I'm an urban explorer and spent the summer up in Goliath Park with some extended family. Goliath is a huge national park surrounded by mountain towns and small towns. I was looking for some fun places to check out and my uncle told me about the broadcasting station up in the mountains. Apparently, it was an old military base, and the signal only reached the local communities. He told my he’s been keeping track of the codes as a hobby for the past months. He picked up his old handheld radio and tuned it to a specific station.

[ 41 17 6 BRIAN. 61 5 92 BEST WISHES. 44 32 10 ROE.]

A senseless stream of numbers and phrases and names spewed forth from the small box. I was in shock; the station was operational? Apparently since it was a military installation and one of the buildings was technically still in use the station never lost power since its built directly into the infrastructure there. This didn’t sound correct, but I honestly didn’t know enough to protest the dodgy intel. I packed my things along with the radio and planned to leave the next morning. As I was packing, I let the little radio play some more.

[ 60 42 99 FINE BUSINESS. 42 77 18 HELLO. 11 19 2 BRANDON.]

I shuddered and immediately felt uncomfortable. The station used my name. It wasn’t an uncommon name or anything, but I still felt kind of creeped out. I got that sensation that I was being watched and foolishly spun around in my room out of fear. After feeling silly at my own paranoia, I continued to pack. Into my inconspicuous navy-blue duffel, I meticulously placed my camera, pry bar, knife, paint, first aid kit, flashlight, spare batteries, a change of clothes, a few bottles of water and snacks. The next morning i had a hearty breakfast and left for my destination. Tuning in to the station again on my way.

[ 10 99 9 BRIER. 87 12 61 OLD MAN. 66 44 92 OPERATOR.]

Something about exploring in the middle of nowhere vs. traditional urbex is the absolute isolation. In the city or suburbs, it might be more dangerous, but you can be sure of two things. Thing 1 is that other people have been there and could still be there. This is important because everything will be more accessible and there's an amount of expected vandalism. The upside is if there's a better path or if something is dangerous chances are it will be more readily apparent, for example if there's a weak floor or something isn’t structurally sound it will probably already be damaged or if there's a good way to get past a locked door that path will be more visible from all the past explorers going through. This is also a double-edged sword because the exploring has been done for you but it's also a lot easier and safer. The second thing is that in the more populated areas you know you’re around other people. There’s probably occupied buildings nearby and there’s probably other explorers inside the building you’re looking in, or at least the local homeless or drug addicts. This makes it more dangerous but more comforting in a way. Perhaps that's not the best word to use but the idea is: You’re on charted territory and you’re still in civilization. Here is different. I'm miles away from anything and if I’m injured or lost chances are I won’t be found. I fought off the invasive thought that if I died out here my body would never be found, and I probably wouldn’t be buried. As much as i tried this thought persisted as I drove further up the winding mountain roads. To take my mind off this I turned up my car stereo

[ 12 50 1 CALLING. 15 14 13 SEE YOU. 11 10 80 HOMER.]

I turned the radio off after realizing all the stations this far up the mountain only picked up that broadcast. I pulled to the side of a road into an old driveway. I stepped out of my car and lit up a smoke (bad habit I know). I pulled over to grab a CD out of my back seat, But I couldn’t resist poking my head into the front door of the overgrown dilapidated house I parked at. Ivy covered walls and ancient sagging furniture stared back at me. I thought about what it would be like to live up here all alone. As I finished my smoke I pushed the CD into my cars player. Reliving my 90’s punk phase I finished the last leg of my journey. Pulling up to the property I decided to listen to the station a bit more, just for the atmosphere.

[ 9 61 13 COME. 21 33 7 JOANNE. 27 54 08 RAGCHEW. ]

I patted the hood of my car begging her to start when i needed to head home. It was early afternoon and I looked over the scenery. The mountains were beautiful. My panorama was halted by the slender yet imposing steel colossus before me. The radio tower. I waded through the leaves and pine needles to the edge of the fence surrounding the property. I contemplated climbing the rusty fence but when I pushed on it the chain links gave way. I meandered around the property in a sort of ritual. I always explored the outside first. Then I check any side buildings. The only other buildings on the property were a small utility building that was locked up with no windows and a heavy steel door. The second other building was a gatehouse. The door was unlocked and the windows were broken, not due to anyone being here but I assumed just from the elements. Inside was full of leaves and it was clear many small animals had taken shelter here. I paused to examine a birds nest made with small sticks and some of the papers left behind here. I felt oddly at peace looking at the egg shells left behind in the nest. After admiring the sparrows craftsmanship and parenting skills I made my way to the main building. As I hopped the short waist height fence by the gate house my pants snagged on one of the fence posts a familiar unwelcome sound came from my pocket.

[ 1 34 15 SCHEDULE. 14 19 22 TELEVISION INTERFERENCE. 19 99 0 MARIE.]

The radio station had shifted my mood significantly. It made me feel a sad determination. I felt grim and serious, as if what i was doing was a harsh necessity. Like putting down a beloved, rabid, dog. I felt ill. As I pulled open the door the pit in my stomach grew heavier. The interior was Dusty and cavernous. I crept through the station taking photos of documents and equipment. All of it was exactly how it was left. My favorite photo was one of a coffee mug that stained a paper beneath it. Still sitting after all these years. The lighting inside was a hazy gray-tan color due to the buildup of thick dust on the aging cloudy windows. The inside of this building was silent. I could hear my heartbeat and I felt incredibly anxious to the point where I was afraid to make any sound and disturb this buildings slumber. After exploring the lobby and front offices I ventured upstairs to the broadcasting room. Old wood paneled switchboards and other pieces of equipment crowded the small room. All of it covered in layers of dust. I was beginning to get that feeling again. I couldn’t exactly figure out what was wrong. I kept looking around and taking pictures. I froze. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. None of this equipment was running. Something felt horribly wrong. I looked around frantically. Palming the knife in my pocket, preparing to defend myself from some unseen enemy. This wasn’t possible right? I turned on my radio again and after an infinitesimal moment of hesitation to speaker rang out.

[ 11 11 11 MESSAGE. 56 66 41 ZACHARY. 69 42 0 PREAMBLE. ]

I thought maybe there was another room this broadcast could be from. I rationalized that it probably didn’t take much to have a repeating signal run like that. I returned to the lobby and this time went forward into the hallway. I came to a large open room. The feeling of dread building inside of me. The Room was empty besides a pristine upright piano. There was a large ribbon microphone hanging from a cord on the ceiling. Behind it stood a massive iron door. Staring at the door drove into me an intense unease. It felt wrong, like it shouldn’t be here. But now that I paused to think about it, none of this should be here. Why does a military station have a piano in here? Why did they build a tiny station like this in a valley in the middle of nowhere? Why is it still broadcasting? Where is it from? What do the codes even mean? I sat down to calm myself. I have this childish habit of relaxing by pretending I’m not worried about something. I foolhardily stood up an approached the piano. I lifted up the dusty fallboard and looked at the keys. I positioned my hands over the keys and before I could finger my first note something else broke the silence.

[ 11 15 84 BRANDON. 11 15 84 BRANDON. 11 15 84 BRANDON.]

I got paralyzing chills and could barely overcome them enough to turn myself around. I bolted down the hall and out the front door. I practically ran through the fence. When I approached my car I almost screamed, I would have if i wasn’t so out of breath. The doors are trunk were open and my things were strewn around in the leaves. I didn’t care. I dove into the drivers side, Slammed the keys into the ignition and cranked it. Nothing. Again. Nothing. I cursed. The car heard me and started up this time I floored it letting the doors close from the force of the car moving. Eventually I caught my breath. 11-15-84. That was my birthday why was it on the radio. Who was there. These questions burned in my mind as I continued my drive. The handheld radio In my pocket buzzed to life again. There wasn’t the typical signal just static. I was too busy driving to turn it off but through the static I began to hear a sound. A distant creaking and slamming sound. Like someone slamming the side of a dumpster with a golf club. I grit my teeth as the goosebumps formed over my arms. I heard footsteps and another sound like something being dragged. Much much clearer I heard a small creak and after another small delay I heard it. The most gut-wrenching sound I’ve ever heard. Not because the sound was unpleasant, in fact, it was quite the opposite. From the radio I heard the haunting sounds of the piano. The most heartbreaking rendition of Claire De Lune. Driving through the moonlit mountain roads I grit my teeth as the tears rand down my cheeks. I listened to the entire composition and the moment the last note was finished the transmission stopped.

I got to a gas station. I refueled myself and my car. I went through my remaining belongings to see what was stolen or lost. It was mostly junk in my car. Nothing too important. However, under my seat I found a small black item. An unfamiliar device. I threw it into the woods behind the gas station. I should have felt scared but I was so emotionally drained at this point. I felt relieved knowing that I found the tracker before arriving home. I got back to my families house that night. I told them the trip was good. I dont know why I lied. I think I was lying to myself more than I was lying to them. My uncle asked me about the broadcast. I Lied telling him the station was exactly how he described but that I might have messed up the signal And the codes wont be available anymore. He frowned puzzled and disappeared into the garage. I followed as he tuned his radio to the familiar station.

[ 19 16 83 JOSEPH. 31 28 96 TRANSMIT. 32 16 18 SEE YOU SOON. ]

I wondered for a long time if what happened was real. I wondered what it all meant. But that’s another thing about the mountains: Things happen. Not all of them have an explanation. Not all of them follow the normal rules we live by. Things are so isolated anything can happen. Its one of the last places on earth where experiences like this can happen. I dont think ill ever have closure I’m just grateful I made it home safely. Id rather stick to exploring in the city. Too scared to listen to the radio on the way home I pressed play on my CD player. A familiar haunting melody played from the speakers. I pressed eject and looked at the recently burned CD and left it on the side of highway, And that's it. I’ll never go back and nothing has happened since. I’m still an urban explorer and life has returned to normalcy.