It sure seems like this pandemic has been dragging on so much longer than any
of us could have ever anticipated. Kind of like the production of this series.
Well, hey, we've had a lot of upheaval and uncomfortable adjustments to
manage our way through, just like the rest of the world. But we're
still here, damn it, and so are you. So that is something
we can all be proud of. For the final installment of our nineteen eighteen
twenty twenty series, we offer a wistful, romantic, and delightfully creepy story
penned by our dear and multi talented friend Tim MacArthur in his first audio play
as part of our FMT Writer's Cabal. Perhaps it's not too much of a
stretch to imagine a lonely wind that carries an airborne pestilence searching for a host
upon which to feed. Where might such a wind carry us, who does
it interact with? What story would it tell us? And what might that
story tell us about ourselves? Are you prepared to make such a discovery?
If you're strained to listen to the sound of that wind, you may hear
the muted cries of some long forgotten ghosts A Hello, dear readers, It's
me C. WC. Wolsey. You're calm in the storm. You're canary
in the coal mine, your voice of reason, ready to vaccinate the virus
of pandemic panic. I am proud to pen this weekly editorial as presented by
the New York Gazette Bo's Tribune, Globe America's finest historically accurate periodical paper.
I call this column the pandemic log or plog, where an I CWC.
Wolsey, we'll deliver you dipstricks and sound advice to thrive in these trying times,
now that the Spanish flu or, as I like to call it,
the pie of pukes, has forced us all to stay inside. Have you
found your inner cuckoo clock chiming a few too many times upon the hour?
You know, when you contract a case of the crazies and your eyeballs spin
around in different directions. There you are wandering around the park, barefooted,
with BedHead in your bedroom attire, asking strangers have you seen my mommy?
What day is it? Do you know that I write a popular weekly editorial
column. Of course you have. We all have, all of us,
every single one of us. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's simply
a sign that you need to be taking better care of yourself because you are
a queen. Indulge in those guilty pleasures. It's okay to bind. Listen
to as many photographs as you like, burn your candles down to the wick,
curl up with some of your favorite trashy novels, like a little Abraham
Stoker or Arthur Conan Doyle. My wife loves to read the Real Housewives of
England, the Bronte Saysts, or if you are quarantine alone, perhaps something
a little more salacious. Turn down your lamps, ladies, and allow me
to read you a passage from one of my favorites, well, my wife's
favorites. Amanda slowly peeled away the many layers of her frothy crindolins, revealing
the precipice, the naked arch of her snow white ankle. Oh, a
lovely thought, Jonathan. As the evening of courtship came to an abrupt end,
I'm c WC walzy, and this has been another entry into the pandemic
log. I could see you, babe, but you're frozen and I can't
hear you. Wait let me try in the kitchen any better? Yes,
there you go. Can you hear me now? Hello? I can hear
you. I swear. The reception in this house is shocking. They never
told me that when I bought it. I did. We also have a
really bad storm heading tonight. Not as bad as the nariss he used to
hit Boston when I was a kid, but sure strong enough to cause some
external damage. That won't help with a dodgy phone signal. I did say,
make sure you check that out before you bought the house. I know
it's old and quaint, but it's called to be functional, especially when I
come down for a weekend. Who knows when that will be after yesterday's announcement.
We just have to buy it our time. What if they said at
the er, Wow, cases are increasing really rapidly. The problem is we
don't know what we're dealing with, how we treat the patients, how it's
transmitted, what treatments are going to save lives, and what's going to kill
people. It's grim, to be honest, it isn't going to go away
in any hurry. We should have had lockdown last week. I agree,
Babe Bojo left it too long anyway, let's not talk about politics. I
am knackered. I literally have just got in. I was only supposed to
work till six. Promise me you'll make sure that you'll look after yourself.
I will try, promise. There are just so many new patients admitted every
hour. Are you have enough protection? What's it called at the moment,
Yes, don't worry. I'm following all the protocols and trying to keep safe.
I wish I was there, babe. I would give you a massive
hug. Luck at you, cutey. I can't believe all this has happened.
It's a disaster. It was never a question of if, just when
they knew a pandemic nick would happen. I mean, the last one was
over one hundred years ago. It's like San Fran waiting for the next big
one. What's the leaders with the furniture? Oh god, it's a nightmare.
It's just going on and on. I think I'll join you. Held
on, cheers, baby, cheers, miss you. So the furniture,
well, they still can't deliver it because their main driver has tested positive for
COVID and is in the hospital. Apparently he was admitted today. Don't they
have any other drivers. No, because it's a family business. They all
work and live together. It's him and his sons. They're all in isolation
now. Sorry. Who knows when I'll get all my stuff I can unpack
because I don't have any boxes too unpacked. A good job. We bought
that inflatable bit from Idea the Swedish Giants of the World. It's comfortable.
Actually, be more comfortable if you were here. I did manage to do
a little bit of painting today, that's good. I also looked at repainting
the yard fence. I thought maybe a brighter shade, a seaside color.
Well, yes, a bright color. And I tried to repair a few
of the steps on the staircase. Some of them are a little loose for
my liking, I should say, so. I near they went lying on
one of them last time I was there. I had a rummage around the
basement where I found an old armchair, so at least I have something to
sit on. It's a bit springy, but it's okay. I hate the
thought of you not having your things around you. Guess what, oh oh.
In the attic I did find something interesting. I found this box full
of some old pictures of people I presume must have lived here at some point
in the past. Also, I found some of what appeared to be love
letters. Oh have you read any of them? A few? Yes,
they are really sweet. I think they date from about nineteen seventeen to nineteen
twenty. I mean, that house is quite old. I'm not surprised you
found them. The real estate agent said that no one had lived here for
a good twenty odd years. Strange that he must do some research into the
history of the house. Ask some of the neighbors. A maturity of them
look quite ancient. I'm sure they might remember Betsy, whose two doors down
told me it's been in the same family for a long time. She remembers
playing on the porch with a young girl, Molly or something. But no
one can really remember who lived here before that, So damn they about these
letters. Yes, it's from a Miss Elizabeth Rose Mud to a Miss Mary
Jane Hubbard. They are very affectionate for ladies of that period of time.
In what way, well, their friendship seems to be a little special,
especially for at the end of the First World War, So like you know,
you and me are special. What lesbians? Well, I've only read
a few, but yes, I think they were. Oh. I do
love a good old lesbian love story. Let me get the box. The
first one I think is from July fourth, nineteen seventeen. Hold on the
front door is just blown open? Right? I think this is the first
one. My dearest Mary, It was so good to receive your last letter.
I do remember our special walk in the wood, admiring the cluster newly
formed daffodils. Then back to afternoon tea at Mothers. Our discussions of the
mutual respect and understanding we have for each other bring me great comfort and joy.
I do hope and trust that your healing hands are bringing some relief to
our soldiers fighting for us. When will this wretched war be over? So
many innocent lives lost? Take care, my love, love Elizabeth. Oh
sweet, So Mary was a nurse, was she? Yes? Isn't it
bizarre that she was a nurse and I'm a doctor. There's more, my
dear Elizabeth. Elizabeth is such an old name. Don't interrupt. Listen,
my dear Elizabeth, thank you for your last correspondence. Every time I received
a letter from you, it brings me peace and joy, even though at
times it is difficult to read them when one is surrounded by one's fellow nurses.
The hospital I am now working in is very distressing. As well as
having many soldiers injured from the war, Some soldiers are being struck down by
a new, severe and strange outbreak of pneumonia. To know that you are
safe and well brings me comfort. I hate this wretched war. It makes
me sick to the bone. Even though I am not religious, as we
have discussed confidentially on many occasions, I do find myself praying that life will
return to normal, that we can once more walk through the wood together and
to be in awe of the dazzling colors of the autumn leaves. Stay safe
and be discreet with this letter until then, my love, yours Mary,
How sweet and old fashioned. I can't even remember when we last when poor
a walk together in the wood we did when we first met, when you
were trying to woo me. Woa, what sort of word is that?
I think those letters are playing a bit too much on your mind. It's
twenty twenty, not nineteen fifteen, nineteen seventeen. Know your history, whatever
the year it is, and yes, if you want to put it like
that. I was trying to woo you and get in my niggers, to
get your niggers cheeky ah. God, the lights have gone off. Now
this place is falling apart. You did want to buy an old house?
Yes, because it has character. It certainly does like you odors from you.
Well, that's me sitting in the dark for the rest of the evening.
I wonder whether the whole street is out. Well, look, I
have to go to bed early shift tomorrow. I think I'm going to go
to bed to read these letters by the light on my phone. How romantic
they probably read their letters by candlelight. Sweet dream is my angel YouTube?
Please be careful. I will try. I don't want you catch in COVID.
Make sure you protect yourself. You know I can't promise that I have
to help. It's all hands on, dick hard on your sleeve. You.
I love you too, My dear Mary. I was so very sad
to hear about your brother's passing. I cannot imagine your distress. How sad
for your sister in law to be widowed at such a young age with a
young baby to look after. I hope you are able to help guide her
and Molly at this difficult and challenging time. Molly, Oh my, I
am sending you so much love. I wish I was near you to console
you in these extremely dark times in which we find ourselves. Hello. Hello,
I'm just going crazy find ourselves. The other day I was thinking of
you, and remember walks in the wood, drinking afternoon tea in the scent
of the bluebells, then later picking the blackberries together for mother's jam, our
fingers all stained. How I long for our old way of living. Dear
me, I dreamt of you, my love, your hair shining in the
sun's rays, the freshness of your skin, and your sweet smell of rose.
Oh, dear Mary, Mary, Mary, Hey, sorry to disrupt
you while you're trying to get your thrill on. Don't worry. We'll keep
things nice and chilly for you until we come back after these messages, Sir
Mary Macaba, thank you very much. Indeed, and now here is the
nine o'clock news from the BBC World Service. The latest coronavirus fatalities for the
UK yesterday reached an all time high of eight hundred and thirty nine. Meanwhile,
New York has emerged as the world's new COVID nineteen hotspot. Despite this,
the White House continues to deny responsibility for the severity of the pandemic and
downplays the increasing infection a fatality rate. Let me turn the radio up.
I wasn't expecting to hear from you till later. You okay? No,
I've been sent home. What I have a temperature? Do you think it's
COVID? I'm not sure. I feel dreadful. Hey, so are you
gonna be okay? Oh? I wish I was there? Should I come
to London? Very lockdown to love to travel, remember, but if you're
sick you need help. I'll be fine. We'll see. What have you
been up to? I really like your hair today. Thanks. I thought
i'd do it slightly different. The weather's been gorgeous today. I went for
a walk along the beach and found this cute little foresty wooded area. Do
you think it's a wood? With their own lesbons with their secret touch sessions?
Don't make the relationships sound so cheap. They clearly loved each other.
There is a real love and fondness in those letters. Listen to this,
my dear Mary, Today has been a Russian and a miserable day. A
storm hit the town and the rain seemed endless. I recalled a storm we
endure together as we sat in mother's drawing room making small talk before she decided
to read us her poetry. Have you read them all yet? Of course
not. I fell asleep reading some of them last night. They are strangely
comforting and bring me joy. At least they're keeping you occupied. You know,
the strangest thing happened. I was so tired last night. I went
to sleep, and then all of a sudden, around three am, I
woke up wide awake. I couldn't get back to sleep. I had this
strong urge to paint. It only took me about two hours. What's really
strange is when I finished, I had painted a forest, and it felt
like I had been there before. It's played on my mind all day because
it looked like the wooded area I found after my walk along the beach this
morning, so tranquil and peaceful. It's one of the quickest paintings I've ever
painted. As soon as I picked up the brush, I couldn't stop until
it was finished. It was like I was possessed. And then I was
so hired and went back to sleep. You have been like that before with
your painting when you get inspired. This was different. It was as though
I dreamt about it then painted Lizzie's and Mary's Secret Happy Place? Are you
creative types? Full of drama? Look? I am struggling to speak.
I'm going to have a nap. Call me if you need anything. Love
you, Yes you too? Now? Where was i? Ah, my
darling Mary? Today has been a dreadful day. The Spanish flue seems to
be running riot through our town. We have sadly lost our dear aunt Florence.
Mother is frightfully upset. They've been all your friends for many, many
years. I'm very worried and concerned for mother. She is very sprightly for
her age and lives a healthy life. But this pandemic seems to be taking
innocent souls, both young and old, healthy and unhealthy. I do apologize
for pouring out my worries to you when you have first hand experience of illness
and death. I long to see you. Not a day nor an hour
goes past that I do not recall your touch. When will we see each
other again? I yearn to look deeply into your beautiful face and your enchanting
hazel eyes. Hurry up time and bring you home to me. Fondest love,
Lizzie, My dearest Mary, What pain I am in? Try to
clean? Mother passed away yesterday. I am still an out of bewilderment and
shock. She seemed to be in the brightest of spirits after our weekly Sunday
lunch, and then by Monday morning had developed a high fever. We called
the family doctor to visit the house as mother was too weak to move.
Tuesday afternoon, her normally robust manner had become frail, and her once rosy
cheeks had turned to an unnatural blue. The house feels so big, so
empty, so quiet without her. I simply do not know what to do.
Losing mother has made me value your companionship even more. I dream more
than ever that we shall be re nighted. Take care, my beloved Lizzie.
Hello, anyone there? What is that? Hello? Is anyone there?
Hello? Hello? Okay? Oh breathe, Alex, it's probably a
mouse. Sit down, Get a grab girl. Oh m hm, My
dearest Lizzie, I am so sorry to hear about mother's housing. My heart
bleeds for you. Death is horrible. It's never a goodbye for our loved
ones. You will see her again. I am so of that, not
in this life, but in the next one. I have consulted my schedule
and spoke to my matron, and she has given me compassionate leave to return
to you. I had informed her that we were long lost sisters and had
lost touch due to our mother's alcoholism. A little indiscretion of a lie can
sometimes help one's advantage. I am coming home to you, and we shall
be reunited once more. My fondest love and my heart to you Mary.
Oh so sweet she was coming home to her to be back together. Oh
so bad, my dearest Mary. I am overjoyed that you are returning to
me. My breathing has been somewhat strange these past few days, but I
am sure all, well, that's strange. She never finished this letter.
Maybe there's another one. M No more letters the last one finished? How
sad, lazy lazy Sam? Is that you? Oh great? Not the
lights again? Where did I put the slash? My love? I am
oh? Hello, Hello anyone there? Oh? Oh Elizabeth, love Elizabeth,
my love, I am coin mad? Is someone there? Look at
your hair, my Charlie, you like it? Your eyes? I love
your eyes. Okay, this is not funny anymore. Come out and show
yourself. Stop teasing her, Mary me teasing her? Yes, so sweet,
look at her, young love, sweet young that should be ours,
Lizzie, yours and mine. No one else's my angel, just you and
me, for ever and ever. I waited as long as I could.
I know you did. I am sorry. I am here now. Thank
you for saving me, my love. No one can ever know, just
us our secret. Please please don't hurt me. Shall we yes, then
we will be reunited. Please don't don't don't. M m h m hmmm
mm hmmm. Here you are. I've been trying to reach you. That's
perfect, my angel. You okay, absolutely fine. My temperature is gone.
Temperature yes, remember I said I had a temperature. Oh. I
am sorry, my angel. I fell slightly on the stairs and banged my
head in such a frightful way. I thought you had repaired them. Are
you okay? When are you coming to me, my angel? Soon tomorrow,
before the morning. Do what you promised you would come to me.
I will. My heart yearns for you, my sweetheart. I long for
us to be together, to walk in the wood, smell the lavender,
and feel your sweet sweet smell of rose upon my cheek. Hello, dear
readers, it's me C. WC. Wolsey, helping you stay sane in
our new normal with this week's pandemic log. Now that the Spanish flu or
as I like to call it, the kaffkeystad or gold, has required us
to call off all fun, have you found your starry eyed view of starlets
starting to cloud over? Perhaps you have celebrities. They pretend to care about
the common man and his problems, Yet there they are, sitting in their
ivory towers, glotted with creature comforts, every modern luxury nineteen eighteen Life of
Hals, repeating the tired Egypt. We're all in this together. But have
you noticed the moment they are interrupted by any small inconvenience that would disrupt their
extravagant existence, they transform into petulant children. That said, these are trying
times. We are under an unusual amount of pressure to stay calm and collected.
Will we slip up? Of course, by myself if transgressed. For
example, when one of my housekeepers, Martha or something, entered my study
to deliver my afternoon aperative, not only did she play the caveat as if
it were shad Row. But she was also unable to contain her fit of
coughing and alls dropped the entire tray onto my handwoven persian rug. Can you
imagine? I released her from my services immediately and threw her out onto the
streets. Her incompetence was a stress upon my poor heart. Self care everyone,
you must take care of yourself, I digress. In conclusion, celebrities
are tone deaf, not like you, And I like how all those silent
film stars tried to sing that folk song. Believe it was tone deaf because
they had no accompanist and none of them can sing. I'm c WC excuse
me, I'm c w c Wolsey. And then this has been another entry
to the pandemic. Lord, I am sure that I'll be back next week.
Remember, we're all in big We're all in this together. No housekeeper,
mother, I think, send this article to my editor and fetch my
walking stick. I wish to go to a large political rally and perhaps an
indoor restaurant, and that was facing time. The actors featured in this episode
include Casey Leforest as Alex, Mary Murphy as Sam, Alison Gwynn as Lizzie
James Kleinman as the BBC newsreader and I played the part of Mary. Chris
Woolsey plays Seed. Wolsey and he co wrote the plogs with Liz Liser.
Facing Time was written by Tim MacArthur and directed by Me. Fireside Mystery Theater
is produced by Gustavo Rodriguez and Me for Fireside Mystery Productions. The delightful music
for this episode was composed by Nico Slater. Liz Liser is our operations guru,
Casey la Forest is our social media maven. Faith Johnson is our production
coordinator. Jason Graves composed our theme music. I manage our audio production,
post production and sound design with additional sound design by Ricardo Delgado. A tremendous
amount of work goes into creating and crafting every episode of Fireside Mystery Theater,
and no doubt, we do it because we love it. But it's the
support of our Patreon patrons that helps us to grow and to sustain those efforts.
Our patrons put the fuel in our tanks to keep our engines running.
If you are already an FMT Patreon patron, you will always be our hero
and I assure you as our hero, you will never be unsung. If
you're not yet a patron but toying with the idea, go ahead and sign
up today. It's easy and the perks are sweet. Just go to patreon
dot com slash Fireside Mystery Theater or follow the links from our website. We
have all kinds of rewards, including our latest add free episodes as a bonus
for five dollars or more per month patrons. We are immensely grateful for any
support you can give to help us keep the embers of our fireside flickering.
May you be, dear listener, forever inoculated from all the things that drive
one to mind the shadows