The basement floor of the apartment building was chockfull of dust, spiderwebs and lurking shadows. In a single lit corner of the cool, damp darkness: a desk. An old mahogany affair burdened by a plethora of unmatching broadcasting equipment... most notably its archaic microphone. Balfour Spectre sat here with his shirt sleeves rolled back and eyes on the ceiling. He was comfortable, petting the black husky at his feet as the minutes passed. Until finally, an abrasive din from the speakers. Time.
"Hearts don't break, listeners. They rip. Happy Beloved Valentines and welcome- to
the Haunting Hour.
Have you been reading the papers, citizens of the wizarding world? Perhaps your delivery man, like mine, prefers to serenade you with excerpts from
The Daily Prophet and dressing tips of
Witch Weekly. Bow ties are evidently
in, he warbles, but I do not trust him.
Nor do I trust these
unregistered werewolves, so succinctly reported by Miss Thursby in Friday's paper. What is the point, listeners, of registering our Lycan equals if they may trickle into a safe house so carelessly?
Or perhaps we should be wondering: what is the point of a registry when these well meaning witches or wizards are checking in without impetus? And what, we may ask our dear Gervais, constitutes a
right to safe houses when it is our community at risk?
All questions to take with you to sleep this evening- or to whichever menacing rendezvous bringing you to that especially
dark and
moist corner of Knockturn Alley. You know who you are.
Until next week, witches and wizards... stay in trouble~"
Feel free to PM Balfour if your character would like to call in on the show. 
The Haunting Hour [14.02.2010]