Wrong Station

“You mean a contest,” he said. A slow, crazed smile spread across Practical’s yellowed teeth. He glanced around the room, as if to reassure himself this was not a dream; it must have been the exact scenario he had fantasized about a thousand times. “Very well then, you have yourself a bet. And may the greatest Artist win.” --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at...

The monster knew nothing. And then, to a chorus of gasps, it was born. Its flesh - once rigid, tall, and wooden - had been transformed into thickly-corded muscle and dense chitin. The body that had spent so many years upright now lay along the ground supported by two dozen different legs. --Written by Jacob Duarte Spiel. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation....

"No, altogether, people didn’t care too much for young Madeleine Graves, and though I don’t believe I would have much enjoyed spending an evening at the Graves Family dinner table, in the presence of that watchful, grey-eyed child who liked so much to gum at her hair and pick at her scabs, I can’t say it was anything other than a tragedy. And so, being denied the companionship of people, Madeleine...

It began with a deep hum somewhere in the wall behind Samo, and then a tingle of static in the air. “Sail away, sail away, hah...” Doctor Martel said from behind the one-way glass, flicking a series of unseen switches to power up the machine. “Just like falling asleep.” Only it wasn’t like falling asleep; just falling. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www....

“There is no escape from the Valley.” That’s what they say, isn’t it? I see how you could believe that. Whatever direction you look, there’s nothing out there but those distant mountains scraping the horizon. And nothing between here and there but scorched wasteland. That, and the Sentries. --Written by Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. T...

Of course, a denture carved fully from ivory is perfectly serviceable. Even one carved from the harder sorts of wood might suffice for a mere shopkeep. But for the elite, I am assured, there is no substitute for actual, human teeth. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Performed by Liana Bdéwi and Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Sta...

How deep could that water be? Calf-deep? Knee-deep? Certainly not much more than that, with all those rocks and jags of rusted metal scraping the underside of the surface. And so it must have been a trick of the current, nothing more, that fooled my eyes into thinking they saw the shadow of something moving under the surface. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing...

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Tommy jolted awake. His heart started pounding. There was something, someone up there. He saw the faint glow of a bright red light—could it really be? And as shadows passed over the entry to the port, and a vague shape started lowering itself down, Tommy’s excitement kept building and building, until it was likely to make his chest burst, until...  --Written by Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong S...

You could be forgiven for being afraid, Kaisen thought, as she walked alone through the Hall of Bodhisattvas.  She would never have admitted to such a thing, and she had been brought up to never show any emotion, let alone fear. But even though she had lived at the Monastery for decades, a low dread still clutched at her heart each time she walked through the reddish gloom of that hall. --Written...

He sat up, thinking about the syringes, the figure in the alley, the strange dream with… that thing. It was all too much. He put his hands over his aching eyes, took a deep breath, and made up his mind. He was a sheepdog; he was a man of action. There was something he needed to check on. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The...

When I began this life I didn’t muse on each hunt for as long as I now do. The morality, the greyness, or the consequences of my actions. Speed was my measure of success; not how clean the job was, whether I was efficient or cruel. It was all a race: to bathe in the blood of beasts and in the peoples’ gratitude. But now I do muse on them. Which is why I have begun to write this journal. --Written...

Good evening, you sweet little eggs. Tonight we will be reading from the Great Tome of All Hallows' Eve Snippets, Most Horrid and Most Foul: a collection of stories in which bad things happen to bad little children. And good ones too. --Written by Alexander Saxton, Anthony Botelho, and Jacob Duarte Spiel Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station...

I had the overwhelming sense that the threads of my life had permanently snarled together, a tangle of knots and frayed ends that sat between my throat and my heart, impossible to loosen one without tightening another. I needed an escape. Out East. Out at Cape Spear, and the Cantwell Lighthouse. --Written by Jacob Duarte Spiel. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongst...

Do you remember the first job you ever had? I imagine you probably do; in no small part because your first job, if you’re like most people, was a shitty one. Mine was as a prep chef at Pollo Rojo. Sounds easy enough, right? What are we talking about here, chopping onions? Hah. No… not onions. --Written by Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation....

He’d slept less than four hours. It was the fifth night in a row. He squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw ached and his throat felt raw, as if he had been screaming. He could feel sleep lurking nearby, but every time he lunged for it, it slithered just beyond his reach. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains...

It's the arcane knowledge you neither wanted nor asked for. In celebration of an unspecified number, or measure of that number, of Wrong Stations (tm [tongue-in-mouth]), we present your sinners' souls with: THE MOST WRONGE STATION: AN ORAL RECOUNTING MOST HISTORICAL. --Written by Alexander Saxton, Anthony Botelho, and Jacob Duarte Spiel. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/...

"Fur, fins, scales, wings, legs: they all popped from the surface of the inert matter, as if testing the environment to see what adaptation would be most advantageous. Finding their niche in the constantly changing, radioactive world. I can’t be certain, but I’m not sure anything ever truly dies here." --Written by Jacob Duarte Spiel. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/the...

The candle sputtered as bits of badly-rendered fat crackled in the burning tallow. Exhausted from the day’s work, he sat back on his cot, watching the smoke rise like rain in reverse, to pool on the ceiling. Then something interesting began to happen. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit cont...

As a child, I’d loved this forest; maybe because it was where I went to get away from the cottage, and the dark, brooding pressure of my Grandfather’s presence. But something had changed. The woods no longer seemed like a place of reprieve. I felt that I was being… not watched, per se, but noticed, and that it wasn’t a friendly kind of noticing. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Sta...

"Year... II? Yes, it must still be. Brother! The pocket watch tells me it is now Prairial, which is strange, one because it is broken, and two, because it is only supposed to tell minutes and hours, not months. Nevertheless, greetings from Chateau Malheur-Infini!" --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains...

“I have done what you forced me to do,” he said. “I have initiated The Final Snow.” Even dampened by the snow, she could hear the outraged cry of despair that lifted from a million throats; across the city. He had passed a sentence of death upon them, and in so doing, upon all of humankind. There were no worlds left, and no ships left to go to them. --Written by Alexander Saxton. Support The Wrong...

Nothing specific about this episode, no no, not at all, oh no no my friends... --Written by Alexander Saxton, Anthony Botelho, and Jacob Duarte Spiel. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit m...

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“Here’s the place,” she said, and then loitered by the door, impatient for us to get out. The apartment was a little grimy: she hadn’t cleaned up after the previous tenants, but it was nothing objectionable. I only had one question. “What’s that door in the hallway?” --Written by Alexander Saxton and performed by Breanna Maloney. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrong...