Dead Air over Grayhaven

Brisk, mournful, and oddly comforting. The scene with Nina on the roof, blanket and thermos, listening to the town hummed to me in a way few stories do. The final moment of building a new sign-on made me tear up — what a lovely finish.

I wanted to like this more than I did. The atmosphere is strong — the cannery windows, fog, and the radio tower visuals are all very effective — but plotwise it felt familiar: grieving protagonist moves to spooky coastal town, old station with tragic past, antagonist that feeds on names. There are some neat moments (the little green light, the "Leon at midnight" clue), but the entity’s motives aren’t fully developed and the glowing tube was more of a neat prop than a consequential element. Pacing drags in the middle, and I kept waiting for stakes to escalate. Not bad, but a bit predictable.

Beautiful writing, but I finished with frustrations. The prose is delicious — especially the sensory lines about salt and the ferry — and the premise (a radio entity that feeds on names) is intriguing. However, the narrative sometimes leans on well-worn coastal-ghost clichés: fog-bound town, an older male mentor figure, and the protagonist’s missing-father mystery that’s a little too neat. The glowing tube and the retired radio officer are evocative, but their mechanics and history are underexplained; I wanted more connective tissue about why the entity targets names and how the tube actually works. A bit more worldbuilding or a tighter middle act would have made this excellent rather than just very good.

This story stayed with me. The slow curl of the town’s soundscape — gulls, the slap of water, a tower that once warned birds but now only blackens the sky — is such smart staging for a ghost story about names and memory. Nina’s craft as an audio producer makes her a great protagonist because the whole conflict is about listening and being heard; when the dead host calls her by name the stakes feel intimate rather than sensational. I loved Tomas (diesel and fish handshake!) and the quiet competence of the fisherman’s steady hand in the climax. The moment the trapped voice is freed is genuinely moving, and the new sign-on is a hopeful, human ending. The only tiny nitpick is that a few plot threads — like the retired officer’s past — could have used a paragraph more, but overall this is a thoughtful, eerie, and ultimately uplifting read.

Short and sweet: I loved the fog, the leaning radio tower blackening the sky, and the moment when Nina hears a voice saying her name. The imagery of the cannery windows and the smell of diesel on Tomas’s hand made the town feel real. The conclusion — freeing that trapped voice and setting a new sign-on — was satisfying. Perfect late-night read. 😌

Tight, atmospheric, and smart. The author shows an obvious ear for sound: the field recorder’s blinking light, the mic windscreen, the way the town’s ambient noises are described (ferry like a "patient insect") — small choices that add up. The mystery around KQLO 610 AM and Leonard Harrow is paced well; the reveal that the entity feeds on names is both metaphorically rich and narratively effective. I especially appreciated the grounded details — Tomas warning about engines at two, the underlined Dad? in Nina’s notebook — which keep the supernatural from floating away. A few minor things could be fleshed (the retired radio officer’s glowing tube is delightfully weird but could use a touch more backstory), yet overall this is a polished, evocative read.

This is the kind of ghost story that doesn’t just scare you — it mourns with you. The set pieces are excellent: Nina cleaning salt-streaked windows, setting up her field recorder, the leaning radio tower smeared on the sky. Those moments felt like I could step into them. The mystery thread (KQLO 610 AM, Leonard Harrow, the fire in 1987) was threaded well into Nina’s personal grief — the underlined 'Dad?' in her notebook and his last letter smelling of coffee is heartbreaking without being melodramatic. The retired radio officer and his strange glowing tube add a weird, Technicolor touch of old radio tech that works as both prop and mythic object. The fisherman’s steady hand and Tomas’s practical warnings kept the story rooted in community; the friendship-building scenes made the final confrontation feel earned rather than contrived. My favorite is the rescue of the trapped voice — beautifully handled, emotional, and triumphant. The new sign-on at the end is a lovely, hopeful coda: Grayhaven chooses to speak again. Top marks for atmosphere and heart.

This story lived in my bones for a day after I read it. The opening with the cannery windows that "remembered salt" and Nina wiping the panes — so tactile — immediately grounded me in Grayhaven. I loved how the author used sound as a character: the little green light on the field recorder, the windscreen, the bell buoy clonk — every audio detail felt lived-in. The scene on the roof with the blanket and thermos made Nina vulnerable and brave at once; when the dead host calls her by name it’s chilling and personal, not just spooky theater. Tomas’s diesel-and-fish handshake and the fisherman’s steady hand were wonderfully human counterpoints to the glowing tube and the seductive voice of the entity. The rescue of the trapped voice and the final act of building a new sign-on felt cathartic — not a gimmick but earned. If you like ghost stories that are about memory and belonging as much as about fear, this one is gorgeous.

I went in expecting a cozy seaside ghost yarn and got something richer. The fog and the dead radio host calling Nina by name made me actually put my headphones on and listen harder. I loved the line about the leaning radio tower "like a string drawn tight" — that stuck with me. The story manages to be spooky without being gratuitous, and the friendship between Nina and the town’s older voices (the retired radio guy, the fisherman) adds warmth. Also: the field recorder blinking green had me smiling — writer knows their gear. A couple of beats could have been faster, but honestly, give me more queer little towns with haunted radios. 10/10 weirdly soothing.

A carefully constructed, sensory piece. The author demonstrates real discipline in showing rather than telling: the cannery windows "remembered salt," the field recorder’s blinking light, and that tiny, sharp detail of Nina’s father’s letter smelling of coffee and rain. Those specific tactile cues make the supernatural beat — the dead host calling Nina — land with actual dread rather than abstract shock. I appreciated how sound is thematically central: a producer who studies quiet, a town that remembers a dead station (KQLO 610 AM burned in 1987), and a voice literally trapped in the ether. The retired radio officer and his glowing tube are delightfully uncanny; it's a neat way to root the supernatural in vintage tech. The rescue of the trapped voice and the new sign-on function as a repair to the town’s cultural life, which is a satisfying, thoughtful ending. Well done.