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“What you hear is who you are… if you stop to listen.”
Between the Dials is a cinematic audio fiction series broadcasting from the pirate frequency 77.7 FM — a Midwest-born station where memory, mystery, and static intertwine.
Each episode transmits stories that live between horror and humanity, weaving analog sound design, radio lore, and quiet philosophy into something hauntingly familiar.
What you hear is who you are… if you stop to listen.
🎙️ BETWEEN THE DIALS — EPISODE 1: “SIGNALS CROSSED”
You’re listening to 77.7 FM… or maybe you’re not.
Maybe this is just a dream your brain is having
while your body reboots in the middle of the night.
Either way…
“This… is Between the Dials.”
I'm your host Steven Carter, here…
we tune into the forgotten frequencies—
The ones that hum under memory.
The ones that buzz beneath your skin.
The ones that never came in quite right,
but still said something anyway.
Every episode, we drift through seven segments.
Seven signals, if you will.
Some true. Some half-true.
Some... transmissions from places we’re still trying to name.
Tonight’s signal?
Signals Crossed.
The conversations that never made it through.
The messages that got scrambled on the way out.
The gut feelings we ignored.
The static between what we said and what we meant.
Because sometimes, the wires don’t just get tangled.
They fray.
They short.
And somehow…
they still send something.
So go ahead—
Adjust your dial.
Lean in close.
We’re starting the transmission now.
This is “Between the Dials”.
🎛️ SEGMENT 2: Static & Sentiment
📼 Segment 2 Intro
(Narration before pressing play)
[Background: low electrical hum, like old studio wiring.]
You’re listening to Between the Dials.
Some signals arrive in real time—fresh, electric, unfinished.
Others…are older.
They sit in boxes you never meant to open,
tapes you promised yourself you’d throw away.
You hear them calling anyway.
[Small breath, a little tension.]
This tape here? It's nothing, ignore it.
Oh, I know what you’re thinking.
You don’t think I’m brave enough to press play.
Yes.
That’s exactly what I heard.
Prove it, you say.
Fine.
I’m sorry, dear listener, but since you’re still here—
let’s listen together, shall we?
[Short pause—like your hand hovers over the button.]
[Button sound—soft, mechanical click.]
📼 Tape Monologue (on the recording)
[Background: soft tape hiss, faint pulsing tone like distant Morse code.]
They say sometimes a voice will call you when you’re too tired to argue.
Not a voice you hear with your ears—
but a voice that curls itself around the back of your skull,
soft as smoke,
patient as winter.
It tells you:
Get up. Leave. Follow me.
And sometimes, that voice is a warning.
Sometimes, it’s your own intuition trying to pry you out of a life that will end you by degrees.
But sometimes—
[Pause. The tape crackles.]
Sometimes, the voice is lying.
I’ve been called.
Twice, to the ministry.
Twice, by something that sounded so certain it felt holy.
It offered me a new name, a new story, a new place to stand and tell people the world was bigger than they could ever imagine.
I almost listened.
I had scholarships.
Jobs lined up.
An entire future, sketched out in confident black ink.
But the woman I was married to then
—The Harpy—
She didn’t believe the signal was real.
She called it a fantasy.
A fever.
A weakness.
And it turned out—she was half right.
That voice wanted to save me from her.
But it also wanted to claim me for itself.
I stayed.
And I watched the mask slip off the face I thought I loved.
I watched the claws come out.
And I learned something I’ve never forgotten:
Even the purest signal has static.
Even a warning can be just another kind of trap.
Be careful which frequencies you follow.
Some of them only sound like salvation.
[Soft breath. Just the hiss of the tape.]
That moment?
It still crackles under the surface.
[Tape click—soft, mechanical, final.]
🎙️ Live Narration (your voice, present moment)
[Background: the faint hum of your studio returns.]
You know, listener—
That moment?
It still…
crackles under the surface.
🎧 Sponsored Message — Cloud9 Therapy Hoodie
[Background: soft, warped elevator music.]
Tonight’s broadcast is brought to you by Cloud9 Therapy Hoodies.
For those nights when the world is a little too loud—
when your thoughts scatter like crows,
when every flicker of neon feels like a warning you can’t read—
Cloud9 is here.
Slip the hood over your head.
Feel the weighted softness settle across your shoulders—
like the gentle hand of something that remembers every time you were safe.
In each cuff, you’ll find a hidden stress relief core.
Turn it in your fingers when your heart won’t slow down.
Squeeze it when you need a reminder that you’re still here.
They say the Cloud9 Hoodie was designed for focus, for calm, for easing the static that lives under your skin.
They don’t say why, sometimes, when you pull it tight around you,
you’ll hear the hush whisper your name.
Or why, if you listen closely enough,
it sounds like someone—
or something—
is whispering back.
Cloud9 Therapy Hoodies.
Find your quiet.
Just…make sure it lets you go when you’re ready.
🎛️ SEGMENT 3: CORNFED FREQUENCIES – THE PHANTOM BROADCAST
[Background: faint hum of old studio wiring returns.]
That tape we just listened to—it reminds me of another story I heard. Not firsthand…but from someone who sounded like they were trying to convince themselves it hadn’t really happened.
They never quite managed.
This is what they told me:
It started the way these things usually do— with something ordinary, so small it hardly felt worth mentioning.
A rummage sale at the American Legion lodge in a town too small to keep secrets. Tables of old hymnals, mason jars, a pile of CB radios stacked in a cardboard box.
He bought one for five dollars—just to see if it would pick up the weather reports.
It wasn’t until he carried it home that he noticed the brass nameplate. The name belonged to the town founder’s son— the one who flew a B-24 over Europe and never made it back.
Some people said he left behind a daughter he never met. Some said he left behind a woman he meant to marry. The stories never agreed.
They only agreed on one thing: he never came home.
[Pause—let the static deepen slightly.]
Years later, when the old farm started coming back to life—when the fields were green again and someone finally believed in the land—the radio began to speak.
At first, it was just static. Then—coordinates. Always the same grid, repeated over and over. Then—the voice.
Calm. Tired. Asking for confirmation no one could give.
Some nights, when he answered— the fields seemed to grow taller overnight. The animals were healthy. The well was clean.
Other nights, when he unplugged the radio, when he tried to ignore the signal— things rotted. The soil soured. People went missing.
Neighbors said it was just a story. Something to scare children away from the farm.
But I heard the recordings. And I’ve read the logbooks—pages and pages of dates, times, frequencies.
I don’t know if it was really him. Or if it was something older, pretending to be a tired young man trying to come home.
But I know this:
When the radio was turned on, he thought he was helping. He sounded so sure that he could finally finish the mission. That if he could just guide someone to the coordinates, everything would be all right.
He never seemed to realize— the people listening didn’t always come back.
Some signals only sound like salvation. Some are just invitations you don’t survive.
[Short pause. Static softens.]
If you’ve ever followed a broadcast you couldn’t explain— if you’ve heard a voice that wouldn’t let you go— you’re not alone.
Send us your story. Tell us where you were, what you heard, and what you did next.
We’ll be listening.
🎛️ SEGMENT 4: LOW VOLUME, BIG FEELINGS
Welcome to Low Volume, Big Feelings.
If you've made it this far, I’m so glad you’re still with us, FRIEND.
Humpf...Friend, such a funny, meaningful/meaningless word, isn’t it? How fast someone can become a friend.
We have friends for all sorts of things—and for all sorts of seasons.
A neighbor you always wave to. A coworker you confide in. That stranger on an overnight train you told your whole life story to.
If communication is signals… and relationships are just the way we receive—or miss—those signals…
Then maybe friendship isn’t about how clearly we come through.
Maybe it’s about how often we try.
Who we tune in for.
Who we wait for.
Who we still hear, even in the static.
[Beat.]
Think about it.
What makes someone your *best* friend? Your BFF?
My wife Angie—she’s mine.
I have other best friends too.
One I’ve known since high school—we’ve taken turns carrying each other on our backs, literally and figuratively.
Another I rarely get to see, but when we do reconnect, we talk for hours like it’s only been days.
But Angie? She’s the one who sifts through the static—even when it’s harsh or hard—and brings everything back into focus.
She tunes in every day.
And I do the same. Not out of obligation—but because she’s the one I wake up wanting to listen to.
Laugh with. Cry with. Decode life with.
Sometimes we misinterpret each other’s signals. Of course we do.
But that’s the kind of friendship that’s worth it.
Because we try to hear the fragments.
We help each other tune in—even when the station’s fuzzy.
So, who do *you* wake up every day wanting to hear?
You may have found your BFF.
Your signal operator.
Your static interpreter.
🎙️ Ad 2: SpectraTone Cassette Service
(Plausibly real, analog nostalgia)
🎧 SpectraTone Cassette Service
[Background: warm hiss of an old tape deck, the soft click of a reel turning.]
Tonight’s broadcast is brought to you by SpectraTone Cassette Service.
Maybe you have a box of old recordings—
the ones you promised yourself you’d digitize someday.
Family messages.
Mixtapes that don’t play anymore.
Or something…you’re not sure you ever recorded.
SpectraTone transfers your memories to high-fidelity cassette—
preserving every crackle, every echo, every hesitation you thought you’d outgrown.
Some customers say the tapes come back clearer than they remember.
Others say they hear voices they don’t recognize.
SpectraTone doesn’t guarantee what you’ll hear.
Only that it will be yours.
Call 1-877-SPECTRATONE to request your free preservation kit.
Because some signals are too important to erase.
🎛️ SEGMENT 5: ONLY MOSTLY AIR —
“If You Disappear When I Look Away”
🎙️ Segment 5 – Only Mostly Air
Title: “If You Disappear When I Look Away”
Theme: Object permanence, hyperfocus, and emotional memory in AuDHD minds
Sound design: Warm vinyl hiss, faint clock ticking, intermittent page turns, whispered delivery, soft mic brushing
[Soft inhale. Whispered, near-mic.]
Knock knock.
[🔊 Two gentle wooden taps]
Who’s there?
Is it you?
Are you someone I haven’t talked to in a while?
[🔊 Soft creak, like an old peephole cover sliding open]
Your face looks familiar.
Or maybe I know exactly who you are.
Or… maybe both.
Maybe neither.
Either way—
come on in.
Take your seat.
It’s time for… Only Mostly Air.
[🔊 Brush of fabric, mic rustle, a vinyl crackle loop begins faintly beneath.]
Only Mostly Air is where we hold the quiet thoughts.
The ones that stick.
The ones that hum beneath the noise.
And tonight, I want to ask a question:
Do you disappear when I look away?
Short answer?
Sometimes—yes.
Sometimes… I forget people exist
unless they’re right in front of me.
Not because I stopped caring.
Not because I don’t love them.
But because my brain is full of doorways—
and when I step through one,
the last room vanishes.
It’s not on purpose.
It’s not neglect.
It’s not a flaw.
It’s just the shape of my attention.
The way the signal fades when I move too far from the tower.
[🔊 Clock tick. Pause.]
I wonder,
if you wonder—
As I wonder,
What does that do to love?
To friendship?
To memory?
If I don’t reply—
if I never text back—
if I forget to reach out…
Did I make you disappear?
And if you don’t check in—
if you stop waving across the void—
Will I lose you completely?
That’s the fear, isn’t it?
That we’re all just… signal.
That what we feel is only real
if someone else is there to see it,
to remind us,
to reflect it back.
The signal is only real
if someone’s there to receive it.
[🔊 Page turn. Vinyl hiss rises slightly.]
This, my fellow neurodivergent travelers—
and you listening who don’t have a label,
a map, a word for it yet—
This is object permanence.
And like most things,
I can only reflect through my lens.
Let me show you.
You found this station.
You’re here, now, listening to 77.7FM.
You may not have meant to…
But something kept you here.
Maybe it wasn’t what you meant to listen to—
But it felt familiar.
Or strange in a way that felt important.
This is what it’s like for me
to find the right words.
To remember.
To re-tune the frequency of a person, or moment, or memory.
🎧 [Sound: A low, ghostly dial scan—radio fuzz washes in for a moment.]
Sometimes, when I change the station,
I land on something so perfect,
I sound like the genius I am.
Other times—
it’s just static.
And I can’t bring it back.
🎧 [Background: Soft swell of hum + heartbeat-like pulse (very low/subtle).]
Now here’s the flipside.
Total sense recall.
When I tune in?
Sometimes it’s like reliving the creation of the broadcast.
It’s the closest thing to time travel I know.
The fear.
The joy.
The ache in your chest before the dive.
It happens suddenly—
A voice,
A texture,
A fear that smells familiar—
And I’m back.
Stuck there.
Until the memory lets go of me.
🎧 [Sound: Faint breath. Turn of a dial. Click.]
Rule number two?
Hyperfocus.
If you pair that with object permanence,
I can give 100% of myself
to what’s in front of me.
Proficient faster.
Mastery comes easier.
Because I don’t hear the other stations trying to get in.
I’m not distracted
by sadness that’s scheduled by calendar invites.
Loss doesn’t strike me
because a date says it’s time to grieve again.
Most things I’ve wanted to say—
I’ve either said them,
or decided they weren’t worth saying
at the time they mattered most.
And if something was left unsaid?
I know myself well enough to know
that eventually,
the person, the moment…
will disappear.
And I will regret nothing.
🎧 [Sound: Clock tick. Warm tape hiss.]
[🔊 A small breath. Vinyl hiss dims just a bit.]
Here’s what I’ve learned:
Love that matters leaves fingerprints.
If we haven’t spoken in a long time,
please know…
I haven’t forgotten you.
You’re filed in a cabinet my brain sometimes forgets how to open.
But when it does—
you come out whole.
There’s no expiration on the signal.
It just takes a while to tune in.
So to the friends I don’t see often—
the ones who reappear like constellations I forgot to trace—
you’re still part of the sky.
To my wife, Angie—
you are the one who sifts through the static.
Even when the signal gets sharp or strange.
You help bring it back into focus.
You tune in every day.
Not out of obligation—
but because you want to hear me.
And I tune in for you.
Because you are the only station
that still makes static sound like music.
[🔊 Soft brush. Clock tick.]
So, listener, stranger, friend…
Who do you wake up wanting to hear?
Who brings you back to yourself
when you forget how to transmit?
Who is your frequency?
Your operator?
Your echo in the void?
If you find them—
hold on tight.
Even when they disappear…
they might still be there.
Even when they forget to say it out loud—
they still care.
You are more than memory.
You are more than the silence between visits.
You are…
[🔊slow breath. Vinyl hiss]
More than…
[🔊slow breath. Vinyl hiss]
only mostly air.
[🔊 One last slow breath. Vinyl hiss fades out.]
🎙️ Segment 6 – Ghost in the Feed
🕰️ A Periodical Ponderance
🎧 Theme: Digital echoes, emotional data trails, and the haunted nature of memory online.
📻 Soundbed: Low ambient synths, faint typing/tape rewind clicks, warm analog hiss, a light vinyl crackle loop during narration, occasional notification blips.
Anchor Story: “Mystery Voicemail” – Reddit, r/Glitch_in_the_Matrix
🎙️ Transition from Segment 5
[Background: warm hum returns, layered with faint keyboard clicks and soft tape static.]
You’ve been listening to Between the Dials.
And if you’re still here after all that whispering and soul-baring… Thank you. Really.
That segment always leaves me a little wobbly in the knees.
But I promise—our next frequency is lighter.
Well… lighter-ish.
Let’s call it palatably eerie.
Because sometimes the past doesn’t show up in your dreams or memories.
Sometimes, it shows up in your notifications.
A voicemail from a number that shouldn’t exist.
THEIR song showing up on your playlist—months after the breakup.
A draft email you never sent… that keeps saving itself.
Digital ghosts.
They don’t rattle chains.
They just… ping.
Welcome to…. Ghost in the Feed. [Fire crackles]
A little bit of hauntology, a little bit of internet weirdness,
and a reminder that even deleted data can have a Second-life.
🎧 [Background: Light static bed, faint retro notification sounds, like SMS pings passed through an old cathode tube.]
Narration:
Ghost in the Feed is our Periodical Ponderance
The place where I chase down the weird, wild, wonderings of the www.
Things you didn’t mean to save.
Stories that stayed behind.
… from a haunted inbox.
I found this fun little periodical, you may have heard of it.
Reddit,
I thought I would take tonight's story from there.
If you heard of Reddit, you know that it has all sorts of categories for the reader-contributors to choose from
Our story comes from r/Glitch_in_the_Matrix,
And it starts, as all good signal anomalies do, with a voicemail.
🎧 [Background shifts to lo-fi dial tone, light vinyl crackle.]
Narration (soft, present):
User u/Dull-Yesterday2655 wrote:
“This occurred about three years ago.
I had a position as a buyer, and as such would receive tons of cold calls and emails from people trying to get our company to try their products for resale.
Also important- our company had a digital (voip? Not sure of the correct terminology) phone system. There was one central number and it followed a phone tree to multiple offices via internet connection. Voicemails were available on our big office phones, but the recording would also be sent to our emails.
So one day I received a voicemail from a phone number I recognized as someone who had been attempting to get ahold of me to sell me their products. Oddly, the voicemail was something like 15 minutes long. Curious, I began to listen to it. The message begins with just static, and the sound of rustling.
Seems like a classic butt dial or maybe they forgot to hang up when the voicemail clicked on. I fast forwarded the message just to see if anything was ever heard and- yes!
Suddenly a clear voice.
They’re having a one-sided conversation.
I think ooh, these can be fun sometimes.
Except, the one sided conversation is CLEARLY with me.
The person on the phone is referencing my (then recent) maternity leave.
Our company by name.
A few other pretty identifying details that currently escape me.
They’d stop speaking and it would be blank air, and then answer a pertinent question that I would have asked in that kind of a conversation.
Clearly speaking to ME, but… I NEVER spoke to this company or this person.
I did receive additional emails from them later that were clearly initial attempts at communication, and not a follow up to a conversation. I checked with coworkers in case somehow, somewhere, their conversation got picked up in my voicemail, and nope.
My coworkers and husband were equally confounded, but with zero explanation we just all had to move on.”
🎧 [Brief pause. Soft breath. Static flicker.]
Narration:
I mean NO ONE knew where that VM came from, not a single idea. That’s what gets me, what dimension did that call happen in and why did they have to hear it? Why did it bleed over, am I right?
The top comment by user u/ KILLALLEXTREMISTS wrote their own experience of touching another dimension:
“I had a similar glitch about 25 years ago. I'll just copy and paste the story I posted a long time ago:
I've related this story before but here goes.
The parallel universe answering machine:
This happened about 25 years ago. I called my friend up and he wasn't home so I left a message on his answering machine. I said, "Hey, it's me KILLALLEXTREMISTS. Sorry I missed you, call you later. Bye." And then I hung up and left the house.
I made no other calls. Later that day he called back and he says, "Wow, that was quite a message you left. Who was that girl you were talking to?"
I was like, "What are you talking about? I wasn't talking to any girl!"
Well, as it turns out the message didn't end after I said "Bye". I had to go over to his house and listen to this message a few times. After my initial message that I did leave (as quoted above) there was a slight pause and then it continued on for another 30-40 seconds or so with me talking to some girl. It was my voice, but a conversation I never had with a girl whose voice I didn't recognize. You could compare it to the message I know I did leave and the two voices were indistinguishable. Not just the voice but, you know, talking mannerisms. It was my voice. Also, references to my occupation and activities were the same.
Basically, in this conversation I was talking to this girl about going skiing, but I had to go down to my shop and work on a car first, which totally correlated to me. Then the message just stopped. It was recorded on one of those digital answering machines that recorded the message to a chip so there was no tape I could have taken and had analyzed, unfortunately. Also, neither I nor my friend had party lines so that's not an explanation. It was very freaky, I can't explain it.
TL;DR: I may have connected to an alternate universe through a telephone answering machine.
user, u/snackbarqueen47 said to that post:
“I remember reading this when you first posted it ! It was freaky then and it's still freaky now lol 😂😆”
Me: I would have to agree it would have been freaky had I read it then and it is freaky reading it now.
Another user [not saying name- Idontgiveafuckoff] stated
“This upset my soul”
Me: I mean, it doesn’t hurt my soul, but it makes me envious that this user got to touch another dimension through analog means, it wasn’t even interwebs related, how cool is that.
Kinda makes me jealous, just a little, ok a lot, lol
It also makes me think of the Mandela Effect (deep dive in the future, but for now google if you have no idea what I am talking about).
🎧 [Pause. Lighter tone. Distant hiss. Clock tick.]
You see, getting to see a glimpse of the self that is so close to the present, but different, doesn’t have to be scary. It can be a gift, you get to glimpse what is different. Getting to experience that with others keeps you from sounding nuts, unless they suddenly have no idea what you're talking about - again google Mandela Effect.
In the end
The Static,
clings…
because we carry charge.
And that’s proof we’re still alive.
🎧 [Soft signal tone. Outro track begins rising.]
🎙️ Ad 3: Batch THC & CBD Drops
(Real product, grounding, warm but with a gentle uncanny twist)
🎧 Batch THC & CBD Drops
[Background: soft ambient hum, like a calm night wind.]
This episode is also sponsored by Batch—Wisconsin-made Hemp products.
For the nights when the static in your head won’t quiet down,
when your thoughts loop like an old tape stuck on the same question—
BATCH Dream Tincture is here.
Its Crafted in small batches, combining carefully measured ingredients—
to help you rest, reset, and tune in to your natural sleep cycle - not force you into sedation.
A drop under your tongue can help soften the volume.
A second drop can help you remember that you’re still here.
Some people say Batch feels like being wrapped in a weighted blanket.
Others say it feels like a memory of safety you can’t quite place.
Batch Dream Tincture.
Find your quiet frequency.
[Soft exhale. The hum fades.]
🎙️ Segment 7 – Under the Static
🌀 Outro / Sign-off Segment for Episode 1: “Signals Crossed”
🎧 Tone: Reflective, atmospheric, slightly eerie but comforting — like hearing a familiar voice through a little bit of static.
🎙️ Under the Static
[🔊 Background: Warm tape hiss, soft radio hum, the faint buzz of a tube cooling down.]
[🔊 Final radio on/off click. Signal fades out.]