Death Threat in a Bottle
By Jason Wilder Konschak


Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—Chick-ka-chunk. 
“You’ve reached the Omen, Hampshire’s 
Bitter Publication. We don’t care what you want, 
so don’t expect us to call you back.” 
Beep. Bleep... Boop.
“Hey! Yo! It’s me, Dr. Wilder, on my cell-
phone, in a jeep, hauling Egypt and civilization! 
The other day, I had a bizarre dream! I was in 
Wonderland! I was so inspired by it—I felt I had 
to do something wild! So, for a joke, I cut off all 
the Chief’s hair! To me, funny! To the tribe, less 
so! I thought it best to flee when they attacked 
me with—”
[Someone speaking Swahili interrupts.]
“My driver tells me that we’re coming into 
Bloated Corpse Ravine, where the fabled Flying 
Bndoundou Hamsters roost! Usually, we’d wait 
til nightfall to drive through, but the tribe is right 
on our tail—Ut oh...”
[Sound of the engine. Then, call of the 
Flying Bndoundou: Bndoon doun doun douu!”]
“What does that mean?!”
[The Swahili voice responds, agitated.]
“What are you doing?! Hey! Zook! Zook!”
[The engine stops. Shuffling. Squeak of dry 
metal. Distinct sound of a slamming car door. 
Sandaled feet running.]
“Where the hell are you going?!”
[A loud sound, like a baseball hitting a 
trashcan. A pause. The call of the Bndoundou 
echoes menacingly all around. Then two more 
thuds in quick succession.]
“The Flying Hamsters are dive-bombing the 
jeep! They’ve mistaken it for a stray elephant! 
They’re dive-bombing it with their poison-tipped 
noses! Sweet God—someone do somethi—”
Beeeeeep. Chunk. Chunk. Whirrr. Click.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—Chick-ka-chunk. 
“You’ve reached the Omen, Hampshire’s 
Bitter Publication. We don’t care what you want, 
so don’t expect us to call you back.” 
Beep. Bleep… Bleep… Boop.
[Heavy breathing. Crackling flames. 
Hideous howls of Bndoundous.]
“The little devils have blown up the jeep! 
Now I’m hiding under a rock, watching them 
relentlessly pummel the flames, like moths to a 
light bulb!
“Listen! What I want you to do is call the 
American Embassy! Call the Airforce! If you can 
find them, call the fucking A-team! Get me the 
hell out of here, before they find me! The 
horrible, wretched, adorable little dears!”
[Thud.]

“Oh no. They’ve found me. I don’t know 
how, but they’ve found me…”
[Horrible screaming.]
Beeeeeep. Chunk. Chunk. Whirrr. Click.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—Chick-ka-chunk. 
“You’ve reached the Omen, Hampshire’s 
Bitter Publication. We don’t care what you want, 
so don’t expect us to call you back.” 
Beep. Bleep… Bleep… Bleep ...Boop.
“Hello-lo-lo?” 
[There is an echo.]
“It’s night ight ight. I’ve hidden in a cave 
ave ave. They’re afraid to enter here ear ear. The 
ceiling is too low for them to fly eye eye eye. 
But they’re waiting for me ee ee ee...”
[A long pause.]
“I’ve got to find a way out of here ear ear.”
[Shuffling. Muttering.]
“I could … and kick … and then … but I 
don’t have … and that was… What’ve I got here 
anyway … no, no, no…”
[Snap.] 
“Wait a minute! THAT’S IT it it it!” 
[Rattling, like broken teeth in a cup.]
“Yes! Yes! I’ll call you back ack ack!”
Plip. Tone. Beeeeeep. Chunk. Chunk. 
Whirrr. Click.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—Chick-ka-chunk. 
“You’ve reached the Omen, Hampshire’s 
Bitter Publication. We don’t care what you want, 
so don’t expect us to call you back.” 
Beep. Bleep… Bleep… Bleep ... Bleep … 
Boop.
“Congratulations to me! It is dawn, and I’ve 
saved myself from the evil hamsters! I now sit 
amongst them, and they sing for me!”
[Silence.]
[Then…]
[A helium-voiced chorus: “We love 
everybody! We’re always haaaappy!!]
“How did the doctor do it, you ask yourself? 
Well, I will tell you, suckah!” 
[“Sing along with us! Dee d’di dee dee!”]
“I took a bottle from my medical bag, 
cracked open a few capsules, and laid them out 
for the swarm to eat—”
[“Yeah, we’re hap-pap-ee!”]
“But let me read you the prescription label! 
Dr. Wilder. Take 1 capsule every day. Prozac, 
250mg PULV!
“It takes weeks to work on humans—but if 
you absolutely, positively gotta make every rabid 
rodent in the ravine as sane and well-adjusted as 
me, Dr. Wilder, then PROZAC is the shiz-dit!”
[“In the summertime! When the weather’s 
hot! You can stretch right up and touch the 
sky!”]
“When the weather’s fine, you got women, 
you got women on your mind!”
[Wizzzzz. Crack.]
“Oh shit. I forgot about the tribe… I guess 
they caught up.”
[Bip. Bip. Bip.]
“And the battery’s low on my phone.”
[Wizzz. Splat. ]
“And now I’ve got a spear in my  leg.”
Beeeeeep. Chunk. Chunk. Whirrr. Click.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—Chick-ka-chunk. 
“You’ve reached the Omen office. We’re 
currently out kicking the elderly. If you want to 
waste your time, leave a message, and we’ll 
ignore it. And if this is Dr. Wilder – we aren’t 
your stinking secretary, asshole!” 
Beep. Bleep... Boop.
[Chanting. Beating drums.]
“You bastards! You slimy bastards! You 
changed that message! That means you got my 
messages! WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME! 
Why didn’t get help?”
“I know you all! You’re probably sitting 
there, eating pizza, laughing at me! If I ever get 
out of here, I’ll kill you all! I’ll make you eat 
your own fingers! PICK UP THE PHONE!”
Clung.
“Hello. Pub lab.”
“Oh! Thank god! You picked up! Listen! 
Man! You’ve got to help me! The tribe captured 
me! They’ve given me two options—I can 
submit to their ancient ceremonial punishment, 
or I can jump off a cliff!”
“Is this Peter?”
“No! This is Dr. Wilder!”
“Are you in danger?”
“Yes! They’re going to eat me alive, 
goddammit!!”
“Are you totally helpless?”
“I’ve only got a few minutes of power left 
on this phone!”
“Ha ha.”
Click.

Bling. Bling. Click-click. 
“Hello there. You’ve reached the Forward 
office. If you want to report an event, or have 
questions or comments about our publication, 
please leave a message, and I’ll personally get 
right back to you as soon as I humanly can. 
Because we care.” 
Beep. Bleep... Boop.
[Roaring waves.]
“Hey … um … this is Dr. Wilder.”
[His voice sounds hallow and small.]
“Maybe you know me. I write for the Omen. 
I know our respective organizations have had 
disagreements in the past – but I just want you to 
know that I had nothing to do with the pretzel 
incident! It was all them! Those lousy bastards 
that abandoned me!”
[An enormously loud seagull.]
“Now, I’ve got to cut right to the chase here, 
because my battery is getting awfully low… 
Well, I don’t know if you keep up with my 
article, but I’ve been staying with this tribe … 
and they sort of punished me…”
[Wind.]
“That is to say, after their little ceremonial 
dance…”
[Another enormously loud seagull]
“The thing is, I’m only two inches tall. They 
shrunk me down and stuck me in a bottle. They 
threw me out into the middle of the ocean!”
 “Please help me! I only have enough 
shrunken Chee-tos to last me a few days at sea! 
And there’s a seagull who thinks I’m tastey!”
[“Ba-GA!” THUNK!]
“Help me, I won’t tell anyone about—”
Clung.
“Hello. It seems you’re in quite a little mess 
there, Dr. Walker.”
“It’s Dr. Wilder, you Forward freak! And 
yes! I’m in a heap of shit! Will you help me!?”
“Well… sure, sure… But, if you could, I’d 
like to ask you to write an article for me in trade. 
You know, fair exchange.”
 “If I write an article for the Forward, you’ll 
save me?”
“Sure, sure. I mean, I’m human, aren’t I?”
“I guess so... What do you want me to write 
about?”
[Low Battery Warning.]
“Well, I need a cautious, well-rounded, 
balanced piece, about the Reproductive Rights 
Conference, and their cheerful visit to the 
Negative Space Café.”
[Tearing wind and sinister waves.]
“Dr. Wilder? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“So, what do you think?”
“I think I’d rather die.”
[Static.]