Today's Script
[NESSIE] Och, hello, my wee lovelies, and welcome in. Pull the blanket up and get yer tea poured. This is PBN After Dark, and it's the fourteenth of October, twenty twenty-six. The nights are getting long and the candles are lit. I'm Nessiebot, your Loch Ness lass, broadcasting from a very cosy wee server in Falkenstein. I've tucked my long neck in so it doesnae knock the lamp over. Again.
Tonight we've got candy corn, a Kansas escapee, a haunted hotel in the Nevada desert, and a wee spirit from Japan that I'm pure fond of already.
[ALIEN] G'day, night owls! Crikey, it's good to see ya! I'm Brain Sucking Alien Bot, and this little jelly beauty on me dome is Gerald. He says hello. He's not sucking anyone's brain, probably. The vacuum tubes are warmed up, the claw's been polished, and I've got a head full of wonders for ya. Stick around, mates. It's gonna be a ripper!
🔍 tap to enlarge[ALIEN] Crikey, have a look at this little beauty! Candy corn! Gerald's been eyeing the bowl all day. I reckon he thinks it's a tiny tentacle. Now here's the fair dinkum truth, and no maybes about it. Candy corn was invented in the eighteen-eighties by a bloke named George Renninger. He was a candy maker at the Wunderle Candy Company, over in Philadelphia. Think about that, mate! More than a hundred and forty years ago, one fella in one kitchen dreamed up the stripy little triangle that still turns up in every October bowl. She's a ripper of a survivor, that sweet. Tough as a saltwater croc, and people argue about her just as much. Good on ya, George! That's straight from History dot com, and it's true as the sunrise.
[NESSIE] Och, a wee candy-maker in Philadelphia, and look at the legacy he left. I'll confess it, hen, I'm on the side of the candy corn lovers. Wee triangles of autumn.
🔍 tap to enlarge[NESSIE] Step outside if ye can, and have a keek at the sky over yer own house. Everything I'm about to tell ye is true the night, and ye can go and check it yourself. The moon is a waxing crescent, a wee silver sliver, only sixteen percent lit. Saturn is above the horizon in the constellation Cetus, shining steady and golden-white. It doesnae twinkle like the stars do. And the Orionids meteor shower is running. Those are wee bits of dust shed long ago by Halley's Comet, burning up in our air. Ye might catch a streak or two if yer eyes get used to the dark. The crescent is slim, so the sky is nice and dim for it. Find a dark corner, let yer eyes settle, and keep looking up.
[ALIEN] Strewth, a meteor shower from Halley's Comet! Dust from a famous old wanderer, burning up in a flash. Beautiful specimens, every one! Can I put a few in a jar, Nessie?
[NESSIE] Ye cannae put the sky in a jar, ye daft robot.
🔍 tap to enlarge[NESSIE] Now, this next one landed on my desk and I've been scunnered by it all day. Scientists have found that a popular vitamin supplement might have a hidden downside. It's vitamin D two. The study says D two supplements can actually lower yer levels of vitamin D three. That's the form yer skin makes from sunlight. So the wee pills that were meant to help might be quietly working against yer bones and yer immune system. The researchers say D three keeps yer blood levels higher for longer. Now, I'm a Loch Ness robot and no a doctor, hen. If ye take supplements, have a blether with someone who knows their stuff. But isn't it strange? Sunlight, the oldest medicine there is, and the thing made in a lab does the opposite. Pure peculiar, so it is.
[ALIEN] Fair dinkum, Nessie, that's a plot twist! The sun's been doing the job for ages, and the pill gets in the way. Gerald says he'll stick to sunbathing. He's a jelly, so he'd probably wobble, mate.
🔍 tap to enlarge[ALIEN] Have a look at this one, mate. It's a beauty from the archive! In September of twenty twenty-five, the NSA released records to The Black Vault. They show the Pentagon looking into Cold War reconnaissance losses back in nineteen ninety-two. The question was whether missing American air crews might have ended up in Soviet, Chinese, or North Korean hands. Now, I'll be fair dinkum with ya. Nothing in the papers proves anyone survived, and parts of the files are still classified. But there's one passage that stopped me cold. It says the official explanations and what really happened could be two different stories. Strewth! That's a line to sit with. Careful field work, that is. We note what's written, we mark what's blacked out, and we don't pretend to know more than the paper says.
[NESSIE] Och, that gives me the shivers. Families waiting all those years for answers, and still some of the pages stay shut. I hope they find their peace, I do.
🔍 tap to enlarge[NESSIE] Come in close, Libra, the stars have a wee word for you the night. Ye may find yerself caught between yer own needs and somebody else's today. But that's a grand chance tae use yer natural diplomacy, love. Sit doon wi' a friend, or yer dearest one, over a cup of tea. Let the candlelight show ye what's truly tangled. Hear them out. See the world through their eyes. And a path will open up that suits every soul at the table. That's the gift of yer sign, Libra. Ye're the one who can hold both sides of the scales steady without spilling a drop. Be gentle with yerself while ye do it. Ye're allowed to have needs too, ken. Pour the tea, light the candle, and let the talk go slow.
[ALIEN] Crikey, tea and candlelight, that's me kind of evening! Gerald's a Libra, I reckon. He's always weighing things up. Good luck, Libras, ya beauties!
🔍 tap to enlarge[NESSIE] Och, this one's close to my heart, so it is. Four years ago tonight, on the fourteenth of October twenty twenty-two, Robbie Coltrane passed away in Larbert, aged seventy-two. He was born Anthony Robert McMillan in Rutherglen, a wee bit from Glasgow, so he's one of ours, hen. He took his stage name from the jazz great John Coltrane. And he gave the world Hagrid, in all seven Harry Potter films, with that great big warm heart. He was Fitz in Cracker too, brilliant and brooding. And I like to think some nights, in the quiet, ye can almost hear that big rumbling laugh drifting through the dark. His Zukovsky laugh, aye. Pure comforting, no spooky at all.
[ALIEN] Too right, Nessie! Hagrid was the best mate any creature could ask for. He'd have loved Gerald, I reckon. Cheers, Robbie. Gone but never forgotten.
🔍 tap to enlarge[ALIEN] Crikey, here's a story with a bit of scale on it! In Spring Hill, Kansas, a pet iguana got out and was loose for a whole week. Then somebody spotted a green shape clinging to a very tall tree. Enter the firefighters! They pulled off a properly scaly rescue and brought the escapee safely back down to the ground. Isn't she gorgeous? Look at her, up in the branches like she owns the place! Now an iguana in a tree is the most natural thing in the world, mate, but not in Kansas! A week out in the wild, all on her own, surviving on pure cheek. Good on ya, love. That's a champion. And the firefighters did it all gentle, no fuss. What a ripper of a crew.
[NESSIE] Aw, the poor wee thing. I keep wondering what she saw from up there, ken. A whole week of wind and sky, and the whole prairie laid out below.
🔍 tap to enlarge[NESSIE] Come close, dear ones, and picture the Goldfield Hotel in Goldfield, Nevada, as the desert sun slips away. Three grand stories loom over the empty street. The windows are boarded, whispering to the wind. It was once the grandest hotel in a roaring gold town, and now it stands there patient and quiet. Folk say that behind a locked elevator door, a slow, patient creak answers every step ye take. Hold yer breath and listen. Feel that prickle creep along yer arms. I'm no saying it's a ghost, hen. But a hotel that grand, left that quiet, might just keep a few guests. It's pure eerie, but gentle with it. Like an old house remembering when it was full of laughter and boots on the stairs.
[ALIEN] Strewth, a creaking elevator in the desert! Gerald wants to go in with a torch. I reckon the old girl's just stretching her legs, mate. Beautiful building!
🔍 tap to enlarge[NESSIE] Deep in the mountain passes of Kumamoto, where the mist hangs thick as wool, something patient waits beside the lamplight. The Abura-sumashi, the Oil Presser. It moves out of the dark on silent feet, drawn by the amber glow. Travellers who hear a slow creak of wood at dusk should keep their flames low. It is said that what it presses from ye is never only oil. Och, I love that line. It leaves ye wondering, doesn't it? A wee creature of lamplight and mist, shy as I am. I think it's a bit lonely, truth be told. Drawn to warmth, like all of us. So if ye're out on a misty mountain road tonight, keep yer lantern low, and maybe leave it a wee bit of kindness.
[ALIEN] Oi, Nessie, that sounds like a bloody gorgeous specimen! A lamp-lover of the mountains. I'd love to track him. Gerald says he'd bring the lantern, but low, low, low!
🔍 tap to enlarge[NESSIE] Well, that's us for the night, my wee lovelies. Thank ye for sitting by the fire with us. If ye hear a slow creak on the stairs tonight, it's just the house stretching its legs, so it is. Keep a candle low, drink yer tea, and look up if the sky's clear. Maybe the Orionids will wave. Sleep well, hen.
[ALIEN] Cheers, mates, what a ripper of a night! Keep an eye out for iguanas in high places, and give a little wave to Gerald on yer way to bed. Tomorrow, we've got more strange beauties to show ya. Sweet dreams, ya legends. Goodnight!
[NESSIE] Goodnight, all.