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October 27, 2022 29 mins

A monument. A hiding place. An unexpected guest.

Written by Anney Reese, Nicholas Tecosky and Alexander Williams. Featuring the voices of Carter Rockwood, Clancy Brown, Clayton Farris, Laura Schein, Nicholas Tecosky, Geoffrey Kennedy, and Angèle Masters.


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Speaker 1 (00:03):
Thirteen Days of Halloween. Devil's Night, a production of I
Heart three D audio, Blumhouse Television and Grimm and Mild
from Aaron Mackey Headphones Recommended. Listener discretion advised. The yes

no no, yes Lord, Oh no, no, yes Lord spoken

out here in the cemetery. Why I did not mean
to startle, you know, in the church, the pastor and
his wife. Yes, that was a close one, but you said,
you promised me you wouldn't hurt anyone else. You asked
me not to kill anyone, and I did not. It

was not by my hands. But they still died, and
you told them to do it. Do you think they
deserve to live? I don't think that was my choice,
and it isn't yours either. What would you have done?
I don't know, but that can't happen never again. All

right back. The children, on the other hand, innocent as
they are still drugged and following orders. I think I
can outrun some little kids on again. I don't understand

what we're doing it cemetery. Take it from me. There's
always some trouble you're on Devil's Night. Kids drink and
vandalizing the headstones. One time I swear to God, I
broke up what was about to be some kind of
satanic ceremony. They're too close. What do you know? There

is somebody here? I told you so, all right, Now,
come on out. We know you're there. Which way to go?
I think back that way behind the big cross. You
know you're violating curfew and you're trust passing out of here.
I don't want to add resisting arrest. If you come

out now, we'll make it easy on you. How this
boy is out, it is entirely up to you. You
know I can stop this sick you behind the cross
on your feet now run it's doing both. Do you
stop right there? Go around, get them from the other side,
snored hide You could go in that building. Can you

just for a second, where are you going to go?
Throw the cops? Okay, I will, but seriously, don't hurt anyone.
I will not. Just let them chase me a little.
I won't return as soon as I can, how you

tall fella? Yes, officers, we want to talk to you,
of course you do, but you will have to catch
me first. I get back here in the name of
the law. Seems cellib you've got here. Okay, Oh no,

no no, no, no, no no no no no no yea,
well crap, I could have left me a candle. Is

is someone there? What do you want here? I'm sorry,
I didn't know anyone else. You shouldn't be here, boy,
it isn't your place. I know, I was just hiding, hiding.
Why there was? There are some people after me? Again?

I asked why. I didn't mean to intrude. I didn't
know there would be anyone else here. I tried to leave,
but the door what was that? Did you hear your voice?
There's a tremor in it. What is that? Fear? Sadness,

a guilty conscience, whatever it is, you are not welcome.
This place is sacred, a monument built on hallowed ground,
a final resting place, and it deserves respect or resting
place for who my daughter? Oh, I'm sorry. She was

my entire world and I was hers. When I closed
my eyes, all I see is that face. When I
listen into the night, I still hear the musical tone
of her voice, like the ringing of a bell. And

unlike other pretty girls, she was not jaded by this world.
She was perfectly kind, generous, trusting. She sounds like a
very nice person nice. Yes, she was nice, two nice.

And you know what happens to nice people, They get
taken advantage of who happened to her. What happened is
she resented me. I devoted every waking moment to that child,
and she resented me for it. I realized now that

it was my own fault. I wanted to keep her safe,
but in doing so, I kept her isolated, naive to
the world and the evils lurking in it. But children,
even the innocent, obedient ones, are destined to outgrow their confinement,

to find a way to test their boundaries. It was
Halloween two years ago to day, a dark, cold, wet
night that autumn. It rained like it would never end,
swelled the river, overflowed the dam, and saturated every inch

of god forsake and ground. While the other kids were
out gallivanting in the streets, taking candy from strangers and
getting into god knows what other kinds of trouble, me
and my baby were all to ourselves, just like any
other night. I put her to bed. I remember standing

in the threshold of the door, the shape of her
sweet little form buried under the blanket. In the middle
of the night, I woke suddenly. The storm outside was raging,
and I figured that's what had stirred me. I left
my room and I went back to check on my angel.

From the doorway, it looked as if she hadn't moved
an inch. I sat down on the bed next to her,
just to stroke her hair. I pealed back the covers,
and you know what I saw, you do, don't you

lo what? Two pillows were stuffed beneath the quilt, and
my girl was gone. I tore through every room, praying,
please God, let me be wrong, let her just be hiding.
But it was pointless. She was not in the house.
If I had slowed down to think, I might have
noticed that the window in her room was ajar. But

I wasn't thinking. I was panicking. I rushed out into
the storm, still in my slippers, no raincoat, no lantern,
and no sense of where my little girl had gone.
I ran through the streets from one end of town
to the other, screaming her name. Who was that? I
think you know already. I didn't find her that night.

The next day a search party was launched. The police
went door to door, set roadblocks on the highways in
and out of town, cleared, the hobo camp ran bloodhounds
through the woods. Within a week, they'd dredged the river.
We made up posters with her picture, offering a reward
for any information. There wasn't a window door or telephone

pole in town without my baby's face on it, and
nothing happened. A runaway, they called her. I knew my
girl would never run away. But even if that was true,
where had she gone. Weeks passed, the rains cleared, the
posters yellowed and tore, and still I truly believed that

I would see her again, that no one could hurt
something so beautiful and sweet. And yet I knew I
could feel it, something was hiding in plain sight. I
kept my thoughts waking and sleeping on nothing but her,

and with every ounce of strength, I embraced that feeling.
What is that? You don't know, well, let me tell you.
The next fall, the reins returned. All through October. It
stormed and stormed again. The basements flooded again, the river

overran and again. The earth everywhere was turned to mud.
The pattern, the repetition, it was all too much to bear.
And Halloween was the worst of all. I was alone,
cooped up in my house, listening to the rain pound
the window, thinking the last thing I wanted to do

was live through this night again. In that moment, I
was ready to end it all. And then outside my
window I heard something. It wasn't clear, maybe more a
agend than real, and yet I didn't dare deny it.

A tone in the air like that of a ringing bell.
I can't imagine why, on that night, of all nights,
I would venture out into that storm, and yet that
is exactly what I did. I walked calmly forward, certain

I had lost my mind, but since I had already
lost everything else, what did it matter. I followed the
sound with ears I could not trust, but where I
felt it get louder. I went through the neighborhood into town,

behind the church and passed the cemetery gate. There I
heard a cacapa me like the chiming of a thousand
clock towers. Everyone in different tambre and time, some so
shrill they pierced the sky, others so deep they shook

the earth below. But in the midst of all of it,
one voice rang true, like a bell, soft and simple,
yet insistent. I trained my senses on that single note
and walked toward it. It led me to the center

of the cemetery, away from all the other headstones, to
this very spot. My boots sunk into the mud, and
there the ringing stopped. You mean right here, right here,

m I realized then where I stood the ground had
been disturbed, a depression in the earth where no grass groop.
It looked like it could have been a grave, only
big enough for a child. But there was something wrong
about it. It looked shallow, like it hadn't been properly filled,

and the rain had been eating it away. I plunged
my bare hands into that sodden ground, and I dug
into the black mud, wrist elbow, shoulder deep. The earth
was soft and giving and stuck to my skin like tar.

It got into my hair, my mouth, and nose. But
I just kept digging, and before I knew it, I
was crouched at the bottom of a hole. And then
my hand found something cold, hard. It was her. Yes,

she had led me write to her, But you already
knew that, didn't you. If I had had the chance
to bury her, to give her a funeral and have
her embalmed, her beautiful little body, her bright countenance, might
have stood a chance. But with no casket between her

and the wet earth, the elements got the better of her.
She was not quite a skeleton yet, but not much more.
I promised right there that I would restore her to
her former beauty. No, nothing like that was possible now,

but we would do the best with what we had.
I began that very morning, carried her home in my
arms in the pre dawn light, and got to work.
Where she still had skin. I washed and dried and
sewed the cracks together where she was only bone. I

scrubbed until perfectly white, her eyes, once so blue, now
modeled gray. I replaced with jewels, blue moonstones that glitter
in the night. For her nose, long eaten away, a
button from her favorite dress, onto which I hand painted

each of her freckles. For her mouth, the porcelain lips
from her favorite doll. The fit isn't quite right, but
they'll do for now. And what wisps of hair as
she had left, I washed and curled and tied up
in ribbon. Some days I wonder what would happen if

I gave her blood a fresh heart. Would she live again?
Would you like to see her? No? No, no no, she's
lonely after all this time, still so beautiful, Yes, am

s S. I had the grave filled in, and above it,
I built this mausoleum where nothing could ever hurt her again,
not even time itself. Did you ever find out what

happened to her? Funny that you should ask. For the
longest time, it remained a mystery. I feared I would
never know. And then one came forward, a boy just
a little older than she would have been. Couldn't handle
the guilt, he said. He certainly waited long enough. And

you know what happened. The reason he gave for the
murder of my daughter. You do, don't you. It was
a joke, a prank. And when I heard him say it,
everything became clear. That's something hiding in plain sight, that

uncanny feeling I could not deny. A child buried alive
on Halloween. He's more than just a coincidence. It's a story,
a tale children tell. They told it long ago. I
suspect they tell it now. I believe it was told

to me as a girl, that I had heard it
before I lived it, and that it was all but
forgotten until I heard it again. As the story goes,
some time a century ago, there was a banker's daughter
who fell ill. The banker sent for the best doctors,

with the finest medicines, the most modern techniques. They did
everything they could, but Halloween night she was declared dead
in her bed, and to stop the spread of infection,
they dragged her body out that very night and buried
her in the earth. But the next morning, when they returned,

the grave had caved in, and the whole where she
had been laid to rest was empty. Now this might
have happened, might have not. But regardless of what was true,
a legend was born that every Halloween, that poor forgotten

child would arise once more from that unhallowed ground and
walk the streets looking for some one, some one else
lonely to spend eternity with. Now I don't know where
or when, but somehow this boy and his accomplices had

gotten to my little girl. They had told her the
story of the banker's daughter and given her the idea
that because she was so utterly alone, she would be
the perfect bait. And this Halloween, even if she was
locked up tight in her room, the banker's daughter would
come and get her. Unless they took the steps to

prevent it, and the only way to ward off this
wandering spirit was to go out Halloween night and leap
over an open grave. Knowing my baby, with her simple
heart and trusting nature, she probably believed it. Really, they

just thought it would be funny that she would be
an easy target, and so they dug the grave that
night in the rain. Can you imagine going to such lengths? Well?
Can you? And then they came to my house, lured

my baby out of her bed, opened her window, and
led her into the cemetery. I can't imagine it all.
My little girl more nervous than she'd ever been, but
I suspect more excited, too exuberant even the chance to

have friends play their games be one of the gang,
But of course that was hardly their intention. By the
time they reached the cemetery, the storm had gotten worse.
The makeshift grave was filled with water and mud, and
the edges were slippery and crumbling. One by one, the

boys leapt over, ensuring my darling girl that this would
keep her safe from the evil spirit, and then, just
as she was about to jump, the last boy pushed
her in. She hit the bottom and sunk in the mud.
She tried to climb out, but the more she struggled,

the deeper the whole got. She cried out for someone
to help her, but these boys laughed at her, at
her fear, at their successful prank, and they left her
there beneath the earth, the storm worsening, the whole filling
with water, with no one to hear her scream. The

boy who confessed, I swears it wasn't he who pushed
her in. He claimed they never thought she'd actually die,
that it was all a harmless prank that went too far.
But she did die, suffocating on mud until it filled
her mouth, her nose, her lungs, a child entombed in

the earth, all alone for a joke. I'm so sorry.
That's horrible. There it is again, that little tremor in
your voice. You remind me of him, you know of who,

the one that confessed. Why did you come here? Boy?
I'm sorry, but I really need to leave, to vandalize
this tomb, to see her own handiwork to defile her corpse. No, no,
which one were you? Did you tell her the story?
Did you open her window? Did you push her into

the grave? No? I didn't. It was maybe you were
the mastermind behind all of it. Get that stay await.
Why should a worm like you live while she lies dead? Stop?
Let go of me. I don't know what you were
thinking coming back here, boy, but it's time you, atone
hell join my daughter in her tomb right here forever,

so she is never lonely again. Experience the fate. You
condemned her to feel what it's like to be buried
alive now they in there is that I can never sir,

uh mazie nothing. Greez line with me. This boys burry
has done nothing to me. Greez right there. I have
missed you so of course, of course, darling, Missilo, quiet,

you vile thing, leave us be your head, girl, my love,
my angel, my world. Oh I've missed you so and
I because the lead anything anything, baby, it's a well

h okay, Max, this way, Oh my god. The church wedn't.
I could not kill the police, so I needed a distraction.
I made sure all the kids got out. No one died,

but the leading crip. I assure you, Max, she is
alive and very very happy. You can't didn't she suffered
himing there. Eventually, I suppose you should get her out
if you wish I just thought, maybe give her tonight,

Needy in this moment, we have more urgent problems. Hey,
you there so much redistraction. PSI, well that's a well
where do you freeze? Thirteen Days of Halloween Devil's Night,

starring Carter Rockwood and Clancy Brown. Episode nine, The Mausoleum
Written by Annie Reese, Nicholas Takowski, and Alexander Williams. Editing
and sound designed by rema Il Kali, featuring the voices
of Clayton Ferris, Laura Shine, Nicholas Takowski, f Frey Kennedy,
and Angel Masters. Directed by Alexander Williams. Script supervision by

Nicholas Takowski. Casting by Sunday Bowling c s A and
Meg Mormon c s A. Production coordinator Wayna Calderon. Production
assistants Zoe Shay and Amber Ferris. Animal recording by Ben James,
closing theme by Rose Azerti. Loyalty Freak Music dot Com
recorded at d G Entertainment in Los Angeles, California, Engineered

by Gary Forbes and Jody Abbott. Additional recording by SoundBite Inc.
In Atlanta, Georgia. Engineered by Chase Nixon Studio manager Kathy
Roberts and Burnt Orange Sound in Sara Sota, Florida. Engineered
by Matt de Seer, Executive producers Aaron Manky, Noah Finberg,

Chris Dicky, Matt Frederick and Alexander Williams. Supervising producers Trevor
Young and Josh Than. Producers Jesse Funk and rima Ill Kali.
Thirteen Days of Halloween was created by Matt Frederick and
Alexander Williams and is a production of I Heeart three
D Audio, Blumhouse Television and Grim and Mild from Aaron Mackey.

Learn more about the show at Grimm and Mild dot com,
slash thirteen Days and find more podcasts from I heart
Radio by visiting the i heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts,
or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.
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