NOCTURNAL TRANSMISSIONS : dark tales, both old and new, performed by voice artist Kristin Holland
Sep 3, 2026 · 41 min · 11 segments
A law enforcement officer returns to his home town and finds himself feeling more a part of the place than ever. NOCTURNAL TRANSMISSIONS is proud to present: 'THE STICK PEOPLE' by R.J. Peone \…
His dreams and aspirations of one day becoming an astronaut, a doctor, or even the President of the United States had evaporated along with his motivation.
Forced between the rock of student and housing debts and the hard place of the recent divorce from his wife of 10 years, Gordon found himself compelled to hunt for a more prestigious job and pay scale.
The only light that drove him through the soul-crushing monotony and futility of his chosen field of work, law enforcement, had been the shining hope of providing a happier and better upbringing for his daughter than he himself had.
He had resolved to escape the poverty and cyclical misery of life on the reservation that reflected in the eyes of its every denizen.
In doing this, he would spare not only himself from having to endure the pain of seeing his people and culture die a drawn-out, floundering death, but would also integrate into the world of the other half of his parentage, the white half.
Instead of the inheritance of his declining native blood, he would have optimism and promise built on the solid rock of capitalism and progress.
Some called him an apple, others Pretendian, and other derivatives of these to infer a loss of his connection to his people, culture, and homeland.
That was until he made the unforgivable mistake of giving himself to a Suyapi, a white woman.
From his birth, Gordon had been the reminder of his father's disregard for the unspoken expectation on all tribal members to maintain their children's blood quantums.
With such hostilities facing his mother and, by extension, himself, it was no wonder that his childhood had been an unhappy one.
His parents coped with the rejections of their union by their respective peoples with heavy and frequent alcohol consumption.
Now, with the perspective of a man the age his father had been, he sympathized with the burden they must have borne.
Gordon's current employer, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, held no small stake in the affairs of Indian country.
Though he had worked for them for the last three years, his time of employment had been a far cry from the exciting depictions featured on the cable news networks.
Mostly, it involved paperwork, with the occasional field job in joint task force efforts with the Native communities that he had been obligated to work with on his superior's orders.
Though he had ranged far and wide across the country, one of the many reasons for his wife's estrangement and eventual divorce from him, Gordon lived in mortal dread of his latest assignment.
The missive in his inbox detailed orders to collaborate with the Tribal Police Department of his hometown for a special operation.
After the early deaths of his parents from what had been attributed to an alcohol-related car accident, he had vowed to never return to the reservation.
Now, with his back to the wall, he found himself prodded by the converging circumstances of his life.
He inhaled the dry dust of the high desert, and all the many hostilities of the place greeted him like a long-forgotten family member.
His dreams and aspirations of one day becoming an astronaut, a doctor, or even the President of the United States had evaporated along with his motivation.
Forced between the rock of student and housing debts and the hard place of the recent divorce from his wife of 10 years, Gordon found himself compelled to hunt for a more prestigious job and pay scale.
The only light that drove him through the soul-crushing monotony and futility of his chosen field of work, law enforcement, had been the shining hope of providing a happier and better upbringing for his daughter than he himself had.
He had resolved to escape the poverty and cyclical misery of life on the reservation that reflected in the eyes of its every denizen.
In doing this, he would spare not only himself from having to endure the pain of seeing his people and culture die a drawn-out, floundering death, but would also integrate into the world of the other half of his parentage, the white half.
Instead of the inheritance of his declining native blood, he would have optimism and promise built on the solid rock of capitalism and progress.
Some called him an apple, others Pretendian, and other derivatives of these to infer a loss of his connection to his people, culture, and homeland.
That was until he made the unforgivable mistake of giving himself to a Suyapi, a white woman.
From his birth, Gordon had been the reminder of his father's disregard for the unspoken expectation on all tribal members to maintain their children's blood quantums.
With such hostilities facing his mother and, by extension, himself, it was no wonder that his childhood had been an unhappy one.
His parents coped with the rejections of their union by their respective peoples with heavy and frequent alcohol consumption.
Now, with the perspective of a man the age his father had been, he sympathized with the burden they must have borne.
Gordon's current employer, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, held no small stake in the affairs of Indian country.
Though he had worked for them for the last three years, his time of employment had been a far cry from the exciting depictions featured on the cable news networks.
Mostly, it involved paperwork, with the occasional field job in joint task force efforts with the Native communities that he had been obligated to work with on his superior's orders.
Though he had ranged far and wide across the country, one of the many reasons for his wife's estrangement and eventual divorce from him, Gordon lived in mortal dread of his latest assignment.
The missive in his inbox detailed orders to collaborate with the Tribal Police Department of his hometown for a special operation.
After the early deaths of his parents from what had been attributed to an alcohol-related car accident, he had vowed to never return to the reservation.
Now, with his back to the wall, he found himself prodded by the converging circumstances of his life.
He inhaled the dry dust of the high desert, and all the many hostilities of the place greeted him like a long-forgotten family member.
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