Wrong Station

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 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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

Your questions answered by our team--NOT recorded under duress or threat of Punishment--in this first ever Q&A special.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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 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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

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 by Alexander Saxton.

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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

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 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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

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 by Anthony Botelho.

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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

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 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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

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/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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

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.

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 megaphone.fm/adchoices

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 explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w.

Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices