December 16, 2022 • 26 mins
A little sprig of mistletoe; a farewell written in acid; a tireless search for the coldest of comforts. Featuring the voices of Malcolm McDowell, Gina Rickicki, and Nicholas Tecosky. Written by Steven Williams.
See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
Twelve Ghosts is a production of I Heeart three D
audio and Grimm and Mild from Aaron Banky Headphones Recommended.
Listener discretion advised. I learnt upon a coppice gate when
(00:24):
frost was specter gray and the winter's dragged may desolate
the weakening eye of day. The tangle bind stems scored
the sky like strings of broken lyres, and all mankind
that haunted. NI had sought the household fires. Mm hmm.
(01:04):
But the night is long and a bill, and there
is more than enough time. The truth will out. But
no matter at the moment, there will be time. There
are many hours yet in this long night. How is
the wine? It's good. I thought by my second cup
(01:26):
i'd feel groggy, But I think I'm more clear headed
than I've been in years. It's a special vintage. I
quite like it. H good, right on time. Cheer, my lad,
(01:52):
have we met? Absolutely not? Come in m ah. Of
course you chose to stand beneath the mizzletoe, a lovely
little plant. It is the tradition of kissing beneath it.
Hearkens all the way back to Saturnalia and has been
(02:16):
carried on ever since. But my lad, mistletoe is a
parasite and quite poisonous. What does that say about love?
Probably nothing? Sit John, meet Annabelle. Hello, hello, old friends.
(02:39):
Already is this cup for me? Yes? Lad, drink it.
Something tells me you haven't had a drink in quite
some time. It's been some time. We're telling stories here
(03:04):
jar to pass the time, to unburden ourselves. Oh, perhaps
you carry a burden? Draw? Perhaps tell us that everything
right from the start. The family estate sprawled across the
(03:27):
northern end of the harbor, grand and Austeer. If you
looked closely from the shore, you would see a small
pinprick of bright red on a third story balcony, a
figure in a billowing robe, standing and clutching her letter.
The envelope proclaimed my name and her precise penmanship. It
(03:51):
began with no salutation, Jaire Beaumont, she wrote, I will
be plain. I am not fulfilled by you, nor have
I ever been. I have made my wishes known, despite
what your family and my father have decided for me.
Your touch leaves me cold. I care not if my
(04:12):
children become senators. I don't care for children at all.
Did you know this even? Did you know of the
scar on my hip I've had since I was just
a girl. Did you in fact know anything of me?
It does not matter. I hope you find happiness, for
you are deeply, deeply unhappy. I will find my own
(04:37):
happiness elsewhere I am leaving. You will not find me,
not yours nor anyone's. Amara shock gave way to hurt, which,
in my heart leaves the door open to a bitter anger.
I have found anger to be a fantastic barrier against
(04:58):
the snares of introspection. How dare she? How dare she
leave me? A Beaumont? And the way she spoke as
though she pitied me, pitied me. I refused to leave
the house. Afterward. It felt safer. I didn't have to
meet society's eyes as a shunned bachelor. I didn't have
(05:20):
to face whatever Amara may have said to her parents,
to her ridiculous little friends. I hated her friends. I
didn't care much for her impoverished family either. How could
someone with no means, no real prospects reject me? This
was unprecedented. She'd come back, and when she did, I'd
(05:43):
make sure she knew her place. I spent most of
my time in those days in my grandfather's study. I
never cared for the man, But within this sprawling estate,
the stuffy side room is the one that felt most
like home. The large windows opposite the desk allowed only
a little son into the room, covered as they were
(06:05):
by tangled vines that rose up from the terrace. The
rightmost windows sported a splintering crack, not unlike the legs
of some erratic spider. I made a note to chastise
the ground keeper for their neglect. I sat at his
old mahogany desk and idly rummaged through each drawer. Perhaps
there was something I could use. I'm sure I could
(06:28):
find an unresolved debt of Amara's father, an outstanding loan
from the sole bank on the island, for example, Uncle
Jensen was on the executive board. After all, there had
to be something in there that would take her wretched
family down a peg to show her that she's not
better than me. No one is. There were tax forms,
(06:49):
bank notes, and myriad other items. Underneath a leather binder
filled with receipts from god knows where was a small
bounds journal with grandfather's name on the inside cover. Curiosity
took me, and I peered inside. Most of it bordered
on indecipherable, written in his terse shorthand and punctuated with
(07:11):
nonsensical abbreviations, no doubt a habit picked up from his
time in the military. It went back decades. He wrote
of the construction of the house, expenses incurred, and then
seemed to whine slowly into madness. Speaking of voices in
the hallway of presence, he was drawn to I only
(07:32):
needed to find business expenses, perhaps an error, and calculations
that I could use to my advantage against a Mars family.
This strange diary would give me no answers. The very
last word I read before throwing it back in the
drawer would come to haunt me off nail. I promptly
(07:56):
forgot about it. Over the following week, I degenerated in
my misery. I sent the servants away and remained for
days behind a locked door upstairs, scrounging crusts and crumbs
off plates for meals long discarded. I was becoming more
animal than man, my bitterness the only tether left to
(08:18):
my humanity. Finally, it was the hunger that drove me
out of my rooms and down the stairs. It was
then that I encountered him. As I moved down a
back hallway toward the kitchen, I caught something in my periphery.
(08:39):
The mirror antique, tarnished and filthy. The reflection that had
cast back at me was not my own. The sunken
man in the mirror had tan skin and the dim
eyes of a storm at sunset. His hair was closely cropped,
a fashion from a different time. His eyes burned with
(08:59):
anger that I recognized inherently in the moment. I was
not surprised nor frightened. I was intrigued. I was fascinated.
He looked back at me, not with pity nor malice.
He looked at me with longing in his stare. I
(09:20):
felt suddenly exposed, naked. Without thought. I drew my arms
about myself in some strange manner, trying to protect my modesty,
And yet I was encompassed by his stare. There was
a burning in my chest, like a thunderclap. After months
of absolute silence, something about this haggard, starving ghost was
(09:40):
stirring something in me, a shock of life, of heat.
The mirror shimmered as if in answer, and he moved,
his fingertips pressed against the glass and then impossibly pushed through, slowly,
softly toward me. His wrists slid out of the mirror,
(10:03):
and then his forearm, his right hand came to rest
against my right cheek, worn and thin, coated with mangy stubble.
Through my beard, I could feel the ice dagger touch
of his finger tips. He was cold, so cold, and
yet I didn't miss company. I didn't miss the talk
(10:25):
of tiny people. I missed touch, connection, the figure and
the reflection spoke find. His voice was a low hiss,
a slight outburst of air from a rusty pipe. It
rattled me to my core. I was drawn further in
(10:49):
His hand was just an idea, his outstretched arm a
mere suggestion of a thing. I moved toward him, and then,
as if by its own accord, his name dropped from
my lips, Neil, as if compelled by the devil himself.
I pressed my lips against the mirror, and he met
(11:11):
me there. As his lips touched mine, I felt my
blood chill thickening in my veins, goose bumps rose on
my neck, and my face lost what color it had
left in it. Che He whispered in that strange guttural voice,
and then like a flash, he was gone, and with
(11:38):
him the strange fire in my heart. It left a
hollow in my chest that I felt suddenly was in
desperate need of filling. Find me. He was here, he
needed me. From then on I would search the house
for a Neil, obsessively, as if it were a sort
(11:58):
of madness. He was fickle and eluded me, frequently, appearing
mostly when the evenings were dark, or when a storm
made its way over the expanse of the gulf. Those
nights I would find him in mirrors and the cellar
or attic, cold and alone, and I would come to
him there full of warmth, full of giving. I was
(12:20):
of use again, I was needed magnanimously. I gave of
my heat, and each time auth Neil glowed a little
more brightly, and still the insistent plea fine. And then
one morning it occurred to me he wasn't simply asking
(12:44):
for a visit. Somewhere in this house his mortal remains
resided find me. He was asking for my help. I
immediately felt foolish. Of course, he was asking for help,
the unquiet, dead haunt with a purpose. And what's more,
I knew exactly how to find him, and so, for
(13:07):
the first time in weeks, I made my way to
my grandfather's study. This time I read his strange diary
with purpose. In it, he wrote of the construction of
the house. I rifled through the facts and figures, coming
finally to where I'd seen the name first. There off Neil.
(13:33):
He'd been a builder on the house, Young and unknown
to many of the other workers. He was accused by
a fellow of and here I quote heinous crimes. Instead
of taking him to the local constabulary, the men sealed
him beneath the basement floor. Included in my grandfather's notes
(13:56):
was an incredibly helpful sketch of the layout of the house,
with x is marked all over and increasingly erratic notes
about tile patterns, floor braces, the color of the mud
below the house, and over and over off Nil. Over
the course of the coming days, I poured over the
same notes and began to retrace his steps throughout the house.
(14:19):
It was on the third day, rummaging through the old
wine cellar, that I felt a sudden, desperate pull toward
the far corner, as if excited fingers had reached into
my heart and gently tugged there. In the floor a
trap door with a trembling breath. I reached down, grabbed
(14:45):
the old brass ring, and pulled. I found him there
in a simple hole, not big enough to stretch out.
He was curled up, not much more than rags and bone,
a small shimmer coated with mildew. I climbed down into
(15:06):
the hole and reached out a hand to his corpse.
I shivered even as I touched him. Upon contact, I
became enveloped in a shimmering mist on the ground, my
clothes pulled aside, and my breath visible in the air.
The corpse seemed more visible in that fog, animating with
(15:26):
a creak of dry bones and turning toward me, the
face somehow plumping, growing fuller, alive, more vibrant than sunrise.
My breath caught in my throat as that strange desire
overtook me. How long had it been, I thought, since
I was last embraced, since I'd made love, since I
(15:48):
last saw the sun. I looked into his eyes and
recognized my own, hungry, insatiable. He pulled me down, wrapping
me in an icy and race. The air escaped my lungs,
and I felt a sharp pang inside my chest, as
if shards of crystals were forming in my lungs. I
(16:09):
thought to inhale, and off Neil clutched tighter, his finger
bones digging deep grooves in my back, his bare teeth
dragging across my throat. I could feel the heat and
me leaving, leeching out and being replaced with a terrible chill.
As off Neil's corpse grew ever more lifelike, taking on
(16:29):
flesh that grew ruddy with its quickening, and all the
while his eyes seemed to dominate and take and take
and take, with no regard of who or what stood
opposite him. I knew that looked well, and I was afraid.
I felt frozen shackles on each of my wrists as
they slammed into the ground. Above my head. Hathnil swelled larger,
(16:54):
now bigger than me, now encompassing me, and I felt
lost within him. As worn and mount nourished as I
had been at the beginning of our passion, I had
been larger than Aneil by far. Now he dwarfed me
there on the floor, absorbing every last bit of my strength.
And then my body no longer responded to my will.
(17:19):
It's stilled cold and dead on the floor. Aneil was gone,
and I stood tall over my mortal remains, dead on
the stone floor. His eyes had shined with love, hadn't they.
(17:43):
He'd wanted the same thing I did right, warmth, acceptance.
But I'd been fooled. Time was lost to me. Who
could tell how it passed? A moment could be a year,
(18:05):
a month, mere seconds, and all the while I searched
restless in that space behind the mirrors, in that inverted
house that was now my domain. The decrepit shambles of
the mansion I neglected was magnified and distorted. I saw
(18:27):
as autnil once saw a world of tatters, and the
hunger for warmth was all consuming. In this manner, decade
slipped away, winters and springs all muddied together. And then
(18:47):
one particularly frigid evening, the door to the house opened
and she arrived. Her hair was wavy and dark, her
complaint action of warm deep bronze. Despite the snow flakes
that hid in the curls of her hair, she had
an inner light. It flicked a trace of a distant
(19:11):
memory that I could not place. The beautiful stranger took
no care to remove her shoes, or even knock the
snow from them, And why would she? Who would she insult?
She passed through the halls of the manner, and I
felt suddenly that I had my vessel for escape. She
(19:33):
was flesh, she was blood and warmth, and I could
sense in her. She was low, disheveled and crooked, driven
from a warmer place out into the world. She viewed
this house as a new start. She needed hope. I
could smell it. I had hope. I had hope with
(19:56):
the sweet promise of nothing behind it. And I knew
that if I guided her gently offered up myself, she
may very well give me a trade as off Neil
had traded with me. I could keep her here, I
could make her stay. I could drain away every bit
of human emotion and replace it with the malice and
(20:18):
spite that I felt she would take my place. It
would be so easy. I could be free. And so
as she passed the mirror in the hallway, I made
myself known. When she first saw me in the mirror,
her eyes gleamed, first with that surprise that a too
(20:41):
sudden image had been thrown back at her, and then
with the sort of glee. Yes, those, I said, take
for me this heart. I reached out toward her, and
just as I had all those years ago, she leaned
into the mirror. My hand touched her face, so smooth,
(21:03):
so warm. I had been so cold for so very long.
But there was something more. I could feel her life force,
the steady strum of her heart, could feel the sense
memory of a mother's embrace, a sprint across the summer field,
the first flush of new love, and the horrible, gutting
(21:25):
emptiness of its loss. I understood the whole of her,
and I wanted it and its entirety. But what had
I to offer in return? Live I do not know
why I said it, or where the word came from
(21:45):
her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes grew wide, and I
quickly withdrew my hand into the mirror. She did not flinch,
she did not run. I had decided, and those walls
and those reflections I would remain. I would refuse to
pass this herd on. Perhaps one day the laughter of
(22:09):
a family, rosy cheeked and in love would bless the
halls of that forgotten home once more, and perhaps I
could find some gladness, some joy in the lives that
I dare not siphon off. I watched her sleep that night, peacefully, hopefully.
(22:32):
I watched as the morning sun lit her face, bleary
eyed and alone. She got her bearings and stepped on
unsteady feet into the main foyer and looked around with
fresh eyes. She was home and had the whole of
her life ahead of her. I would stay beside her,
(22:53):
a silent watchman, as she hurtled forward. I would not
hurt her. I knew finally, at last, what it meant
to love. But they can't be true, I assure you,
(23:18):
my dear, No words spoken at this table is false.
But John, my lad, how do you feel? I feel warm? Good?
Would you like to retire for the evening? Yes? Yes,
(23:41):
I think I would like that. M hmm. This key
is quite ornate, pure silver, very unusual. It befits your station,
I think, hm. Take it. Thank you, it's nothing. Your
door is up. The stairs is third on the left.
(24:03):
Do rest well, my friend. I believe this is the
warmest place I've ever been. It couldn't be true. What's that, dear?
(24:23):
He couldn't have I couldn't have what, dear? Are we dead? Well? Yes, Annabelle,
I thought that was quite Obvious. Twelve Ghosts starring Malcolm
(24:59):
McDowell as the Innkeeper and Gina Rikiki as Annabelle. Episode three,
The Mirror written by Steven Williams with additional writing by
Nicholas Takowski. Editing by Chris Childs and Stephen Perez, featuring
Nicolas Takowski as Jare. Directed by Nicholas Takowski. Original score
and sound design by Chris Childs. Executive producers Aaron Mankey,
(25:23):
Matt Frederick, Alexander Williams and Nicholas Takowski. Supervising producer Josh Staine.
Producers Chris Child's and Stephen Perez. Casting by Sunday Bowling
c s A and Meg Mormon c s A. Production
coordinator Wayna Calderon. Recorded at Lantern Audio in Atlanta, Georgia,
engineered by Chris Gardner, Aeros Sound and Recording in Ojai, California,
(25:48):
engineered by Ken Eros. Twelve Ghosts was created by Nicolas Takowski.
That is a production of iHeart three D Audio and
Grim and Mild from Aaron Manky. Learn more about the
show at Grim and Mild dot com, and find more
podcasts from my Heart Radio by visiting the I Heart radio, app,
Apple podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.
(26:25):
H
Twelve Ghosts is a production of I Heeart three D
audio and Grimm and Mild from Aaron Banky Headphones Recommended.
Listener discretion advised. I learnt upon a coppice gate when
(00:24):
frost was specter gray and the winter's dragged may desolate
the weakening eye of day. The tangle bind stems scored
the sky like strings of broken lyres, and all mankind
that haunted. NI had sought the household fires. Mm hmm.
(01:04):
But the night is long and a bill, and there
is more than enough time. The truth will out. But
no matter at the moment, there will be time. There
are many hours yet in this long night. How is
the wine? It's good. I thought by my second cup
(01:26):
i'd feel groggy, But I think I'm more clear headed
than I've been in years. It's a special vintage. I
quite like it. H good, right on time. Cheer, my lad,
(01:52):
have we met? Absolutely not? Come in m ah. Of
course you chose to stand beneath the mizzletoe, a lovely
little plant. It is the tradition of kissing beneath it.
Hearkens all the way back to Saturnalia and has been
(02:16):
carried on ever since. But my lad, mistletoe is a
parasite and quite poisonous. What does that say about love?
Probably nothing? Sit John, meet Annabelle. Hello, hello, old friends.
(02:39):
Already is this cup for me? Yes? Lad, drink it.
Something tells me you haven't had a drink in quite
some time. It's been some time. We're telling stories here
(03:04):
jar to pass the time, to unburden ourselves. Oh, perhaps
you carry a burden? Draw? Perhaps tell us that everything
right from the start. The family estate sprawled across the
(03:27):
northern end of the harbor, grand and Austeer. If you
looked closely from the shore, you would see a small
pinprick of bright red on a third story balcony, a
figure in a billowing robe, standing and clutching her letter.
The envelope proclaimed my name and her precise penmanship. It
(03:51):
began with no salutation, Jaire Beaumont, she wrote, I will
be plain. I am not fulfilled by you, nor have
I ever been. I have made my wishes known, despite
what your family and my father have decided for me.
Your touch leaves me cold. I care not if my
(04:12):
children become senators. I don't care for children at all.
Did you know this even? Did you know of the
scar on my hip I've had since I was just
a girl. Did you in fact know anything of me?
It does not matter. I hope you find happiness, for
you are deeply, deeply unhappy. I will find my own
(04:37):
happiness elsewhere I am leaving. You will not find me,
not yours nor anyone's. Amara shock gave way to hurt, which,
in my heart leaves the door open to a bitter anger.
I have found anger to be a fantastic barrier against
(04:58):
the snares of introspection. How dare she? How dare she
leave me? A Beaumont? And the way she spoke as
though she pitied me, pitied me. I refused to leave
the house. Afterward. It felt safer. I didn't have to
meet society's eyes as a shunned bachelor. I didn't have
(05:20):
to face whatever Amara may have said to her parents,
to her ridiculous little friends. I hated her friends. I
didn't care much for her impoverished family either. How could
someone with no means, no real prospects reject me? This
was unprecedented. She'd come back, and when she did, I'd
(05:43):
make sure she knew her place. I spent most of
my time in those days in my grandfather's study. I
never cared for the man, But within this sprawling estate,
the stuffy side room is the one that felt most
like home. The large windows opposite the desk allowed only
a little son into the room, covered as they were
(06:05):
by tangled vines that rose up from the terrace. The
rightmost windows sported a splintering crack, not unlike the legs
of some erratic spider. I made a note to chastise
the ground keeper for their neglect. I sat at his
old mahogany desk and idly rummaged through each drawer. Perhaps
there was something I could use. I'm sure I could
(06:28):
find an unresolved debt of Amara's father, an outstanding loan
from the sole bank on the island, for example, Uncle
Jensen was on the executive board. After all, there had
to be something in there that would take her wretched
family down a peg to show her that she's not
better than me. No one is. There were tax forms,
(06:49):
bank notes, and myriad other items. Underneath a leather binder
filled with receipts from god knows where was a small
bounds journal with grandfather's name on the inside cover. Curiosity
took me, and I peered inside. Most of it bordered
on indecipherable, written in his terse shorthand and punctuated with
(07:11):
nonsensical abbreviations, no doubt a habit picked up from his
time in the military. It went back decades. He wrote
of the construction of the house, expenses incurred, and then
seemed to whine slowly into madness. Speaking of voices in
the hallway of presence, he was drawn to I only
(07:32):
needed to find business expenses, perhaps an error, and calculations
that I could use to my advantage against a Mars family.
This strange diary would give me no answers. The very
last word I read before throwing it back in the
drawer would come to haunt me off nail. I promptly
(07:56):
forgot about it. Over the following week, I degenerated in
my misery. I sent the servants away and remained for
days behind a locked door upstairs, scrounging crusts and crumbs
off plates for meals long discarded. I was becoming more
animal than man, my bitterness the only tether left to
(08:18):
my humanity. Finally, it was the hunger that drove me
out of my rooms and down the stairs. It was
then that I encountered him. As I moved down a
back hallway toward the kitchen, I caught something in my periphery.
(08:39):
The mirror antique, tarnished and filthy. The reflection that had
cast back at me was not my own. The sunken
man in the mirror had tan skin and the dim
eyes of a storm at sunset. His hair was closely cropped,
a fashion from a different time. His eyes burned with
(08:59):
anger that I recognized inherently in the moment. I was
not surprised nor frightened. I was intrigued. I was fascinated.
He looked back at me, not with pity nor malice.
He looked at me with longing in his stare. I
(09:20):
felt suddenly exposed, naked. Without thought. I drew my arms
about myself in some strange manner, trying to protect my modesty,
And yet I was encompassed by his stare. There was
a burning in my chest, like a thunderclap. After months
of absolute silence, something about this haggard, starving ghost was
(09:40):
stirring something in me, a shock of life, of heat.
The mirror shimmered as if in answer, and he moved,
his fingertips pressed against the glass and then impossibly pushed through, slowly,
softly toward me. His wrists slid out of the mirror,
(10:03):
and then his forearm, his right hand came to rest
against my right cheek, worn and thin, coated with mangy stubble.
Through my beard, I could feel the ice dagger touch
of his finger tips. He was cold, so cold, and
yet I didn't miss company. I didn't miss the talk
(10:25):
of tiny people. I missed touch, connection, the figure and
the reflection spoke find. His voice was a low hiss,
a slight outburst of air from a rusty pipe. It
rattled me to my core. I was drawn further in
(10:49):
His hand was just an idea, his outstretched arm a
mere suggestion of a thing. I moved toward him, and then,
as if by its own accord, his name dropped from
my lips, Neil, as if compelled by the devil himself.
I pressed my lips against the mirror, and he met
(11:11):
me there. As his lips touched mine, I felt my
blood chill thickening in my veins, goose bumps rose on
my neck, and my face lost what color it had
left in it. Che He whispered in that strange guttural voice,
and then like a flash, he was gone, and with
(11:38):
him the strange fire in my heart. It left a
hollow in my chest that I felt suddenly was in
desperate need of filling. Find me. He was here, he
needed me. From then on I would search the house
for a Neil, obsessively, as if it were a sort
(11:58):
of madness. He was fickle and eluded me, frequently, appearing
mostly when the evenings were dark, or when a storm
made its way over the expanse of the gulf. Those
nights I would find him in mirrors and the cellar
or attic, cold and alone, and I would come to
him there full of warmth, full of giving. I was
(12:20):
of use again, I was needed magnanimously. I gave of
my heat, and each time auth Neil glowed a little
more brightly, and still the insistent plea fine. And then
one morning it occurred to me he wasn't simply asking
(12:44):
for a visit. Somewhere in this house his mortal remains
resided find me. He was asking for my help. I
immediately felt foolish. Of course, he was asking for help,
the unquiet, dead haunt with a purpose. And what's more,
I knew exactly how to find him, and so, for
(13:07):
the first time in weeks, I made my way to
my grandfather's study. This time I read his strange diary
with purpose. In it, he wrote of the construction of
the house. I rifled through the facts and figures, coming
finally to where I'd seen the name first. There off Neil.
(13:33):
He'd been a builder on the house, Young and unknown
to many of the other workers. He was accused by
a fellow of and here I quote heinous crimes. Instead
of taking him to the local constabulary, the men sealed
him beneath the basement floor. Included in my grandfather's notes
(13:56):
was an incredibly helpful sketch of the layout of the house,
with x is marked all over and increasingly erratic notes
about tile patterns, floor braces, the color of the mud
below the house, and over and over off Nil. Over
the course of the coming days, I poured over the
same notes and began to retrace his steps throughout the house.
(14:19):
It was on the third day, rummaging through the old
wine cellar, that I felt a sudden, desperate pull toward
the far corner, as if excited fingers had reached into
my heart and gently tugged there. In the floor a
trap door with a trembling breath. I reached down, grabbed
(14:45):
the old brass ring, and pulled. I found him there
in a simple hole, not big enough to stretch out.
He was curled up, not much more than rags and bone,
a small shimmer coated with mildew. I climbed down into
(15:06):
the hole and reached out a hand to his corpse.
I shivered even as I touched him. Upon contact, I
became enveloped in a shimmering mist on the ground, my
clothes pulled aside, and my breath visible in the air.
The corpse seemed more visible in that fog, animating with
(15:26):
a creak of dry bones and turning toward me, the
face somehow plumping, growing fuller, alive, more vibrant than sunrise.
My breath caught in my throat as that strange desire
overtook me. How long had it been, I thought, since
I was last embraced, since I'd made love, since I
(15:48):
last saw the sun. I looked into his eyes and
recognized my own, hungry, insatiable. He pulled me down, wrapping
me in an icy and race. The air escaped my lungs,
and I felt a sharp pang inside my chest, as
if shards of crystals were forming in my lungs. I
(16:09):
thought to inhale, and off Neil clutched tighter, his finger
bones digging deep grooves in my back, his bare teeth
dragging across my throat. I could feel the heat and
me leaving, leeching out and being replaced with a terrible chill.
As off Neil's corpse grew ever more lifelike, taking on
(16:29):
flesh that grew ruddy with its quickening, and all the
while his eyes seemed to dominate and take and take
and take, with no regard of who or what stood
opposite him. I knew that looked well, and I was afraid.
I felt frozen shackles on each of my wrists as
they slammed into the ground. Above my head. Hathnil swelled larger,
(16:54):
now bigger than me, now encompassing me, and I felt
lost within him. As worn and mount nourished as I
had been at the beginning of our passion, I had
been larger than Aneil by far. Now he dwarfed me
there on the floor, absorbing every last bit of my strength.
And then my body no longer responded to my will.
(17:19):
It's stilled cold and dead on the floor. Aneil was gone,
and I stood tall over my mortal remains, dead on
the stone floor. His eyes had shined with love, hadn't they.
(17:43):
He'd wanted the same thing I did right, warmth, acceptance.
But I'd been fooled. Time was lost to me. Who
could tell how it passed? A moment could be a year,
(18:05):
a month, mere seconds, and all the while I searched
restless in that space behind the mirrors, in that inverted
house that was now my domain. The decrepit shambles of
the mansion I neglected was magnified and distorted. I saw
(18:27):
as autnil once saw a world of tatters, and the
hunger for warmth was all consuming. In this manner, decade
slipped away, winters and springs all muddied together. And then
(18:47):
one particularly frigid evening, the door to the house opened
and she arrived. Her hair was wavy and dark, her
complaint action of warm deep bronze. Despite the snow flakes
that hid in the curls of her hair, she had
an inner light. It flicked a trace of a distant
(19:11):
memory that I could not place. The beautiful stranger took
no care to remove her shoes, or even knock the
snow from them, And why would she? Who would she insult?
She passed through the halls of the manner, and I
felt suddenly that I had my vessel for escape. She
(19:33):
was flesh, she was blood and warmth, and I could
sense in her. She was low, disheveled and crooked, driven
from a warmer place out into the world. She viewed
this house as a new start. She needed hope. I
could smell it. I had hope. I had hope with
(19:56):
the sweet promise of nothing behind it. And I knew
that if I guided her gently offered up myself, she
may very well give me a trade as off Neil
had traded with me. I could keep her here, I
could make her stay. I could drain away every bit
of human emotion and replace it with the malice and
(20:18):
spite that I felt she would take my place. It
would be so easy. I could be free. And so
as she passed the mirror in the hallway, I made
myself known. When she first saw me in the mirror,
her eyes gleamed, first with that surprise that a too
(20:41):
sudden image had been thrown back at her, and then
with the sort of glee. Yes, those, I said, take
for me this heart. I reached out toward her, and
just as I had all those years ago, she leaned
into the mirror. My hand touched her face, so smooth,
(21:03):
so warm. I had been so cold for so very long.
But there was something more. I could feel her life force,
the steady strum of her heart, could feel the sense
memory of a mother's embrace, a sprint across the summer field,
the first flush of new love, and the horrible, gutting
(21:25):
emptiness of its loss. I understood the whole of her,
and I wanted it and its entirety. But what had
I to offer in return? Live I do not know
why I said it, or where the word came from
(21:45):
her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes grew wide, and I
quickly withdrew my hand into the mirror. She did not flinch,
she did not run. I had decided, and those walls
and those reflections I would remain. I would refuse to
pass this herd on. Perhaps one day the laughter of
(22:09):
a family, rosy cheeked and in love would bless the
halls of that forgotten home once more, and perhaps I
could find some gladness, some joy in the lives that
I dare not siphon off. I watched her sleep that night, peacefully, hopefully.
(22:32):
I watched as the morning sun lit her face, bleary
eyed and alone. She got her bearings and stepped on
unsteady feet into the main foyer and looked around with
fresh eyes. She was home and had the whole of
her life ahead of her. I would stay beside her,
(22:53):
a silent watchman, as she hurtled forward. I would not
hurt her. I knew finally, at last, what it meant
to love. But they can't be true, I assure you,
(23:18):
my dear, No words spoken at this table is false.
But John, my lad, how do you feel? I feel warm? Good?
Would you like to retire for the evening? Yes? Yes,
(23:41):
I think I would like that. M hmm. This key
is quite ornate, pure silver, very unusual. It befits your station,
I think, hm. Take it. Thank you, it's nothing. Your
door is up. The stairs is third on the left.
(24:03):
Do rest well, my friend. I believe this is the
warmest place I've ever been. It couldn't be true. What's that, dear?
(24:23):
He couldn't have I couldn't have what, dear? Are we dead? Well? Yes, Annabelle,
I thought that was quite Obvious. Twelve Ghosts starring Malcolm
(24:59):
McDowell as the Innkeeper and Gina Rikiki as Annabelle. Episode three,
The Mirror written by Steven Williams with additional writing by
Nicholas Takowski. Editing by Chris Childs and Stephen Perez, featuring
Nicolas Takowski as Jare. Directed by Nicholas Takowski. Original score
and sound design by Chris Childs. Executive producers Aaron Mankey,
(25:23):
Matt Frederick, Alexander Williams and Nicholas Takowski. Supervising producer Josh Staine.
Producers Chris Child's and Stephen Perez. Casting by Sunday Bowling
c s A and Meg Mormon c s A. Production
coordinator Wayna Calderon. Recorded at Lantern Audio in Atlanta, Georgia,
engineered by Chris Gardner, Aeros Sound and Recording in Ojai, California,
(25:48):
engineered by Ken Eros. Twelve Ghosts was created by Nicolas Takowski.
That is a production of iHeart three D Audio and
Grim and Mild from Aaron Manky. Learn more about the
show at Grim and Mild dot com, and find more
podcasts from my Heart Radio by visiting the I Heart radio, app,
Apple podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.
(26:25):
H
Popular Podcasts
United States of Kennedy
United States of Kennedy is a podcast about our cultural fascination with the Kennedy dynasty. Every week, hosts Lyra Smith and George Civeris go into one aspect of the Kennedy story.
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com