NOCTURNAL TRANSMISSIONS : dark tales, both old and new, performed by voice artist Kristin Holland
Aug 16, 2026 · 36 min · 12 segments
“There’s worse things out here than thieves.” A child left to wait in the car finds himself besieged by threats of both a very real and all too unreal nature. NOCTURNAL TRANSMISSIONS is proud to…
Douglas sucked back on the Slurpee, turning the lime green colored drink to ice white.
But now she was too preoccupied with looking out the window of the moving car, scanning for addresses.
They had been happening less as his mom was doing something other than drinking.
She was always tired and acted weird, and there were all these strange smells coming from her room.
More often than not, Douglas would stare across the dinner table, his plate full of half-cooked pasta, hers all but empty.
"I'll eat later," she would say, sometimes shaking and rocking like she had to go pee.
Instead of late-night rides to get fast food, they would go for drives to visit his mom's friends.
"Aha! 505 Lansdowne," his mother shrieked, jerking the wheel suddenly and bumping the curb.
It was just a series of chrome loops, but Douglas always thought it looked like a really curvy bull's head.
It was an old apartment with rusty wrought iron bars covering the windows on the lower levels.
Many of them had boarded-up windows, and there were lots of toys scattered on their overgrown front lawns.
The sight of the toys initially made Douglas hopeful that he might get to go out and play, but something was off about everything.
It was too late to play, and the shadows cast by the streetlights made everything seem scary.
In the front seat, his mother counted out some bills before sliding them back into her pocket and scanning the streets for any onlookers.
Douglas sucked back on the Slurpee, turning the lime green colored drink to ice white.
But now she was too preoccupied with looking out the window of the moving car, scanning for addresses.
They had been happening less as his mom was doing something other than drinking.
She was always tired and acted weird, and there were all these strange smells coming from her room.
More often than not, Douglas would stare across the dinner table, his plate full of half-cooked pasta, hers all but empty.
"I'll eat later," she would say, sometimes shaking and rocking like she had to go pee.
Instead of late-night rides to get fast food, they would go for drives to visit his mom's friends.
"Aha! 505 Lansdowne," his mother shrieked, jerking the wheel suddenly and bumping the curb.
It was just a series of chrome loops, but Douglas always thought it looked like a really curvy bull's head.
It was an old apartment with rusty wrought iron bars covering the windows on the lower levels.
Many of them had boarded-up windows, and there were lots of toys scattered on their overgrown front lawns.
The sight of the toys initially made Douglas hopeful that he might get to go out and play, but something was off about everything.
It was too late to play, and the shadows cast by the streetlights made everything seem scary.
In the front seat, his mother counted out some bills before sliding them back into her pocket and scanning the streets for any onlookers.
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