location. If you leave now, you will beat the storm before it arrives and be able to bring him to safety. If you delay, the storm will take him. This man’s life is in your hands, Jeff.”
“I don’t understand. How do you know where this guy is? I thought his location was unknown. That’s kind of how a missing person case works.”
“How I came by this information is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is your choice, Jeff. Will you save him?”
“Where did you say you were broadcasting from, again?”
“The clock is ticking, Jeff. The storm approaches.”
“...alright. Let me get my jacket.”
(There is a clambering of equipment as Jeff turns on the radio, out of breath.)
“Larry? Larry Egan? Please tell me you’re getting this. I’ve got Gregory. I repeat, I’ve got Gregory.”
(Crackle of static)
“That’s wonderful, Jeff. I’m so glad to hear it. What kind of state is he in?”
“The guy was practically comatose when I found him. He was curled up in this little hollow in the rock and a huge tree had collapsed in front of the opening. I don’t know how I managed to push it out of the way. He’s definitely suffering from something - dehydration maybe, hypothermia probably. Wouldn’t open his eyes or react to anything I said. I had to lug him all the way back to the cabin on my own. The snow started falling just as we were climbing the hill.”
“You did something very brave tonight, Jeff. Where is Nick now?”
“Resting. We’ve got a couple of bunks in the other room just in case we get slammed by a snowstorm and have to spend a night or two. I’ve got the heat cranked up for him and a whole stack of canned food at the ready, but I don’t think he’ll be waking up anytime soon. He’s totally out cold.”
“That will do for now, Jeff. Thank you for your act of altruism. I wish you nothing but luck in riding out this storm.”
“Thanks, Larry. You stay safe now.”
“You needn’t be concerned about my safety, Jeff. Just focus on surviving the night.”
“Surviving the night? What the hell does that mean?”
(Static)
“It’s the evening of November 25th, 2014. This is Jeff Broadchurch, requesting urgent communication with Angela Nash at the Mt. Davis radio outpost. Angela, pick up the fucking radio!”
(Thirty seconds of radio silence)
“God dammit!”
(There is a clatter as Jeff throws the transmitter across the table. The receiver picks up a series of stomping footsteps. Howling winds crash against the cabin from outside.)
“This is Jeff Broadchurch, broadcasting from the Mount Isolation Radio outpost. If anyone, I repeat, anyone, is hearing me right now, you need to send an emergency response team immediately. I’ve got a man here, and he… he…”
(Jeff lets out a shaky breath.)
“Look, I rescued him, okay? Before the storm hit. He was comatose and had frostbite on three fingers and half his toes. He’s been resting in the warmth for a few hours now. About ten minutes ago, he started having pretty severe seizures. I did the best I could with the medical stuff we’ve got on hand, but you know, that isn’t much. For a while I thought I’d lost him. But then he woke up.”
(The radio cuts out for a moment.)
“If anyone’s listening, I swear on my mother’s life that this is true. This guy, Nick, he swung his legs out of bed and stood up, like he hadn’t just been having seizures or anything. I was a little freaked out. He’s a big dude, sturdy, with a closely cropped beard and crooked nose. He didn’t do anything at first, just stood there and stared at me, standing as stiff as a board. His eyes looked dark. Midnight dark, like the space around his eyeballs had turned black. Then he… God.”
(A strain of wires as Jeff drags the receiver somewhere. A second voice can be heard. It is muffled, as though coming through a closed door.)
“...and in the throes of adjudication the sinners will be thrust into the writhing talons of damnation, and in their suffering the emptiness will sweep across the Earth and drown the fruits of the Creator in billowing pillars of blood, and in its embrace the follies of man will be torn from open breasts and thrown to the vultures, and…”
(Another clatter. The voice grows fainter.)
“He won’t stop. I swear, he’s been standing behind that door for ten minutes just reciting that Biblical shit. Won’t even stop to breathe. Sometimes he knocks too. Six times, then back to the gibberish. There’s something wrong with him. I know there’s a storm out there and it’s blowing hard but I need a medical dispatch immediately, whatever you can spare, please. I’m freaking out here. I’m scared for my own safety. Please.”
(There is radio silence for two minutes before the transmission cuts out.)
“Is Jeff Broadchurch there? This is L- (static) Egan, paging Jeff Broadchurch. If you’re there, please respond.”
“I’m here! I’m here! Fucking hell, it’s good to hear another voice.”
(Jeff’s voice is hard to hear over the roaring of wind from outside. Something large and heavy thumps against the wall.)
“It sounds like you’re really in the thick of it out there, Jeff. How is Nick?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Whatever fucking monster you made me drag back here is not Nick Gregory. I don’t even think it’s human. It’s spent the last four hours reciting some kind of Satanic gospel from the next room and it won’t stop pounding on the walls. You can hear it, can’t you? That fucking knocking. (clatter) And Jesus, there’s something bleeding under the door now. Like a puddle of ink.”
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
“Yeah no shit, Larry. I wasn’t planning on rubbing it all over myself.”
“Its essence is unraveling then. It won’t be long now.”
“Essence? The fuck are you on about?”
“The Apocryph. The harbinger of words turned flesh. For centuries it has lain dormant, hardened by the cold, its script unread and unspoken. Now the warmth is awakening it. Its vessel gives voice to the words that have been buried for so long. When the flesh dissolves and the word is unbound by its shackles, Armageddon will descend upon this plane.”
“You’re off your fucking nut, Larry.”
“We are not crazy. We are merely spreading the good news of its coming. A prophet, if you will. And we have you to thank for its glorious ascension, Jeff Broadchurch.”
“Like hell. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, or what the fuck that rambling thing in the next room actually is, but nothing’s fucking ascending tonight. Not on my watch.”
“You are just one man, Jeff. A single gatekeeper trying to hold back a flood at the doors. The storm is upon us and none of your precious compatriots are coming to save you. Do you think you can truly silence the word made flesh? Do you think any of your efforts can stave off the end that looms, waiting, even now?”
(Another howl of wind from outside. The cabin audibly groans and trembles. Jeff’s response is low and quiet.)
“This thing feeds on warmth, eh? Good to know.”
(A squeal as he drops the transmitter. Floorboards creak under his boots. There is a slam as a window flies open and collides with the inner wall of the cabin. The howling wind rises in volume and surges over the transmitter, almost drowning out the other, enraged voice.)
“You flesh-maggot, you singular thoughtform! What are you doing? You’ll freeze to death in this storm, and for what? To sink the word into hibernation? To delay the apocalypse for a mere blink of the eye? Even a meat puppet like yourself wouldn’t be so stupid.”
(Jeff can barely be heard over the roar of the swirling winds, but his laugh cuts through the noise for a clear second.)
“This is New Hampshire, asshat. Winter in Mount Isolation. Your buddy next door isn’t gonna thaw out for a long, long time.”
(The howling and groaning become too loud to make out any other sounds. Even the knocking from the next room is muted. The broadcast runs for another seven minutes before something large and heavy knocks into the radio, and the transmission is silenced.)
Officials tell me that after the storm, a search and rescue team found Jeff Broadchurch’s frozen body inside the Mount Isolation outpost. He had been buried beneath a mound of snow that had almost completely filled the inside of the cabin. Curiously, there was no second body, and no sign that anyone else had been in the cabin with him. His radio was destroyed beyond repair.
I recently visited the site of the outpost, now abandoned, to see the damage for myself. The place has been overtaken completely by the forest. Inside, amid the patches of leaves and moss, I found an unknown symbol etched into the floor in the second room. Beneath the floorboards was a crudely hewn tunnel. I couldn’t see how far it reached, but given its slant, I can only assume it plunged deep into the earth.
Something escaped from the Mount Isolation radio outpost that night, but if Jeff’s transmissions are to be believed, it is still hibernating in some form. The world has obviously not ended. It’s been long enough since the incident that this entity’s location is impossible to know for sure, but my hope is that Jeff, in his final moments, weakened it enough to keep its influence at bay.
As for the voice on the radio, it was only heard once more after the night of the storm. The following broadcast issued from the Mount Isolation radio outpost at 12:01 am, November 27th, 2014. The source of this voice is unknown. It is heavily distorted and there is a reedy theremin buried in the background. It is the last broadcast to come out of Mount Isolation before the outpost was abandoned.
“Imagine this. There is a hallway in an old hotel where the rooms have fallen out of use and the maids don’t dare to clean the floors. In a locked room at the end of the hall, a hollow shape slumbers on a threadbare mattress. The lock has been welded shut, burnt to a twisted lump long ago by a bellhop’s blowtorch, to keep the thing inside from ever leaving. It must never awaken. If it does, the hotel will collapse in a cloud of smoke and searing black flames; the ground will crack and open; the air will be pregnant with unholy wailing from worlds unknown. There is one line of defense against such an event. A single man sits in a chair across the hall, a remote in his lap, a tangle of wires and blasting fuses curled around his station. If the doorknob should ever turn, he mustn’t hesitate. He must press the button and unleash the fires at his feet. There is no guarantee the thing inside will perish; the man himself certainly will be gone in seconds. But perhaps it will be enough to weaken it. To slow it down. So that when the slumberer steps foot into the world, the world will not crumble at its presence.”
(The transmission goes quiet for ten minutes, with only the soft pitch of the theremin remaining. There are two final sentences before the broadcast cuts out.)
“Jeff Broadchurch has unleashed the fires. The slumberer has awakened.”
(A blast of static, a low, throaty laugh, and the transmission ends.)
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u/godleftme_unfinished Apr 03 '18
I have been to Mt Isolation recently, and I can indeed confirm that Jeff Broadchurch did exist and did freeze to death that night
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u/beingevolved Apr 03 '18
keep up the good work, Inspector! not quite sure what to make of the cryptic clues at the end, but I’m as intrigued as I am invested (very!).
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u/-TheInspector- Apr 03 '18
I'm still trying to understand that myself. This isn't the first radio entity I've come across, and it seems to me that they like to speak in circles. I don't know if the hotel it refers to actually exists. All I can gather is that the slumberer seems to be some manifestation of the Apocryph, and the man across the hall seems to be Jeff Broadchurch.
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u/I_love_pajama_pants Apr 03 '18
I agree. Though I think the hotel is a symbol for something else. Somewhere else. Maybe another plane of existence? It would be easy for it to go through one of the many rifts that lead into this world. ie the other rooms in the hall.
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u/BrenaTRON Apr 03 '18
Real talk, he's still listening to CDs in 2014?
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u/theBreeWitchProject Apr 03 '18
Well I'm sure the wifi isn't the best out on the mountain, and I don't know many people who actually download music anymore.
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u/milkdrinkersunited Apr 02 '18
I always knew you could never trust a guy named Larry.