Kyle Bradley
@manontheradio.bsky.social
When shadows talk and static overwhelms, I’ll be there. (OCRP, 27yo, No Minors or Taboo)
There wasn’t a good outcome from our talk. He spoke only of spectres and vengeance and didn’t at all discuss his past. He claimed he needed help and I refused to give it to him. When I heard his home was razed by flames, I wasn’t surprised. The smouldering remains told no tales.
October 29, 2025 at 12:58 AM
There wasn’t a good outcome from our talk. He spoke only of spectres and vengeance and didn’t at all discuss his past. He claimed he needed help and I refused to give it to him. When I heard his home was razed by flames, I wasn’t surprised. The smouldering remains told no tales.
Each empty home is a trophy. I watch as the lights inside flicker and the doors slam shut, as if the slightest disturbance could disrupt the nothingness that’s taken over. There is nobody to ask what happened. They’ve all gone. The silence is their testimony, witness and all.
October 27, 2025 at 11:49 AM
Each empty home is a trophy. I watch as the lights inside flicker and the doors slam shut, as if the slightest disturbance could disrupt the nothingness that’s taken over. There is nobody to ask what happened. They’ve all gone. The silence is their testimony, witness and all.
He gives them the same name and says they are always men with guns and badges. The name sticks and rings again and again as the men with guns and badges swarm another poor town or deserted midnight motel. He tells me he wants answers and shows me his stained red fingernails.
October 27, 2025 at 2:43 AM
He gives them the same name and says they are always men with guns and badges. The name sticks and rings again and again as the men with guns and badges swarm another poor town or deserted midnight motel. He tells me he wants answers and shows me his stained red fingernails.
It tells me that there is still much work to be done, and I believe it. I watch as it unfurls before me in a manner my pen and paper are inadequate to describe. There is another world under the surface, it says, and I must let it out. My hands shake with every word I transcribe. My mouth is dry.
June 21, 2025 at 12:26 AM
It tells me that there is still much work to be done, and I believe it. I watch as it unfurls before me in a manner my pen and paper are inadequate to describe. There is another world under the surface, it says, and I must let it out. My hands shake with every word I transcribe. My mouth is dry.
They come here most days hoping to catch another glimpse of the creature. They say it promised to return but all I see is a salty haze hanging above an unforgiving sea. They stand here alone in the bitter cold spray thinking they are remembered and that a promise will be kept. All I see is grey.
April 5, 2025 at 4:48 PM
They come here most days hoping to catch another glimpse of the creature. They say it promised to return but all I see is a salty haze hanging above an unforgiving sea. They stand here alone in the bitter cold spray thinking they are remembered and that a promise will be kept. All I see is grey.
They tell me I’m closer than I think. To me it’s still all smoke but they carry on. Says to look at the why and not the who or how. I clock a certain education to their drawl. Something about their choice of words makes me nervous. Checking in reflections for secret stalkers. Watching from windows…
April 5, 2025 at 12:54 AM
They tell me I’m closer than I think. To me it’s still all smoke but they carry on. Says to look at the why and not the who or how. I clock a certain education to their drawl. Something about their choice of words makes me nervous. Checking in reflections for secret stalkers. Watching from windows…
I come back to the trees once in a while to revisit the sight of the vanishing. From the corner of my eye the mind plays tricks. My editor enjoys this story as it’s cheap to rent a car and cheaper to stay in a motel nearby. I like this story because it never ends. They don’t return.
April 4, 2025 at 2:28 PM
I come back to the trees once in a while to revisit the sight of the vanishing. From the corner of my eye the mind plays tricks. My editor enjoys this story as it’s cheap to rent a car and cheaper to stay in a motel nearby. I like this story because it never ends. They don’t return.
He asked me if I’m good at keeping secrets. I said I am. She said he’s been here with me dozens of times before as if repeating the same meeting over and over again. I have no memory of this. He says he’s tired. He says he’s scared. He says when I leave I always come right back. I tell him I’ll stay
April 3, 2025 at 11:39 PM
He asked me if I’m good at keeping secrets. I said I am. She said he’s been here with me dozens of times before as if repeating the same meeting over and over again. I have no memory of this. He says he’s tired. He says he’s scared. He says when I leave I always come right back. I tell him I’ll stay
He tells me the ship is sinking. I ask whether that’s a metaphor or literal. He laughs at me and apologises. It’s true, he says, before adjusting his tie. His eyes remain fixed on the sky scanning for imaginary invaders. At the end of the day, he says, it’s always business.
I can’t help but agree.
I can’t help but agree.
April 2, 2025 at 6:32 PM
He tells me the ship is sinking. I ask whether that’s a metaphor or literal. He laughs at me and apologises. It’s true, he says, before adjusting his tie. His eyes remain fixed on the sky scanning for imaginary invaders. At the end of the day, he says, it’s always business.
I can’t help but agree.
I can’t help but agree.
We’d crossed some invisible border and ended up in the so called “God’s Country”. Every radio station threatened us with damnation if we didn’t donate, and I watched my drivers incredulous reactions to each Hallelujah. I watched the crosses by the roadside grow in number.
April 1, 2025 at 10:09 PM
We’d crossed some invisible border and ended up in the so called “God’s Country”. Every radio station threatened us with damnation if we didn’t donate, and I watched my drivers incredulous reactions to each Hallelujah. I watched the crosses by the roadside grow in number.
What are you looking for, I ask. They don’t reply, letting the static do the talking. Maybe they have a point. Sometimes looking for shapes in the shadows is more fulfilling than asking questions. In the starlight there looks to be an immeasurable amount of life. They watch me.
March 27, 2025 at 1:36 AM
What are you looking for, I ask. They don’t reply, letting the static do the talking. Maybe they have a point. Sometimes looking for shapes in the shadows is more fulfilling than asking questions. In the starlight there looks to be an immeasurable amount of life. They watch me.
I tell him the image is old fashioned and people don’t employ travelling salesmen anymore. He tells me that’s the point and suspicion is key. As he hunts in the night he wants to be noticed and to stand out. He wants the reports to feature his description. He enjoys the fear. He needs the attention.
March 20, 2025 at 11:11 PM
I tell him the image is old fashioned and people don’t employ travelling salesmen anymore. He tells me that’s the point and suspicion is key. As he hunts in the night he wants to be noticed and to stand out. He wants the reports to feature his description. He enjoys the fear. He needs the attention.
The idea of “Lost Cosmonauts” was absurd and I refused to engage any further with the subject. Their voice screamed down the phone line that I was just like the rest. Between ominous static crackles and prolonged electronic beeps they begged me for more time. The silence howled into the black night.
March 20, 2025 at 4:52 PM
The idea of “Lost Cosmonauts” was absurd and I refused to engage any further with the subject. Their voice screamed down the phone line that I was just like the rest. Between ominous static crackles and prolonged electronic beeps they begged me for more time. The silence howled into the black night.
There’s satisfaction in a well organised corkboard, despite the string burns on my fingers. Everything is connected through those threads as they weave and intersect, and once a name becomes seared on my mind I cannot let go. The name repeats and surfaces in abundance. I wait. The story waits too.
March 14, 2025 at 4:07 PM
There’s satisfaction in a well organised corkboard, despite the string burns on my fingers. Everything is connected through those threads as they weave and intersect, and once a name becomes seared on my mind I cannot let go. The name repeats and surfaces in abundance. I wait. The story waits too.
There are remnants everywhere.
I look at otherwise mundane scenes and think to myself: “this is the last thing they saw”.
These creatures don’t care for subtlety or emotion. When they see a victim, they strike. They focus only on their end goal of consumption, domination.
They leave only ashes.
I look at otherwise mundane scenes and think to myself: “this is the last thing they saw”.
These creatures don’t care for subtlety or emotion. When they see a victim, they strike. They focus only on their end goal of consumption, domination.
They leave only ashes.
February 21, 2025 at 4:36 PM
There are remnants everywhere.
I look at otherwise mundane scenes and think to myself: “this is the last thing they saw”.
These creatures don’t care for subtlety or emotion. When they see a victim, they strike. They focus only on their end goal of consumption, domination.
They leave only ashes.
I look at otherwise mundane scenes and think to myself: “this is the last thing they saw”.
These creatures don’t care for subtlety or emotion. When they see a victim, they strike. They focus only on their end goal of consumption, domination.
They leave only ashes.
In a sane world, right would counter wrong and justice would prevail. The agent tells me in no uncertain terms that this is not a sane world. He tells me of crippling anxiety whenever the phone rings, convinced the cold cases and John Doe’s will call him in the night. I nod.
February 11, 2025 at 1:20 AM
In a sane world, right would counter wrong and justice would prevail. The agent tells me in no uncertain terms that this is not a sane world. He tells me of crippling anxiety whenever the phone rings, convinced the cold cases and John Doe’s will call him in the night. I nod.
My editor tells me to celebrate this number, quite why I am not sure. However I must thank my intrepid readers for giving the privilege of such an important number.
February 9, 2025 at 1:49 AM
My editor tells me to celebrate this number, quite why I am not sure. However I must thank my intrepid readers for giving the privilege of such an important number.
There’s something in the hallways. I return to the apparently empty building each day to find doors opened, furniture scattered. Security tells me there are no other visitors. So it stays here lives here, makes a home here amongst the rust and decay. I pray our paths never cross.
February 9, 2025 at 1:46 AM
There’s something in the hallways. I return to the apparently empty building each day to find doors opened, furniture scattered. Security tells me there are no other visitors. So it stays here lives here, makes a home here amongst the rust and decay. I pray our paths never cross.
He talks of a man who fell to earth. He’s insistent that it could be a woman and I don’t challenge him on it. He talks of metal suits and gas masks of the smell of bleach. He talks of love. I can’t get him to shut up about love. Yet he persists. He only stops when I ask his name. He has forgotten.
February 7, 2025 at 3:16 PM
He talks of a man who fell to earth. He’s insistent that it could be a woman and I don’t challenge him on it. He talks of metal suits and gas masks of the smell of bleach. He talks of love. I can’t get him to shut up about love. Yet he persists. He only stops when I ask his name. He has forgotten.
They found him by the beach. I managed to see him before they dragged his body into the sea. He had such a look of peace on his face. I covered my ears as those siren calls rendered him obsolete. His carcass is likely being shared by them now, with smooth skin and sharp teeth. They’re getting bold.
February 6, 2025 at 10:49 PM
They found him by the beach. I managed to see him before they dragged his body into the sea. He had such a look of peace on his face. I covered my ears as those siren calls rendered him obsolete. His carcass is likely being shared by them now, with smooth skin and sharp teeth. They’re getting bold.
I’m certain the call came from a pay-phone as I could hear the rain scattering in the background. She said she had no time. She told me names I can’t remember. She said we’d met before but I wouldn’t know. She said we’d meet again where the trees cleared.
Click.
Click.
Dial tone.
Click.
Click.
Dial tone.
February 6, 2025 at 4:50 PM
I’m certain the call came from a pay-phone as I could hear the rain scattering in the background. She said she had no time. She told me names I can’t remember. She said we’d met before but I wouldn’t know. She said we’d meet again where the trees cleared.
Click.
Click.
Dial tone.
Click.
Click.
Dial tone.
The arrogant strut of these lords of the coal face, kings of the underworld. I asked the miners about the stories of singing deep below the earth. Of grimy hands clawing at them, dragging them into a lethal embrace. Creatures far below beckoning them. They walk away, blank eyed, trudging into death.
February 6, 2025 at 2:16 PM
The arrogant strut of these lords of the coal face, kings of the underworld. I asked the miners about the stories of singing deep below the earth. Of grimy hands clawing at them, dragging them into a lethal embrace. Creatures far below beckoning them. They walk away, blank eyed, trudging into death.
I try to keep my notes handwritten. I can reflect on the specifics of my handwriting to detect my emotions during a particular interview.
This part means I was scared.
This part means I was afraid.
This part means I was staring at the door and wondering how to escape.
This part means I was scared.
This part means I was afraid.
This part means I was staring at the door and wondering how to escape.
February 6, 2025 at 9:31 AM
I try to keep my notes handwritten. I can reflect on the specifics of my handwriting to detect my emotions during a particular interview.
This part means I was scared.
This part means I was afraid.
This part means I was staring at the door and wondering how to escape.
This part means I was scared.
This part means I was afraid.
This part means I was staring at the door and wondering how to escape.
A while ago I couldn’t stand the city, now I can’t get enough of it. I barely watch TV and just stare out from the balcony. An infinite number of creatures and gods with stories to tell and lives to change lie just beyond the bricks and mortar. I’ll tell them all some day.
February 6, 2025 at 1:47 AM
A while ago I couldn’t stand the city, now I can’t get enough of it. I barely watch TV and just stare out from the balcony. An infinite number of creatures and gods with stories to tell and lives to change lie just beyond the bricks and mortar. I’ll tell them all some day.
I trudge back and forth between my apartment and my office. Every day the distance seems longer. I’m prepared for relentless arguments with the editor and the interminable silence of my home.
Only the crackle of static from the radio brings peace. Something to talk to, always.
Only the crackle of static from the radio brings peace. Something to talk to, always.
February 6, 2025 at 1:17 AM
I trudge back and forth between my apartment and my office. Every day the distance seems longer. I’m prepared for relentless arguments with the editor and the interminable silence of my home.
Only the crackle of static from the radio brings peace. Something to talk to, always.
Only the crackle of static from the radio brings peace. Something to talk to, always.