The Fog

11:
55.

Almost midnight.

Enough time for one more story.

One more story before 12,

just to keep us warm.

In five minutes,

it'll be the 21st of April.

One hundred years ago on the 21st of April,

out in the waters around Spivey Point,

a small clipper ship drew toward land.

Suddenly, out of the night,

the fog rolled in.

For a moment, they could see nothing,

not a foot ahead of them.

And then, they saw a light.

My God, it was a fire burning on the shore.

Strong enough to penetrate

the swirling mist.

They steered a course toward the light.

But it was a campfire, like this one.

The ship crashed against the rocks.

The hull sheared in two.

The mast snapped like a twig.

And the wreckage sank

with all the men aboard.

At the bottom of the sea

lay the Elizabeth Dane with her crew,

their lungs filled with saltwater,

their eyes open and staring

into the darkness.

And above, as suddenly as it had come,

the fog lifted, receded back

across the ocean

and never came again.

But it is told by the fishermen

and their fathers and grandfathers

that when the fog returns to Antonio Bay,

the men at the bottom of the sea,

out in the water by Spivey Point,

will rise up

and search for the campfire

that led them to their dark, icy death.

Twelve o'clock.

The 21st of April.

It's midnight and we've just started

into the witching hour.

This is Stevie Wayne,

on top of the world tonight

and I'll be here right up until

about one o'clock.

I'm all through, Father.

Oh, thank you, Bennett.

I won't need you until four tomorrow.

Yes, sir.

Something to keep you warm

on the way home?

No, thank you. Father, can I get paid?

Why don't you come in at six

instead of four tomorrow?

Yes, sir.

Hello?

It's 59 degrees outside

and let me be the first to wish Antonio Bay

a happy birthday.

We're 100 years old today.

The weatherman's trying to spoil it.

He says we may be in for rain tonight.

From where I'm sitting,

it looks like clear skies.

I think the weatherman's

been working too hard.

Well, I'll stay here for another hour,

just to see if he's right.

And I'm inviting you to stay here with me.

There's a cutter run aground

over here on the east bay. Over.

Global 1 X. This cutter's name's

Lady Belle Pacific.

Serial number 024KL596. Over.

Global 1 X5. Lady Belle Pacific

is seaworthy. No major damage.

Why don't you send a tow. I'm about

a quarter mile above the boatel. Over.

This is KAB, Antonio Bay, California.

Six minutes after midnight.

Haven't heard from the weatherman,

so I don't know about that rain.

But there's a full moon

and no clouds in the sky.

I'm Stevie Wayne and

if you don't have anything to do right now,

I'll be here, playing music,

all through the witching hour.

Even if you do have something to do,

keep me turned on for a while

and I'll try my best to do the same for you.

OK.

Hi. How far you going?

- Other side of town.

- Close enough.

- Can you make it?

- Yeah. Thank you.

Sip?

Thanks.

Listen, I never hitchhiked before.

I just really wanna be careful.

- Can I ask you something?

- Sure.

Are you weird?

Yes, I am.

- I am weird.

- You are weird.

Thank God. The last one I had

was so normal it was disgusting.

He picked me up in Santa Barbara.

By Carmel, he wanted to marry me.

Yeah. I thought you never hitchhiked before.

Not before last week.

You're my thirteenth ride.

Great. Weird and unlucky.

We'll see.

- Are you all right? You sure?

- I'm fine. I think so.

What the hell was...?

It's twelve minutes after midnight

and this is Stevie Wayne.

- Let's get out of here.

- Around until about 1 o'clock.

I'm high tonight in the KAB lighthouse

on Spivey Point.

In case you've forgotten, it's April 21st

and a happy birthday for Antonio Bay.

There's a celebration planned for tonight.

So if you're so excited about it

you can't sleep,

well, stay up with me

and I'll figure out some way

to keep you occupied.

Or not.

- KAB.

- Hi, sweetheart.

Hi, Dan, what have you got?

Are you lonely?

Is there anything I can do about it?

Never lonely.

I thought you finished at eight.

I changed shifts so I can make it

to the party.

Will you be there?

Until I can talk someone into giving up

city life for Antonio Bay, I'm it.

- And it means day and night.

- Too much work.

That's what I get for owning a station.

Tell me why you called,

or in 15 seconds I'm gonna hang up.

- You want something to talk about?

- Anything.

I've got a position on a trawler

about 15 miles out

called the Sea Grass.

I've got something on my scope -

appears to be a fog bank.

It's about 25 miles out

and moving in their direction.

Thanks. That's worth about ten seconds.

I'm on the air. Bye.

Ahoy, mateys. This is KAB, Antonio Bay.

Stevie Wayne here,

beaming a signal across the sea.

For the men in the Sea Grass,

15 miles out tonight,

a warm hello and keep a watch out

for that fog bank,

heading in from the east.

In the meantime, relax with me

while I play this song

from the Coupe De Villes

dedicated just to you.

Boy, would I like to meet her.

I saw her at a grocery store.

You would like to meet her.

She's crazy. There's no fog bank out there.

- What do you know about her?

- She owns that lighthouse.

- I know.

- Her son plays little league.

- She's a mother?

- I thought you were happily married.

- Not that happy.

- No fog bank out there.

There's a fog bank out there.

All right. I'm drunk enough. Let's go back.

All right.

Al, come here.

- Just give him a hand.

- Come here.

What was that?

Come here.

What was it?

It's a generator.

It's gone. There was just a ship out there.

Listen.

- Nothing.

- Listen.

Who's there?

Who is that?

It's right beside us.

It's big, Al. It's a ship.

It's a big ship.

What happened? You get wet?

It's 12:
43

and I've got four in a row for you

right here on KAB.

Nothing but water, Stevie.

But it sure beats Chicago.

KAB.

I like what you said

but for your information, you lied.

The fog bank has moved due west

and probably missed the ship entirely.

My gauges must be wrong.

I've got a wind blowing due east.

What kind of a fog moves against the wind?

- You got me.

- I'm not so sure I want you.

- You're just a voice on the phone.

- You're just a voice on the radio.

We'd make a perfect couple.

You let me take you to dinner tonight,

I'll prove it to you.

Sorry, Dan. My idea of perfection

is a voice on the phone.

OK, mystery lady.

Good night.

Not bad.

I started a week ago in San Diego.

Right up the coast, five drawings a day.

It'll take a month to get to Vancouver but if I

sell them for five bucks apiece, I'll be rich.

- Can I ask you something?

- Sure.

What's your name?

- Elizabeth.

- Nick.

Hello, Nick.

Hi.

Is that where you're from, San Diego?

You said, "Can I ask you something?"

Something, to me, means one thing.

San Diego is two things.

Pasadena

and a lot of money.

And never a chance to do anything

I wanna do.

What do you wanna do?

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