One-Shots

Radio Waves

Your grandmother had always been a strange nut. "Nut," was actually the precise term that the neighbors used in hushed tones along the street when you passed by.

You were no stranger to the rumors.

After all, you visited your grandma about twice a week. She needed the care. You brought her fresh groceries, caught her up on family events, and even listened to the same old stories she told as if it were your first time hearing them. This was ritual. Sundays and Wednesdays.

Grandpa had been out of the picture for a long while.

Grandma was a bit off. She was still sweet and kind, just like when you were a child. Mom told you the doctors diagnosed her with a mild case of schizophrenia.

Honestly, you couldn't tell. She seemed pretty normal besides the strange stories she came up with. A bit of a shut in. Not a lot of friends besides the cats. Nothing too drastic.

As a fresh college student, this wasn't even really a chore. Your dorm was actually just a couple blocks away. Your mom thought it would be a great opportunity. After all, she wouldn't be around forever.

After a couple months, you had actually begun looking forward to the visits. You always came back to the dorm with some kind of baked goods. You had become very popular among your peers.

The story time had also become a good inspiration for your creative writing class as well.

The old woman may have been labeled as a 'nut,' but you couldn't wait to hear how her stories would end. Maybe you were screwy in the head as well.

The thing was; when grandma would tell stories, she would tell them so well and so vividly, that you could almost believe they were fact.

And the best part was, that she never even made these stories up.

She got them from "the man in the radio."

So today was Sunday.

Classes ended early, and you had the next two days off. All your friends were going back home to visit family. Your mom and dad were going to be busy with work.

You figured that you'd just crash at grandma's for a couple days. Free food, television, and great stories. It would be convenient, and you wouldn't miss your visit on Wednesday.

The suburbs alongside the city felt natural. The sun was high, birds squawked at each other, children pushed and pulled at their expensive toys, and parents sat on their porches to watch and chat.

It was nice. The breeze felt good.

Three houses down and you saw that familiar old blue door with the little bell on the handle. You knocked twice, opening the door without much hesitation. The bell made a fairy-like tinging noise. It was comforting.

She always seemed to know when you were about to show up too. The dining room table was set up neatly, and she had the kettle on.

"Hey, hon! Chamomile is in the cabinet. I'm just cleaning up in here," she hollered from the living room.

"Thanks gramma," you shouted back, throwing your bag down in the entryway. It took you a moment to take off your shoes.

You could hear that same familiar static noise coming from the living room.

She must have had the radio on, listening for that mysterious man who gave her those great stories.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw her slowly picking up a couple books from the coffee table and putting them on another table nearby.