You’re not crazy. You’re just overdue. There hasn’t been a new episode of Sandbox Radio Live! in over three months!
Relax.
Episode Seven: Eye of the Beholder is on its way, packed with the sort of goodies you’ve grown accustomed to: plays by Elizabeth Heffron and Vincent Delaney, music by Jose Gonzales and the astounding Sandbox Radio Orchestra, my own noir-angel detective series, Markheim (word has it Sam’s due for a drop in), all tied together by Leslie Law’s expert, effervescent direction. Plus you can expect some brand new stuff like a poem by Elizabeth Austen read live by the author, or a brand new comic serial by Scot Augustson set in Seattle. (You’ll want to order your tix quick, since we always sell out.)
But before we get to all that, I need to make up for a deleterious omission. With all the crazyness of the holiday season, plus world premiering my first full-length play in four years, Ballard House Duet, I neglected my self-appointed duty of telling you the things I love about the previous episode of Sandbox Radio Live! - Something Wicked This Way (available for download here.)
“Backscatter” by Vincent Delaney
Vince never disappoints with his sharp suspenseful writing, but this turn at modern horror would make Rod Sterling go goggle-eyed. All props to the Sandbox Radio sound fx team. Give a listen and tell me they don’t make it sound exactly like an airport. (This brings up a larger fascination for me when listening to these podcasts: how the live audience participates in and fuels the recording. There’s this extraordinary recursively looping sensation as you listen to them listening to you listen to the show in the future.) My favorite character in this one had to be Big Stu. Somehow Eric Ray Anderson manages to add 300 pounds through the sheer suggestive power of his voice.
"The Back of the 358 - #7" by Paul Mullin
Not much I want to say about these since I wrote them, except maybe that Kathryn Van Meter utterly nails the drunk chick. Oh, and also, the likelihood that there will be any new pieces in this vein is slim, given how King County Metro’s elimination of the Free Ride Zone has completely flattened the floridly diverse ecosystem that was once the back of the #358.
"Muscle Memory" by Omar Willey
This chillingly smooth and nasty pastoral will captivate you into a skin-crawling reverie.
“Quinceñera of the Damned" by Scot Augustson
What do you get when Mexican kitsch culture collides with Austrian Alpine snobbery in a fairytale context? Something you can be pretty sure Scot Augustson conceived. Favorite line (impeccably delivered by the peerless Annette Toutonghi): “Gunter will think I’m a crazy clown gypsy whore.”
“The Back of the 358 - #8" by Paul Mullin
It’s never not unnerving to have to relive my #358 adventures as staged by some of Seattle’s finest actors.
"Here it Comes" by Charles Leggett with the Sandbox Radio Orchestra
Chuck and friends rock another original blues number, this time folding some astro-physics in, cuz… ya know... Chuck rolls like that.
"The Back of the 358 #9" by Paul Mullin
Please tell me this trip is almost over. If this woman punches or pukes on me, I’m gonna be highly irked. (Favorite line {which I can say in modesty because I overheard it}: “At least in jail I get three meals a day and someone to love me.”)
"The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe
No one intones the American classics like Richard Ziman. And his sweet spot is Poe.
"The Sorcerer's Apprentice" by Paul Dukas, arranged by Bruce Monroe
A mind-crackingly original arrangement: the kind of blastingly cool cut you can only get at Sandbox Radio.
"Markheim - Episode 6" by Paul Mullin
Per custom, I’m including the script for this below the fold.
"The Back of the 358 #10" by Paul Mullin
So long shirtless drunk chick! May you find the peace that eludes your every semi-lucid thought.
"Shadow of Agnes" by Emily Conbere
I raved about Emily’s first Sandbox Radio outing, “Sound Thieves” here, but who knows? She could’ve fluked her debut success. She didn’t. This piece seals the deal and is quite possibly one of the creepiest short pieces I’ve ever heard.
Again, don’t take my word for it. Go to the podcast and listen. And then get your tickets to our brand new show, available here through Brown Paper Tickets.
Markheim - Episode 5
by Paul Mullin
Introduction
VOICE: I’m a Markheim. A sort of angel. But not the sort with wings and a harp and a halo. Markheims are the black ops. We do things other angels can’t... or won’t. Me, I’m a talker, Sub-archy: reverse curse. Upstairs pulled me outta retirement for a mission down in this soggy town. But when it was done I didn’t go back. I had questions. And the answers weren’t up above in the Fix. Now I’m walking neutral, half-fallen, in what we angels call the Show. But I gotta watch my back. ‘Cuz things can always get uglier.
Episode 6 Recap
EMCEE: Previously, on MARKHEIM...
[sfx: harbor bell, water lapping]
RAGUEL: If you are “walking neutral”, Markheim, then I worry for your safety. Samael never breaks his bond: it’s true. But he has a very nasty habit of making his deals much more unpleasant than his second parties expect.
MARKHEIM: I’ll take my chances.
RAGUEL: Well, I choose not to “take chances.” Therefore, I am leaving you these three Dominations for protection. I wager Brother Samael will be less tempted to pester you with them around.
[sfx: protestors at Westlake]
MARKHEIM: Where’s Didge, Stank?
STANK: In the hospital. He cut off his hand, asshole. Says it was your idea.
MARKHEIM: Shit. Did he say if it still burns?
[sfx: harbor bell, water lapping]
MARKHEIM: Something strange is going on, Smiley.... I think some shit is gonna go down if I don’t talk to Sam. Where’s the lowest, foulest place in town? Think nasty, hurtful.
SMILEY: Oh, the Metro dig. They tortured a big nasty metal worm to chew its way through Seattle’s guts under Capitol Hill.
MARKHEIM: Sounds promising. Take me there?
SMILEY: Shit. Fine. Let’s go.
MARKHEIM: How’m I s’posed to get past these Dom guards?
SMILEY: Jeez, Markheim. I gotta think of everything for ya? Come on. Just follow me into this Tully’s.
[sfx: bass riff]
EMCEE: And now, Episode 5 of MARKHEIM, by Paul Mullin.
Transition One
VOICE: Maybe it’s the dreams I’ve been having. Or maybe it’s that angels don’t dream. Any way I figure it, I gotta talk to Sam.
But how does a lowly Markheim like me dial up the Devil, especially when the Arch Angel Raguel has posted a guard of dominations over me?
I follow my Spokane Indian friend Smiley through the Tully’s coffee shop, and through the back room into a long corridor deep underneath one of the Harborsteps towers. From there we make our way down into the bus tunnel, getting off at Convention Place and then, with me now keeping unseen to any meat and Smiley playing his own Injun invisibility games, we sneak on foot into the tunnel itself. Smiley leads me ever deeper into the underbelly of Seattle’s Capitol Hill.
Scene 1
(Sounds of two pairs of footsteps echoing in a tunnel.)
SMILEY (whispering): So?
MARKHEIM (not whispering): So what?
SMILEY: So how far do you want to go in? I told you this tunnel’s got bad medicine. The deeper we go, the worse it gets.
MARKHEIM: Then let’s go deeper.
SMILEY: Shit.
(Sounds of walking through water.)
MARKHEIM: Holy damn. What’s that?
SMILEY: I told you about that before we come down here. That’s the giant metal worm that chews through Seattle’s insides.
MARKHEIM: The Meat’s gotten fancier since I was last down. And what’s that over there?
SMILEY: You mean the Honey Pot? That’s a portable shitter, Markheim.
MARKHEIM: Ah, perfect.
(Sounds of Markheim walking over to the Porta-potty, then opening the door and climbing inside.)
SMILEY (still outside): That’s disgusting, man.
MARKHEIM (muffled): Pretty wrong, hunh?
SMILEY: I’ll say, yeah.
MARKHEIM: Very very wrong?
SMILEY: Sure.
MARKHEIM: Okay, then. Let’s get started. You coming in?
SMILEY: Hell, no.
MARKHEIM: I thought you wanted to meet Sam.
SMILEY: In that stink?
MARKHEIM: That’s the idea.
SMILEY: Ah, man. Don’t stick your face down in there like that.
MARKHEIM: It’s okay. Angels have a terrible sense of smell.
(Now a different sort of muffled echo as Markheim talks directly into the toilet hole.)
Hello? Is this thing on? Testing. Hey.... HEY!
Sam, it’s the Markheim. Can you hear me? We need to talk.
I found the lowest foulest baddest medicine infested place from which to place my call, thanks to my good friend, Smiley.
SMILEY: Hey! Don’t be saying my name.
MARKHEIM: Don’t worry about it.
(back into the toilet)
So, Sammy boy, Prince of Air, Lord of Flies, I do believe a situation needs your attention. And so here I am, screaming into a shit-filled portable shitter. Sort of a metaphor for you, wouldn’t you say? Portable shit-filled shitter?
SMILEY: Is this the really the best way?
MARKHEIM (sticking his head out of the Honey Pot): Absolutely. Sir Thomas Moore once said ““The devil, proude spirit, cannot endure to be mocked.”
SMILEY: Yeah. How’d things go for that dude?
MARKHEIM: They cut off his head, boiled it and stuck it on a pike above the London Bridge
SMILEY: Okay.
MARKHEIM (back into the toilet):
There’s something happening here, Sam, in this soggy forgotten town in the upper left hand corner of nowhere. Angels are dropping down from the Fix like the flies you claim lordship over. Like flies on shit. City’s starting to crawl with angels. Hell, I personally got a body guard of three shadowing me everywhere. And why do you think that is, Sammy? This is still your city, ain’t it?
Sam?
You know what? I couldn’t give a shit. I couldn’t give the shit currently sitting in this portable shitter. You figure it out, with your own crew. I’m walking neutral, and I don’t care to ever see you again. Yeah, yeah, Sam, that’s right. I hope to God— that’s right— I hope to the great AWOL Anagram Himself that I never lay eyes on your angel face again. You hear me? DO ME THAT FAVOR AND STAY RIGHT DOWN THERE ROTTING IN THE HELL YOU CREATED FOR YOURSELF!!!!
(long pause)
SMILEY: You done?
MARKHEIM: Yeah.
SMILEY: You got issues, Markheim.
MARKHEIM: Yeah.
(Sounds of walking in the tunnel.)
Transition 1
VOICE: I decided to make the most of the little vacation Smiley arranged from my celestial body guard and pay a long overdue visit.
Scene 2
(Sounds of a hospital room plus faraway voices on an intercom paging doctors.)
MARKHEIM: Didge. Didge, it’s the Markheim. You awake?
DIDGE: Oh hey, Mark. What the hell are you doing here?
MARKHEIM: Just thought I’d check up on you. I heard you cut off your glowing hand.
DIDGE: Yeah.
MARKHEIM: But then they sewed it back on.
DIDGE: That’s right.
MARKHEIM: Stank said it doesn’t burn any more.
DIDGE: No, that’s bullshit. It still burns. Never stops. But now it’s so... clear... like pure vodka or... holy water or... something. Cold. Like the whole hand is somewhere else. Somewhere beautiful, crisp. I’m not worthy of this pain. Or I didn’t used to think so. But now I know am. Veronica says so. No one deserves it more. If anyone tried to take it from me I’d kill them, Mark. That’s the god’s honest truth. I’d kill you.
MARKHEIM: Much as I hate to say it, Didge, you ain’t got that particular trick in ya. Not even now with your hand of holy fire.
DIDGE: I wouldn’t know. I’ll ask Veronica next time I see her.
MARKHEIM: Who’s Veronica?
DIDGE: She’s my friend. She’s the one the one that makes the burning okay.
MARKHEIM: How does Veronica do that, Didge?
DIDGE: She comes to me.
MARKHEIM: When does she come?
DIDGE: At night. Late. In the middle. She rides me. She makes me come the burning inside her. Flows from my hand through my body into her, and as long as it keeps flowing, it’s okay. You know?
MARKHEIM: She mention anybody else?
DIDGE: Like who?
MARKHEIM: Like who sent her? Who she works for?
DIDGE: She doesn’t work for anybody. She’s my friend.
MARKHEIM (more to himself): Succubus.
DIDGE: What?
MARKHEIM: What did she smell like? Think.
DIDGE: Spring, thick grass and flowers blooming and wetness.
MARKHEIM: Could be a demon. Or an angel. Hard to say. @hatever this Veronica is, it may well feel like you now owe it a debt, and someday it may wanna collect.
DIDGE: Good. Whatever she wants, I’ll give it to her.
MARKHEIM: That’s what I’m afraid of.
One more last thing, Didge?
DIDGE: What?
MARKHEIM: How did you cut your hand off?
DIDGE: With a radial arm saw.
MARKHEIM: Where?
DIDGE: My brother-in-law’s cabinet-making shop in Georgetown.
MARKHEIM: Ah. And who found you?
DIDGE: What?
MARKHEIM: Someone must’ve found you pretty quick for them to save your hand and sew it back on.
DIDGE: It was Stank.
MARKHEIM: What was Stank doing at your brother-in-law’s shop?
DIDGE: I-- I don’t know. I don’t remember. He was just there. I lost a lot of blood.
MARKHEIM: Yeah. Of course. All right. Get some rest. I’ll see you soon.
DIDGE: Not if I see you first.
MARKHEIM: That’s funny, kid.
DIDGE: Is it?
Transition 2
VOICE: Well that’s just great. Kid goes to the perfectly reasonable trouble of chopping off his hand only to get it sewn back on, and now someone or some thing is trying to get its hooks in him. Why?
With the Raguel’s Doms guarding the Harborsteps, I gotta find some new stairway to sit and think. For now, Freeway park. It ain’t ideal. Too boxy and claustrophobic. Too many juggalo kids looking for trouble, and too many blind angles for them to find it.
Scene 3
(Sounds of high heels approaching, someone matches a cigarette.)
MARA: Hello, Markheim, remember me?
MARKHEIM: Think so. Demon choker, name of Mara, right?
MARA: That’s right.
MARKHEIM: Wasn’t sure at first. Hard to recognize you without the cowardly ambush.
MARA: Didn’t think that was necessary.
MARKHEIM: Didn’t you?
MARA: Shall we cut to the chase.
MARKHEIM: And which chase is that, doll?
MARA: You got a message for Sam? You can give it to me.
MARKHEIM: Oh, can I?
MARA: What’s your problem, Markheim? I’m showing restraint here.
MARKHEIM: Who’s restraint? Your own? Or Sam’s?
(beat)
No clever comeback? Speak up. I said speak up, choker. No? Well, what ever you do, don’t touch yourself?
MARA: What?
MARKHEIM: Don’t put your hands on yourself.
MARA: What?
MARKHEIM: Don’t push them down and then glide them up, feeling everything in between.
MARA: I—
MARKHEIM: Right... And don’t reach them up to your beautiful neck.
MARA: Oh... What’s happening? Why is your face...
MARKHEIM: Glowing? I wouldn’t know. I don’t glow. Now do me a favor. And this is very important, Mara Demon-choker, with your beautiful strong hands on your own beautiful long neck like that, whatever you do, don’t squeeze.
(sounds of Mara choking)
You don’t think there was a Markheim in the room with Judas at the end?
Now believe this if you believe anything, you sexy pile of sulfur. Sam loves you. Sam’s not in love with this world or with his hopes of heaven regained. He loves you, and all his demon horde, and wouldn’t ever betray you for a single moment in the presence of, say, Sar Iophiel, Archangel of Truth.
MARA: The Fall is irrevocable. Sam can never go back. None of the Fallen can.
MARKHEIM: Who told you that? Oh, probably Sam, right? Probably told you that angels are like demons and can never fall back up? Here’s what strikes me funny ‘bout that. How come they still got wings? And you lousy demons got nothing but the Crisp and the occasional ticket to the Show?
MARA: But—
MARKHEIM: Shhh. Don’t squeeze.
(Sounds of choking)
You don’t think that was a Markheim with the Kid in the wilderness? Oh, sure, everyone says it was Sam, but think about it. That’s Markheim work.
Now listen closely, darling Mara, the last thing I would want you to do is squeeze so tight that you choke your own damned soul down to the Crisp, but should you do that against my better advice, then do me a little favor when you get there. Tell Sam I talk to him or nobody. ‘Kay?
Cuz like he and you both reminded me recently, things can always get uglier, right?
Now.
Whatever you do... Don’t... squeeze... hard!
(Sounds of Mara choking herself down to hell.
End of episode.)
Episode 7 Preview
EMCEE: Next time, on MARKHEIM...
VOICE: My eyes pop open. My heart is thumping. But there’s nothing in the night. Just the harbor steps and my Domination guards. One at the top of the steps. One at the bottom. And one stuck in the middle with me.
SAM (hollering from very far away): Markheim!
MARKHEIM (to himself): Shit.
SAM: Hello? Anybody home?
DOM 1: Oo’s that?
SAM (suddenly close): Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your friends?
MARKHEIM (to the Doms): Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him. Just keep your heads down.
DOM 2: You want us to bow our heads to some Meat?
MARKHEIM: He ain’t Meat.
DOM 2: Some demon then.
DOM 3 (from farther away): Not bloody likely.
SAM: Aw, look at these darling Dominations. So fresh from the Fix they don’t even recognize me. What do they teach you up there anyhow?
DOM 1: Best get back to hell, brother, ‘fore we glow ye there.
SAM: Oooh. This one’s spicy, Markheim. Is she your favorite? She’d be mine. These things are full of juice, you know. Just have to open ‘em right.
EMCEE: What to know what happens next? Join us next time, on Markheim.
DOM 1: Go to hell, crisp trash.
SAM: I can’t go to hell, sister. I AM hell. Now give us a kiss.
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