In the dark of night, one light still yet burns.

Frightened fingers tremble as brittle pages turn.

Fireside Mystery Theater presents The Midnight Reading,

a special series of dramatic recitations of dark masterpieces in miniature by the Masters of the Macab.

Hello there, Alley Silva, coming to you from my deep sea dive into the depths of the mysterious ocean underworld.

Why am I down here tripping over coral and swatting

away tentacles from some very fresh octopuses? Back off, creeper. It's because I'll do whatever it takes

to set the mood as an introduction to a good story. And what an excellent story it is. Perhaps there

was no greater specialist in weird nautical tales outside of Herman Melville

than England's own eccentric son, William Hope Hodgson.

Here to read for you, from above sea level, William Hope Hodgson's grotesque yarn of the open seas,

The Voice in the Night, is none other than our own salty dog, James Reeser.

The It was a dark starless night. We were becalmed in the northern Pacific, our exact position

I do not know, for the sun had been hidden during the course of a weary, breathless week

by a thin haze which had seemed to float above us about the height of our mast heads, at

whilst descending and shrouding the surrounding sea.

With there being no wind we had steadied the tiller, and I was the only man on deck.

The crew, consisted of two men and a boy, were sleeping forward in their den, while Will, my friend

and the master of our little craft, was aft in his bunk on the port side of the little cabin.

Suddenly, from out of the surrounding darkness, there came a hail.

Schooner, ahoy!

The cry was so unexpected that I gave no immediate answer because of my surprise.

...