Hello, gentle listener, and welcome to nocturnal transmissions, the fortnightly podcast that brings you dark tales both old and new, performed by your humble narrator, Kristen Holland.

For this our 158th episode, we'll be sharing a tale from first-time contributor, Glenn Dungen.

Mr. Dungen is a Brooklyn-based writer.

In his own words, he exists within a Venn diagram of urban design, sociology, and good stories. When not

obsessing about one of these three, he can be found at a park drinking black coffee and listening

to podcasts about murder. Oh, I do hope he finds himself occasionally

listening to our humble production as well. I mean, it can't all be just murder, murder,

murder, sometimes a little mayhem and supernatural malevolence is a nice element to bring into the mix while enjoying your cup of Joe, as it were.

Anywho, Nocturnal Transmissions is proud to present Glenn Dungens, Mr. Guthrie's familiar. Lear.

It's wild the things that come to you at night.

Memories almost forgotten and of no significance that bubble steadily hidden in some forgotten pot.

It's not until you're older that you realize the pot is a witch's brew and you're a

frog at the bottom of the heating black coat. It's these kind of memories that arise during the hot and clammy moments in between fever dreams.

And even though I'm dealing with a flu that my wife gave me unintentionally on my birthday, I can't help but become a little sentimental.

I'm an accountant now for a decent firm.

It's boring work, but it pays the bills and provides good insurance.

I have a king-sized bed and the acne that once plagued my face has long since been defeated.

As I stare at the darkened reflection in the turned-off television in front of my bed,

sweating the sickness out, shivering at the same time, answering birthday calls and texts.

I can't help but think, with a sudden clarity of the interlocking gears,

how things really came to pass.

If it was a fever dream of a memory.

...