DEATH FM

'Wha – are tay?'

Jared nodded, slowly, stirring the golden butter. 'The ones I and others couldn't help.'

'Ne-ad to get ye sel-f a proper job, innit. Tes-co or summik.'

Jared smiled. 'Quite possibly.'

He turned the hob off and put the pan to the side.

'How doit?'

'Do what?'

'Halp?'

Jared moved over to the kettle and poured himself his seventh cup of the day. 'I lost someone. Someone close. I was young, really young.'

Tenebrae looked to the floor. 'Eeh, na. I was jost askin' how you do all tis? Like Hog-wart anshit?'

'Oh. Oh, yeah, sorry. I though you meant . . .'

She smiled. 'Nah, nah, but tanks.'

Jared took a swig of his coffee, quickly. 'Look, er, why don't you just chill for a bit. Music. But some music on.'

'Does tat?'

'Course, do what you want.'

She smiled again. 'Nah, mean, CAN DO TAT? Caspar anshit.'

Jared laughed again. 'Well, you're here, aren't you? Why don't you give it a go?'

The butter was smooth, silky. Jared finished off crushing the pips and downed the last dregs of coffee. Music started to filter in from his bedroom and he smiled. He had his work cut out tonight. His apartment was essentially a lighthouse in the darkened abyss. Tenebrae was furious and those in the dark places felt it.

Jared scattered the dust from the apple pips into the golden butter and mixed it. The sound of music emanated from the room adjacent and he curiously leaned into the sound.

Paul Simon's Graceland played out and he smiled, bringing forth memories of Sunday lunches and apple crumble.

'Du-der,' Tenebrae called out. 'Gat only one chunnel innit.'

Jared leaned into the doorway. 'Yeah, sorry. It's a bit old, give it a few moments.'

She appeared in the hallway, perplexed as to his anachronistic approach to technology. 'Du-der, wha hell? Got a sauce pan?'

Paul Simon's Graceland phased out to static and then returned. But this time it sounded like old vinyl, scratched, distorted.

"I'm going to Graceland, Graceland

In Memphis Tennessee"

Watery echoes.

'You ne-ed anew radio.'

'Flint.'

'Wat?'

'Where's Flint?'

Tenebrae rolled her eyes and held her hands out.

'The cat?'

'Dun-no you ad a cat? Spin-ster.'

'I need him.'

Jared walked down to the hall and pulled open the airing cupboard. The dark ball of fur opened one solidary eye and sighed. 'C'mon you old ledge. Time to go to work.' The old puss yawned the aroma of old meat and winked at his master, crawling from a white towel now covered in black fur.

'Oh wonderful, thank you.'

The cat stretched and started to walk toward the kitchen. 'Not so fast mister.' Jared grabbed his front paws and placed them in the butter, much to the annoyance of Flint. He reciprocated his feelings with a faint rasp and a furious wag of his tail. Tenebrae watched on, fascinated.