Episode 10 - Sunday Static

Olivia arrived early Sunday morning, tea already in hand.

The building was quiet in that too quiet way. The kind of quiet where you check over your shoulder even though you know there’s no one there. Yet.

The Hosts were still inside, but their energy had shifted.

On Saturdays, they were bold—flamboyant and theatrical. But Sundays… Sundays felt different. Quieter. Stranger. Like they were moving through the remnants of old film reels—flickering at 70% opacity, one reel skip away from fading out entirely.

Olivia had already started a mental checklist.

Bobby Gammonster’s cape was dragging slightly today.

Mistress Peace hadn’t smiled as brightly.

Baron Morbid was muttering to the walls.

Victor Von Psychotron had replaced his red tie with a black one and wouldn’t say why.

And Bernard—Bernard hadn’t floated by once since she arrived.

That was concerning.

Mid-morning, the desk phone rang.

She picked it up without thinking. “OtherWorlds TV, this is—”

“Do not rewind the tape.”

Click.

She stared at the receiver. Slowly placed it back down.

No one else seemed to notice.

Around noon, Charles wandered through the lobby. Olivia hadn’t seen much of him since her first day, but he still looked exactly the same: rainbow bow tie, crisp vest, monstrous blue furry feet, and cane that absolutely doubled as a weapon. He tipped his bowler hat to her with a grin.

“Everything going alright?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Mostly. Is… is Sunday always like this?”

He paused. “Like what?”

“Weird. But not in the usual way. It feels… heavier.”

Charles tapped the cane twice on the floor. “Sunday is when the station remembers itself. And when the Hosts remember they’re not always part of the world they’re performing for.”

“That’s… cryptic.”

He winked. “That’s the job.”

And with that, he wandered off, his monstrous feet squishing softly on the tile.

By early evening, the programming feeds began to glitch—not full interruptions, just strange overlays. Olivia watched as a PSA about bicycle safety briefly cross-faded into a screaming mouth before resolving back into a cheerful cartoon.

The breakroom kettle sang a mournful opera aria.

The lights flickered. Once. Twice.

And Bernard still hadn’t shown up.

It was almost midnight.

Olivia sat at the desk, tail flicking anxiously.

That’s when she noticed it.

The tail was moving. Not just wiggling like a costume. Not swaying with her hips. It flicked in rhythm with her heartbeat—agitated, alert, alive.

She turned to look.

The tail was hers.

And she wasn’t sure when that had happened.

The lobby clock ticked forward.

Then, just before the hour turned, the station door creaked open once more.

And Bernard floated in.

Slow. Dimly glowing. Quiet.

He didn’t speak.

Just offered her a tape.

Labelled only: “Olivia – For After.”

He didn’t explain.

Didn’t stay.

Just floated back into the hallway, his form drifting slightly out of phase, like he wasn’t fully in the building anymore.

The clock struck 12:00 AM. Sunday became Monday. The Hosts vanished like fog.

And Olivia sat behind the desk, hands trembling, ears twitching, tail coiled tightly behind her.

She held the tape like it might burn her. And wondered:

After what?