PROMO: Harvey in Hell E1 - "Starlight Pond"
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What is the premise of Harvey in Hell and who is the main character?
Well, hello there. It's Alex, and I'm taking a quick break from prepping season three of Woodbine to bring you a little treat from another show that might tide you over as we figure out what our vampire friends are up to. Spoiler, it's messy. From Christopher Scott McClure, creator of the award-winning fiction podcast The Milkman of St. Gaffes, comes Harvey in Hell, a supernatural mystery show about childhood, memory, and the things we're willing to believe to survive. The series follows John Harvey Kutz, an FBI profiler who might have chosen the wrong line of work, as he arrives in the desert town of Sunnyside, Nevada, searching for missing children, along with confronting the ghosts of his own childhood.
And, as anyone who's been to Nevada has surely experienced, he finds a hellish lake of fire, a Christmas-themed casino, and a town built on secrets. And a few Southern Ontario references, for good measure. Supported by the Canada Council for the Arts, Season 2 premieres this summer. If you want to get a taste for the show, keep listening to the episode included here. And we'll see you soon.
My best friend, when I was seven or eight years old, lived a few doors down from me in a government-assisted housing co-op in Schwa, Michigan. His name was Michael, and his parents used to lock him out of the house when they got high. Michael showed me the needles once. When he was locked out, we'd spend all afternoon down in the ravine behind the co-op making potions out of mud and casting magic spells. Michael's dad taught us how to play darts in his basement, and his mom used to cook us hot dogs in their backyard. I know Michael's dad hit him sometimes. Michael had a little sister named Jess, and the three of us were all together when we found his dad's stash of dirty magazines. Mostly, what I remembered was the little girl laughing at the pictures.
My mother used to tell me that Michael was on the road to ruin and that his parents were unfit. When I asked Michael about his mom and dad though, he always said he thought they were great and that he loved them. Some people just can't see the truth about things even when it's right in front of them. I thought a lot about Michael and his sister and wished I'd been older back then and could have helped them somehow. I ended up becoming an FBI agent. No one could say I didn't turn out okay. Still, when I think back about being a kid, it's like there was some dark cloud over the whole thing. Part of me always wanted to get back to that darkness. I didn't know it yet, but I was just about to find it.
I've always hated the sun. It lays bare the ugly truth about everything. And I burn easily. Especially out here in the desert.
They taught us that this part of the country used to be an ocean. Then it was a forest with massive redwoods and sequoias. But then there were huge fires from lightning or volcanoes, and it all burned to the ground. Now nothing much grows out here. I'd been driving west about three hours in a bureau car I borrowed from the Salt Lake field office. A new 1982 Caprice Classic, black. It was late afternoon and the sun kept getting in my eyes. Squinting wasn't helping at all. I kept drifting up to the rearview mirror to avoid the brightness. It was a long drive and I couldn't even listen to the radio. When I tried to turn it on, I somehow pulled off the volume knob and couldn't get it back on. Maybe there weren't any radio stations out here anyways.
This was the first time I'd been to the Utah desert. The views of the mountains way off in the distance, no traffic, all the sand and shrubby low plants. It felt like I was in some lonely daydream where my thoughts could roam free without anyone to interrupt them. I didn't think anyone lived out here, and up until a few minutes ago, I hadn't seen much of anything. Then I saw one, then another, Every once in a while I'd see strange little shacks, some made of metal sheets with piles of tires on the roof, others just ramshackle wooden structures, ancient campers. There was a door set in a large pile of dirt.
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