Black Wind rustles tall pines.

There are stars beyond, you know, but they are far and dead,

and the gentle pressure of their unliving thought only makes you tremble in the night.

It is almost October, and for weeks some secret portion of your brain,

like the gland by which a bird knows north, or a toad can detect sin, has been quietly, desperately trying to warn you.

Something is wrong. Some signal builds upon the ether worse than ever before. You fear

wrong station is about to return. Bad omens confirm it. Milk spoils. Cats give birth to live

dung, and the birds catch fire against a blackened autumn sky. In past seasons, the infernal

broadcast has come four times in the month of October. This year, the cards tell you there will be twice as many episodes,

and then twice as many as that,

and then twice as many as that.

This October, stay tuned for a new episode of Wrong Station every single night.

31 episodes in 31 days.

And worse yet, your violent heruspices confirm that the wrong station Patreon has grown,

metastasized, branched into something even more scuttling and

unknowable than before. You've shattered your radio with a dead man's hammer, and yet the frothing shards

still babble with fragments of exclusive tales, behind the scenes' conversation, and most appallingly,

deep lore. Feathered insects come to you in the night they whisper that this growing eon of patrons is what is allowed the signal to blare relentlessly for an entire month they tell you what obscenities await you at patreon.com slash the wrong station.

Exclusive stories.

Oh, behind the scenes episodes.

Oh, the new wrong station book club.

Oh, please stop.

...