??Chapter 773: 772.Three Segnts Broadcast_1
Chapter 773: 772.Three Segnts Broadcast_1
The scenery in Miskatonic was unlike any other place.
The RV moved ahead following the road sign, and soon the architecture of the city ca into view.
At the end of the vast, untended winter fields lay the city.
It was not as bustling as Boston, nor did it have the retro charm of Detroit. As a city dominated by agriculture, Miskatonic was filled with an old-fashioned flavor, and the most striking feature was the houses with their pointed rooftops.
This Gothic architectural style often had a strong religious connotation, perhaps because this French-derived style was mostly used in churches, like the now-burnt-down Notre-Da Cathedral of Paris.
But ironically, these churches were not built out of religious worship. Instead, they were civil town halls that developed with democracy. And yet, today, they are mostly connected with religion and faith. One can only say that, indeed, ti is sufficient to erase all traces.
Pointed roofs, stained glass windows—such architecture is hard to imagine as a common sight in twenty-first-century cities, yet in Miskatonic, this was the everyday landscape.
Approaching the city, the radio crackled to life, and Jas, who had taken over driving, twisted the dial until the sound ca through clearly.
“…Today’s Miskatonic hotline is here to solve your problems. Let’s take a look at the first letter from our listener.”
The voice always seed familiar. Upon closer reflection, Lu Ban realized it was from that slightly mad broadcast from last night.
Listening now, wasn’t this a private station, but rather, an official one?
So official stations indeed take a personalized approach. In a land that worships freedom, you can even hear so indescribable things being broadcast live on official stations.
The car swayed slightly, and Lu Ban heard the broadcast continue.
“Ms. Blaney from Miskatonic… My husband has been coming ho late every night recently, but his job isn’t that busy. During all this ti, I don’t know where he has been. One day, I tried to follow him after work and discovered that he was hiding in an alley, eating a stray dog’s corpse. What should I do?”
Hearing the first part, several people in the car shared a knowing smile, thinking it was probably just so taphorical greenery sprouting overhead. But upon hearing the latter half, no one could laugh anymore.
“Is this a prank?”
Wes adjusted his glasses and asked subconsciously.
So radio shows don’t pull in many listeners, and so they play these fake listener letters to liven things up, similar to how anchors make up ssages in the chat to read during live broadcasts.
He thought this was similar, then he heard the broadcast continue.
“Ms. Blaney, eating the corpse of a stray dog in an alley is not particularly abnormal. As everyone knows, if a stray dog’s corpse is left untreated in a dark place, it will rot and emit a bad sll. So your husband has also made a contribution to the city’s sanitation. Next ti, you could join him to give it a try.”
The broadcast offered advice, but it sounded quite strange.
“The second letter, from Mr. Rafael of Miskatonic… I’ve been troubled recently. The bodies stored in my warehouse are always being dug out by soone, scattered everywhere, and sotis less in weight. I’ve tried setting up warning signs and building fences, but in the end, they are still tampered with. A few days ago, I found out that a body was stolen, and when I chased after, I saw two people eating it on the street. Should I just shoot them with a gun?”
The second letter made the broadcast even more eerie.
“What is a body?”
Talia looked at the others; she initially thought it was so sort of code, but the more she listened, the more unsettling it beca.
“Maybe he ans sothing like smoked at.”
Valeria speculated.
“Could it be… the stolen corpse belonged to that listener’s husband who ate the wild dog?”
Jas attempted to explain.
“They stole the smoked dog at, barbecued it on the sidewalk, probably like that, right? Maybe they were afraid those environntalists or animal rights activists would co to ss things up. I know those guys; they are all extremists.”
“Is that so?”
Wes felt sothing was off.
“Mr. Rafael, what I want to say is that the right to protect your private property is sacred and inviolable. Shoot those damn people, let them see so blood. Miskatonic needs you to maintain law and order!”
The radio host’s words were spirited, yet the content was chilling.
“Have they gone mad?”
Talia exclaid, her piercing voice causing Scott, who was resting, to turn over, but he didn’t wake up.
“The third letter ca from Mr. Gore of Miskatonic… I was eaten, they hung my body up in the house, slit open my veins, drained the blood, and I was left to hang upside down, just watching those people. But I couldn’t believe I was stolen, that person dragged
into the street, gnawed on my flesh, his mouth was full, his mouth was full, and he even called others. Oh, thank God, in the end, they were all killed, useful rifle bullets drilled into their foreheads, thank God, at least I still have my brain left.”
Once again, the radio host spoke, and this ti the letter left everyone in the car completely bewildered.
“This must be a prank, one of those horror paranormal radio shows!”
Talia cried out again, making Scott, who was sleeping beside her, slightly frown.
“The good news is we now know the whole story.”
Lu Ban didn’t seem to have any sentint; he had seen a lot of this kind of thing.
If the official radio station of Miskatonic was like this, then most likely the city itself was seriously ill.
However, for Lu Ban it didn’t make a difference, because Feng Yu was trapped here; it would be strange if Miskatonic wasn’t seriously ill.
“This must be storytelling, rather interesting actually. Could be a special segnt for a film festival!”
Wes explained, preferring to believe these letters were part of a joke coordinated with the film festival rather than real.
“Oh, I feel sorry for you, Mr. Gore. Clearly, they did not respect your body. Miskatonic does not welco such people. If you can provide more detailed clues, perhaps we can help. After all, making Miskatonic better is our ultimate goal!”
“After reading so many letters, let’s take a short break and listen to a song to relax for a while. Please enjoy ‘The Old Gods Anthem’.”
The broadcast resud, a hymnal lody filled the air. The lyrics were sowhat blasphemous and similar to those heard the previous night, telling of the ties between a great presence and the cosmos that were joyous yet bone-chilling.
The RV had entered the city, and among the gothic buildings, one could see sparsely walking pedestrians.
Each passerby’s face bore a bizarre and exaggerated smile.
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