Christopher Bair

Over the Airwaves in Anchorage

I was a person before.

I was as normal as anyone else could tell. I was a newlywed, myhusband my best friend since high school. We loved the open road.Started our own company just to haul goods from Washington to Alaska.Such beauty out on these roads.

The tales you hear about the Yukon Butcher are true. Horrifying.Anyone who tells you they’re wrong just don’t want to believe that suchan animal could be human.

They’re right. They just don’t broaden their horizons.

I’m alone, if anyone’s listening. This route wears on you when you’realone. It’s unbearable, you know? Like a missing arm that tingles andwants you to itch it, but it’s just not there anymore.

Kodiak Blue to Ragdoll Express, I read you coming up. There’s apulloff in two miles. I need to hit the head, but I’m game. Meet mebehind the building and we’ll see where things go. Out.

The full moon never hides around me anymore. Even with clouds, sleet,snow, whatever nature tries to throw at me on my time to shine, Lunamakes sure I know she’s watching.

The truckers got wise and avoided night stops at the rest areas wherethe Yukon Butcher’s hit in the past. I wish I had known when I lost myhusband years ago. But I grew wise as well.

This rest area is new to me. Well lit parking lot, it appears. Butplenty of cover of darkness in the back.

The beast should appreciate the work I put into making it happy. Afterall, it helps me cope with these long journeys.