Page 1 of 1
Mid-Episode Address I

by Sebastian Michaels
Chapter 1
Traveler of the static hours,
you’ve wandered far into tonight’s broadcast.
Far enough that the desert winds have changed tone,
and the pines behind you
have begun to follow.

You’ve heard the bottle message drifting in from the island
that does not stay still.
You watched Timothy Biggins bargain with a shadow
older than the dust on his boots,
a devil with a grin carved from starlight and drought.

You’ve listened to the StarDuster hiss its warnings,
speaking Patrick Granger’s name
like an instruction,
like a plea,
like a prophecy no one asked to read.

And just now,
an unknown wanderer whispered of pines
that grew in places they had no right to be.
A trail remembered him
before he remembered it.

Where we’re headed next
is colder than the fairgrounds dirt
where our ledger first stirred.
Quieter than the motel hall
where Miles Rooker keeps watch
over doors that never stay where he left them.

Ahead, the forest waits.
It has a habit of listening
when no one speaks.
It has a way of returning names
you never gave it.

So step lightly into the second half of tonight’s tale.
The wind has gone thoughtful.
The sky has gone still.
And the next shadow you see
may be one you brought with you.

Stay with us, wayfarer,
for the strangest part
is yet to come.