Murder On The Air Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: “Almost There”

Roaring Twenties, Nineteen twenties

Radios.

Those were the devices that Alastor had used and loved, from his young adulthood well into his afterlife.

From listening and playing music, telling jokes on the air, to broadcasting his murders in both worlds, radios and microphones weren't just his favorite items to use every day.

They were a part of his livelihood.

Radios first had their origins in the eighteen nineties when in eighteen ninety two, Nikola Tesla proposed that radio frequency energy could be used for telecommunication. Several years later, Marconi had built a wireless system capable of transmitting signals at long distances.

The Radio Corporation of America was formed in nineteen nineteen and in nineteen twenty, the first radio news program was broadcast. The National Broadcasting Company was formed in nineteen twenty six as the first national network. FM radio would be invented by Edwin Armstrong in nineteen thirty three.

The radio industry would later suffer in the nineteen forties and fifties due to the arrival of television.

The novel idea of programming began in nineteen twenty when one of the leading radio manufacturers, Westinghouse came up with a way to sell more radios. On November second, nineteen twenty, the Harding-Cox presidential election results was the first commercial broadcast. Alastor had read about it in the newspaper at his home, wearing round glasses connected by two black chains. He was amazed that an event could be broadcast to so many people in different places.

Many older people thought that radios and receivers would merely be a fad for young people. After all, there had been amateur radio builders, poor reception and only experimental segments of speech and music.

Alastor glanced around at his small living quarters that made up his apartment. A single bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, living room and a spare room. The previous house he lived in had begun to fall into disrepair. Without his parents around, it was empty and hard to maintain. It was a tough decision, but he eventually decided to sell the house in the spring of nineteen nineteen. He gathered his clothes, personal belongings and other items…and remembered to cleanse all the areas to get rid of any previous evil influence. The money he had, allowed him to get a decent room in an apartment complex near the city, and even helped him pay rent. But his jobs organizing the newspaper office and cleaning studios would only last him for so long. However, Alastor still had the family's red car and the cabin in the woods.

Alastor thought that radios and broadcasting would only be a one-time thing…

Until March thirty first, nineteen twenty two when Louisiana's first radio station, WWL, started broadcasting. It was something brand new that was unheard of. WWL had been founded by the Catholic Loyola University to help raise funds to build six new campus buildings. The speech started at ten fifty two AM with Father Cummings encouraging people to support his campaign. Piano music played afterward.

Alastor and a bunch of people were outside, listening to it on a newly presented radio, a bulky rectangular device with large knobs at the front. The radio was on a table on an outdoor podium. Several representatives of the university were demonstrating how it worked. There was even a little girl in a white dress who was brought up to the table. She turned the knobs with her small hands as the crowd looked on in curiosity and wonder. Alastor peered through his rounded glasses at the presentation.

Alastor fantasized about people all over the country hearing him and his band play. He thought about all those times at school when he would sing, dance, and act out different characters. Suddenly, just having a crowd of people in an auditorium didn't seem like enough in his mind. What if he could somehow reach a bigger, broader audience? His name would be in the newspapers as well as on the airwaves. He would not only be famous, but would also be respected and loved by so many. Music, entertainment and being in the spotlight were the only things left for him in this crazy world.

Then a more sinister idea came to him. What if he could talk about his killings without anyone knowing? It would make things so much more fun.

Alastor hadn't killed too many people since feeding the couple to the gators after his mother's passing. It was only during certain moments when no one was looking or when someone made him angry. A thief, for instance, decided to steal some of Alastor's hard-earned money one day and ran off. He was a young white man wearing a brown cap, loose checkered pants, and a white top with overalls. Alastor tracked him down during the day and had thrown an ax right into his head along some railroad tracks. Alastor retrieved his money and took the thief's wallet as well. In a meticulous manner, Alastor had carefully carved up the man's skin and fat, placing the bloody slabs in containers. After cooking and seasoning the meat with a variety of spices and vegetables, he was able to enjoy his meal of human flesh.

Human and deer meat were harder foods to come by, so he made extra efforts involving the preparations. Most of the time, Alastor was drinking black coffee in the mornings, working away at his low-paying jobs during the day and easing his troubles with liquor in the evenings.

Trying to figure out what to do next, the twenty six year old man strolled down the street. He saw an appliance store and decided to go inside. As he glanced at the objects for sale, he was reminded of how much he didn't currently have.

Some of the items were cheaper and reasonably priced. The light bulb, for instance only cost one dollar and fifty cents, and he had plenty of those. The Hotpoint iron was a popular household item that cost from two dollars to seven dollars. A metal two dollar toaster stood on a counter, the sides decorated with French lotus symbols. It had two round wooden handles on the sides. Several sixty dollar electric stoves were also on display, one side of the stove consisting of a small cabinet box, the other with new round burners and hot plates. Several Western electric crank phones were lodged in the wall, visitors pressing their ears to the black cupped pieces to make calls. Alastor also had a few at his apartment.

Then there were the more expensive appliances. An eighty dollar washing machine stood in a corner of the store, with a spinner on top and a metal sheet on the bottom. It would've been a great help for when his mother used to wash clothes every Monday. Refrigerators were small white box shaped appliances with a compressor on top. They cost almost three hundred dollars and only a few people had access to them.

And as for the radios…basic ones were around seventy five dollars while the custom made ones cost as much as five hundred! The two hundred fifty dollar radio speaker would later be available in several years.

Alastor's clothing was starting to get dull and old. He had several overalls, hats and outdoor clothing, but only a few moderate suits, all brownish-gray. Nothing like the bold colored tailcoats or satin outfits the rich wore. He didn't even own a personal cane, top hat, and cigar.

Not to mention, his car was beginning to need several repairs and it wasn't moving nearly as fast as before.

People around him were beginning to live fun, carefree lives, being lost in their own privileges and fantastical wonders. Consumer goods, automobiles, and economic growth rapidly sizzled like the electricity that was soon available in nearly every household. The city and the nation were recovering from World War One and the Spanish Flu…and it led to a new era of prosperity and advancement.

So why then…was Alastor still stuck where he was? He longed for the taste of liquor, as the Prohibition was under way.

Alastor sighed and headed out the door. "Someday," he thought, "I'll be living the lavish life, and New Orleans will be my stage."

He was about to turn the corner when he heard a stumble and a crash behind him. He turned around and saw a wealthier man sprawled on the ground. He had accidentally tripped on the small ledge step that led into the store.

"Are you okay sir?" Alastor asked as the man slowly stood up.

"Yep, just took a tumble when I was walking outside," he replied, dusting off his pants and coat. The man stared, disheartened, at the concrete ground in front of him.

A radio had fallen and broken on the ground. It was a device made of wood, slightly arched…but now, there were springs, wires and chips of wood littering the spot in front of them.

"It was going to be a new gift for my son," he said. "I saved up money for a week to buy it."

If Alastor had wanted to buy the best radio, it would've taken him months, if not years. He bent down and helped the man clean up the parts and put them in a large brown bag.

"Could you buy another one?" he asked.

The man briefly looked back toward the open door. "That one was the type that he wanted and they're all sold out." He sighed. "Guess this will either be given to a mechanic or thrown out…and the mechanic's not in right now."

It was disheartening indeed to see a well-made radio go to waste like that. There was nothing much he could do in this situation.

Alastor glanced at a nearby poster displaying a young smiling teen boy in overalls fixing a car and a telegraph on a wall.

Unless…

"Hey, wait!" he called to the man, causing him to turn around.

"What is it?" he asked.

The words spilled form his mouth before he could stop himself.

"What if I could fix it for you?"

The man's eyebrows raised. "Really?" He sounded doubtful.

"Sure, why not?" Alastor asked with a shrug. "No charge necessary. I'll take a look at it and see what I can do."

'Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that," the man mentioned. He handed over the brown bag. "If you could, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course."

"My son's birthday is in several days," he mentioned.

Alastor took a silent deep breath, not expecting the extra challenge this would entail. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind," he replied.

"Berries to me," the man affirmed. "I'm Dave, by the way." He wrote down a meeting location and handed the piece of paper to Alastor.

"Good day, sir," Alastor said.

Figuring out how to fix the radio took a lot of work. Although he had finished his crystal set radio in his apartment, he had almost no idea on how to fix and operate the less common battery-operated sets geared toward the well-off eccentric experimenters. He did have some mechanical experience with helping his father fix their car during their hunting trips. He had also learned the mechanics of guns and how to properly use them and care for them.

During breaks, Alastor would go watch black and white films at the cinema. The horror films and ones with dark comedy were his favorites. Bluebeard, Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were a few noteworthy examples.

Alastor ended up going to the local library and getting manuals on how to fix radios. But mostly, the passages were about the structures and workings of the older crystal set radios. The thought of fixing large battery sets with many dials and comprehending the concept of console radios merged with fine furniture…it was all so new to him as it was to many people.

Back at home, after reading the manuals for a while, Alastor walked into the larger room for storage and let out a sigh.

Alastor's home-made crystal radio set was all finished. He had started making it the year before after buying some parts and a set of headphones to go with it. It was a round black device made with a coil of wire, a capacitor, a crystal detector at the top, and earphones. He was able to listen to some snippets of music and programs on it through the headphones, but it was often drowned out by humming.

Alastor put on the headphones and was able to hear classical music from a nearby station and brief news about the city. His hard work on his home-made crystal radio was rewarded with this opportunity to let his thoughts wander and his ears listen in. When he was done, he then stood up and went back to his workspace.

In the nick of time, Alastor had managed to fix the radio. He brought it over by the bayou where Dave waited.

"Thank you so much," said Dave as Alastor handed him the wooden radio console.

"Say," said Dave, "You're Louis Crowley's son, right?"

"Yes."

"Did you know that one of his friends works in the telephone business, AT and T? I'm one of the employers there. You seem to have a keen interest in radios and technology. If you'd like, I can get you acquainted with him."

Alastor's eyes brightened. "That would be a wonderful opportunity."

"That's great!" He fished into his pocket and handed Alastor some money. "I'll get into contact and we can discuss things from there."

It wasn't long before Alastor was called in for an interview at a local station. Apparently, Dave told his father's friend that he had a knack for fixing radios and doing mechanical work. Alastor combed his hair and dressed in his best suit.

He stepped into the building, where he met his interviewer, a pale man with a gray hat and glasses.

"Alastor Crowley, yes?"

"Yes."

"So I heard from one of our employers, Dave, that you fixed his radio, correct?"

"Yes, I did."

"Other than a few glitches here and there, you managed to fix it in time for his son's birthday. Pretty impressive. Now tell me about yourself, your qualities, your hobbies. Why do you want this job?"

"Well, I'm Louis' son. I have previous experience with constructing a crystal set radio in my apartment."

The interviewer nodded in approval.

"I am tidy, efficient, and very outgoing. As many may know, I've been quite fond of entertainment programs and promoting. I took theater classes all throughout school and it has helped me with projecting my voice and doing presentations."

"How are you with singing? May I hear a sample from you?"

"Of course," said Alastor. He cleared his throat.

"I don't have time for dancin'

That's just gonna have to wait a while

Ain't got time for messin' around

And it's not my style"

"This whole town can slow you down

People takin' the easy way

But I know exactly where I'm going

Getting' closer every day"

"And I am almost there

I'm almost there

People down here think I'm crazy

But I don't care"

"Trials and tribulations

I've had my share

There's ain't nothin' gonna stop me now

'Cause I am almost there."

The interviewer scribbled more notes. "Unoriginal but very enthusiastic in performance."

The interviewer continued. "Adaptable and mechanical. It appears that you are inclined toward being a radio announcer and DJ. Alas, that takes a lot of work and dedication to get there."

"I'll do my part and follow through on my goals. I'll get there eventually."

"I'm sure you would in better circumstances. But I'm afraid higher up positions such as those are unfit for mestizos such as you."

Alastor was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"The potential is still there, sure, but based on what I've gathered, you'd be better starting off with our starting mechanics position."

"What?" he asked in a loud voice, teeth clenched, smile strained.

"Take it or leave it," the interviewer said, holding up a hand. "That is all."

Alastor grumbled several days later as he began his weeks of long shifts. It was the lowest of the low, and that included several night shifts. He worked alongside mostly lower class white men and one other biracial guy. The higher ups were those who had helped with the older communication devices during World War One. They automatically got the best positions.

Alastor cleaned the studios, fixed the equipment and wires and organized files of test radio programs.

"Hurry up, boy, those microphones aren't going to fix themselves, you know!"

"Useless scrub. He belongs on a farm, not in an office."

"I told you, the scripts need to be prepared thirty seconds in advance before the program starts. We can't afford any kind of delays."

"Hey, Alastor!" Dave said brightly after Alastor took a break. "I see you got in! Congratulations!"

"Yes, I did," Alastor said half-heartedly.

"Glad I could help," he said.

"Um, are you sure that I can't, you know…switch to a higher position? I mean, I already know how to fix and clean and organize everything."

Dave just beamed. "Which is precisely why you're the perfect fit for the job! AT and T is a big machine, and it needs cogs doing their part to work."

"And so I'm the little one, huh? The one who barely makes enough to sustain himself?"

"There's no need to get upset about it. It's just the way it is. Don't wanna be a square peg in a round hole, do we?"

His eyes held a hint of warning.

"No, sir."

"Remember your place, Al and keep working hard. Remember AT and T's policies for its staff and agenda. I'm sure we'll continue to get along just fine."

He playfully slapped Alastor's shoulder hard and he winced under his grin.

"We should get some beer sometime," Dave said. Alastor raised his eyebrow. Then Dave burst into laughter. "Just kiddin'! It's illegal anyway! See you tomorrow!"

Alastor could surely do better than any of the men around him. Once again, he was at the bottom of the barrel. In nineteen twenty four, Alastor could only watch through the glass panes as other men spoke into hanging microphones as "On Air" buttons buzzed and glowed. In a recording room, one man mimicked the sound of stomping feet with shoes, and knocked on a small door for the sound effects. A ventriloquist held a wooden puppet on his shoulder and rapidly spoke his lines as a smartly dressed announcer spoke into a taller microphone. A few women came into the room and after a musical jingle, advertised a new candy: Fizziepops, ("The sweet sensation of the nation!")

During meetings, the room would be filled with smoke, laughter, and talking. Dave wrote down ideas, graphs and diagrams on a blackboard and talked on and on about the same old rules and plans. Through the haze of smoke, Alastor tried not to fall asleep.

Afterwards, Alastor wandered toward an alley, where a group of men were smuggling in two beer bottles from a discreet crate. Alastor's dry mouth smacked.

"Hello gentlemen!" he greeted. The men glared and froze. "May I have some of that?"

One man took out a knife. "It's for our boss," he said.

"Give them to me and I won't say a word."

The man charged at him, but Alastor swiftly took him out. Alastor smashed the men's heads against the wall. After he was done, he opened up the bottles. One was beer, the other, liquor. He gulped down the liquor with a satisfied sigh. As he walked out, he handed a random man the beer bottle from behind a corner. The man stared in amazement at the bottle in his hands.

"Hey, you!" called a nearby officer. The man ran with a yell before he was handcuffed and arrested. Alastor snickered and vanished into the shadows.

It was after one particularly bad day at work that Alastor decided to follow Dave home from a distance. He usually was not one to chase or stalk people, but there were times when he could adjust. Alastor was more the type that liked to lure people in with a false sense of security. Dave greeted his wife and they briefly discussed "that brown Cajun clown from work" before heading inside.

Dave and his wife slept soundly that night. Sometime around three AM, he heard some shuffling and footsteps. He blinked his eyes open and saw nothing but his darkened bedroom and an open window in the guest room. In the back of his mind, he remembered shutting it before bed. He briefly closed his eyes before opening them again.

A familiar smiling face with wide eyes appeared slightly above him. He wore a brown and white shirt with a black bow tie under his neck. White gloves covered his hands and his glasses looked miniscule compared to his large brown eyes.

He recognized that face in a second. "Alast…"

A hand clamped over his mouth and Alastor could feel a scream spewing underneath.

Although Dave was one of the nicer rich people he had met, he was just as oblivious as everyone else. Alastor had purposefully waited a while before making his move. He had spent enough time at his job to earn people's trust, or at least a disinterested tolerance of him being there. Just one of many insignificant folks who served as background characters in their working lives. Indeed, Alastor had learned of the benefits of being unnoticed, in addition to being in the spotlight. As life was a series of different musicals, Alastor would adapt to the appropriate roles, for better or worse.

Right now, the role he was in was one of his favorites.

Dave so happened to have the position that Alastor was aiming for.

There was no going back.

Alastor belted out a few lines as he adjusted the knife in his hand.

"Nothing else will stop me now

'Cause I'm almost there"

The stabs came rapidly, with no mercy. Dave screamed and gagged as blood splattered the white sheets, the pillow, and Alastor's face in the dark. Cindy turned on the lamp and let out an ear-piercing scream.

"Get out of my house!" she yelled.

Alastor climbed on top of the struggling, confused couple. The knife sank deep into Dave's forehead, more thick blood gushing out. Dave's eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body rasped heavily for air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cindy try to get up and flee.

Alastor's head turned to the side as he smirked.

"Going somewhere?"

After plucking the knife out from Dave's forehead, Alastor grabbed hold of the woman. He turned Cindy over on her back and held her in place. He cupped her chin with his hand and briefly squeezed her pale cheeks with his fingers.

"It's time to go to sleep, sweetheart," he said in a sing song voice.

"Get off me!"

She whimpered and struggled against him to no avail. Alastor's body weight helped hold her down. He pressed a thin finger to his lips.

"Shhhh."

He pressed the knife into her neck. "You'll make a tasty treat."

A fountain of blood erupted from her mouth and neck as he sliced the blade though her throat and jugular vein. After several agonized gasps, Cindy flopped to the side, cold and still. Dave was gone as well.

Wasting no time, Alastor tore off their clothing and sliced up the largest mounds of flesh from their bellies, butts, chests and backs. After putting away the slabs of muscle and meat away, he moved the mangled corpses closer to each other. Their faces were pressed close to each other, their lips touching. Their organs were missing and only their rib cages coated with muscle bits were visible. Alastor put a couple of knives into what was left of their hands. He finally carved some sigils into their necks.

He stood back to admire his work. The bodies looked like two kissing lovers who had also decided to tear each other's guts out…literally.

Alastor let out a laugh. "Typical married couples, am I right?"

He sang again.

"And I'm almost there

Almost there

Almost there."

His gruesome work done and his meal in his possession, Alastor vanished back into the darkness of night.

The newspaper headlines soon read, "Dave Jenson, AT and T manager and his wife found dead in home." "Louisiana Lunatic Still At Large." Alastor smirked as he read the article from his desk. Dave's money and wallet were safely hidden in a drawer in Alastor's studio. Cindy's jewelry was also there as well.

For the next week, he had taken Dave's place and could now enjoy more benefits. The shock and disbelief spread through the company like smoke…and Alastor was relishing every moment. He did an excellent job at pretending to be sad and shocked. Later on, he saw the process of becoming a radio disc jockey and even got a chance to practice it under supervision. He would play the top 10 greatest hits, which, at first, were entertaining to listen to, but soon got boring. There were restrictions on what he could and couldn't play, but he managed to do well enough.

Then, one day, his boss, suspicious of his motives and background, promptly fired him. So much for his father's influence. It was a stunning downfall but one that would not last for long.

NBC and CBS eventually branched off from AT and T later on. Alastor applied for both of them and eventually got into CBS. As a disc jockey, he made some more money and felt comfortable in his role. Putting his best foot forward, he competed against several other guys for the radio host position. By sheer luck (and maybe a bit of magic manipulation tactics) he achieved it.

By the start of nineteen twenty five, people were starting to recognize Alastor's unique persona on the air waves. While in the station, Alastor discussed the weather, local news, and added a joke here and there.

But where Alastor really made progress was in his new studio. He had used his new earned money to turn the family cabin into his own personal recording area. There was even a significant radio tower and cables poking through the wooden roof of the cabin. When he wasn't torturing his victims in his basement or in the woods, he was turning dials and speaking into a new hanging microphone.

The first few times he was on air, he had gotten nervous and fumbled over several of his lines. But he got better and better each time. CBS helped with money and patents, complimenting his work at the station.

But at his own studio, he was doing even better on his own. No longer wanting to adhere to CBS' strict rules, he quit and began his life-long journey of self-employment. The best part for Alastor was when he described his murders…as he knew he had a strange cult following of those who enjoyed living on the edge. He described the killings and police reports like it was the weather.

"Gooood morning New Orleanians!

Six AM…It's your favorite host live on the air, Alastor! For recent updates, it appears that the Louisiana Lunatic has struck again. You may have heard the tragic tale of Dave and his wife, who were found dead in their own home. The killer apparently decided to slice their necks and tear out all their organs. The bodies were found next to each other, with knives in their hands. Previously, people had believed that the couple had gotten into a fight and killed each other out of spite. But a majority of citizens believe it to be the work of the infamous killer. One thing's for sure, the maniac who did that was probably hungry for their blood. Be sure to stay safe, folks, you never know when the killer might appear again!"

Then came the jokes.

"Did you hear about the two radio antenneas who got married? The wedding was great, but the reception was awesome. Hahaha!"

"What did the cannibal get when he was late to the party? A cold shoulder! Hohohohoho, that's a classic!"

"How do you help a starving cannibal? Give him a helping hand!"

"Orphans won't be able to tattle tell on you. I mean, who are they gonna tell, their parents?"

Then there was Alastor's favorite joke.

"Knock knock. Who's there? Radio. Radio who? Radio not, here I come!"

"You're never fully dressed without a smile," Alastor sang, after another successful broadcast. "Stay tuned next time for more entertainment!" He flipped an off switch and relaxed. During another broadcast he told a classic story to his listeners using image producing sound effects, like the creaking of a door or a mimicking of the blowing wind.

His lifelong dream was coming into fruition.

Wealth and fame embraced Alastor out of the blue. Kalfu had been right all along. It all started shortly after Alastor had completed his studio. It was when Alastor was brave enough to describe his killings as well as the status of other serial killers. He would also include news, cooking segments, dad jokes, and of course, jazz music. At first, Alastor's station was drowned out by static by more prominent stations. Alastor got around it with a little bit of dark magic, which allowed his voice to ring in clear almost anywhere. The Radio Act of nineteen twenty seven would later solve the issue of stations drowning each other out, allowing more frequency space.

"Isn't that the new radio host?" the people would ask each other as Alastor would play with his band at clubs. "Founder of Alastor's Radio Show, ARS!" He would wave at them and several women would swoon.

"Wow, he's cute!" they would exclaim.

"Oh so charming. A true gentlemen!"

"Alastor, over here!"

"Please marry me!"

"The way you do your shows, it's like I'm there with you!"

Lines of fans would ask for his autographs or ask for advice on how to perform on the air. It was all too easy to charm the ladies and mess with them. Although it was fun to flirt and touch many women, he pushed away women (and a few men) who had wanted to get more intimate. Many women would fight each other over Alastor, while others would blow kisses at him. It was both amusing and annoying at times.

Alastor's name started to appear in the newspapers among the higher ranked radio personalities. One reviewer dubbed him "the most entertaining host in New Orleans…and potentially all of LA." Alastor even got to perform with his band on stage at the Imperial Theater. The audience stood and clapped after he and his friends had finished. The band had been called the Crowley Canaries, with Alastor as the leader.

"If only my mother could see me now!" he thought with pride.

Alastor's rise to fame coincided with the commercial arrival of radios. There were battery electric console radios that were sold to consumers and soon were readily available. Some radios were merged with furniture and became the centerpieces of many living rooms. Even little kids at home enjoyed listening to him with their parents.

As a performer, radio host, and serial killer, Alastor was at the peak of his life toward the mid to late nineteen twenties. His apartment gave way to a new house in the suburbs, not too far from his cabin. His red car was new and state of the art…he would drive by, wearing sunglasses over his eyes, cigar in his mouth. He had added more stuffed deer heads to the mantle in the cabin, ironically continuing his father's tradition. His new house soon had new furniture, a new stove, washing bin, refrigerator, and of course, lots of handmade radios. Big ones, small ones, ones in elaborate furniture…his bedroom was full of them.

New colorful suits, top hats and shoes now filled his closet. His favorite outfit was a red dress coat with a cross on the undershirt and red stripes down the sides. A red and black top hat matched, along with new black tap dancing shoes. Alastor was recognized in public by a cane he proudly carried with him. It had a built in microphone at the top and was flanked by curved golden deer antlers. Alastor had crafted it himself.

Yes, things were finally looking up for Alastor.