S1/E3 | The Garden

A botanical visit and a special dessert.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Thirteen days of Halloween is a production of I heart radio,
Blumhouse television and grim and mild from Aaron mankey headphones recommended.
Listener discretion advised. Good morning, my friend. I trust your

(00:27):
rest was adequate. Ever, I'm complaining. You have no idea
how intuvenating that is to someone in my position. Ah
MM HMMM, AH, fresh air. You know, there are weeks
to time when I forget to step out into the
world and just breathe it in. Welcome to Hawthorn manners

(00:51):
garden of forking paths. Many architects leave the landscaping of
their structures to the very end, an afterthought, or in
some cases leave it to someone else to design entirely,
but not all architect he planned his garden quite intricately.
The paths are of particular interest to many of our guests.

(01:12):
You see right here, the path forks. which path would
you like to take? The left or the right? A
dealer's choice. We'll take the left. There's a particular plant
I'm dying to show you. You see, this path, by design,
forks in numerous places and the wanderer is faced with

(01:35):
a simple choice, left or right. It becomes in a sense,
a sort of labyrinth of choices, and one that can
reveal much about the wanderer to herself, should she choose
to pay close attention. You, for instance, chose to abstain
because you are an enigma. Ah, these flowers, with the

(01:57):
indigo pedals and delicate curvature, our Achan item Vel Piston,
bred by statesman timothy pickering. Timothy himself had quite a
garden in which she would while away the hours amongst
his plants. The singular thorn in his heart it was
a small family of red foxes whom he could not

(02:18):
quite exile and who continually burrowed in his flower beds,
and so he did want. Any self respecting gardener would
attempted to poison them with a particularly toxic strain of
Wolf Spain that he'd grown. Unfortunately, he only ended up
poisoning the family dog. His grandson never forgave him this

(02:38):
cruelty and grew up to become quite a famous naturalist,
who gave this plant its name, Fox Spain, as a
dig against the old man. At any rate, don't eat
that plant. Oh and look who we have here at
the architects Gazebo. Now be gentle with her. She has

(03:00):
a marvelous sort of anxiety about meeting New People, but
you are quite easy to get along with. This my
friend is Annie. Annie. This is my friend. He is
quite the conversational list why don't I leave you to it?
I should tend the roses. Here have a cupcake. They're

(03:26):
my special recipe. That's all I had to do make upcakes,
plain vanilla with vanilla icing, one box of mixed plus eggs,
oil and water. The instructions look simple enough, but I
always managed to complicate things. I was new and down

(03:48):
trying to make friends. You know, what better way to
make friends than with cupcakes? It was a book club
or something like that. They're being very kind into me.
There was even a prompt, an icebreaker, to get to
know each other. Fun Facts come with a fun fact.

(04:10):
My Life Wasn't fun, it wasn't interesting. I was even
lacking on the facts. I was panicking, lipping the pure
white batter with far too much Gusto, my shoulder aching.
Fun Fact. I've never been in love. I don't think

(04:31):
I've ever been loved either. Oh No, that wasn't fun
at all. My head pounded with stress. My hands shook
as I grabbed a bottle of pain of leavers. I
swallowed too and tried to focus. I'm fine, it's going
to be fine, I assured myself. I needed to add

(04:52):
the oil. Or did I do that already? The eggs? Maybe?
Maybe it was the eggs. Fun Fact I had to
sleep the lights on, or fear overwhelms me? No, still
not right. They were coming to my place, my small
and personal apartment. I wish I hadn't volunteered. The throbbing

(05:14):
in my head crescendowed like an ice pick and a
blender stuck on. Sure, how long had I been whipping
this batter for? I stopped stirring and lost myself in
this thought. As I stared at the bowl of vanilla
white mixture, I watched a single drop of Red Appear

(05:36):
in its center. I stared at it, the Bright Crimson
dot in the see of pure white batter. It was blood,
my blood. I didn't have another mix, I had no
fun facts, I had nothing else to offer. I only
had cupcakes. Without really considering it, I continued stirring. The

(06:02):
red mixed with the white, turning it a pleasing pinkish
maybe blood baked out. Maybe the sugar would mask it.
No one had to know. cupcakes died with blood were
still cupcakes, right, they weren't ruined. We couldn't just throw
them out like there were nothing. Right. Another drop of red.

(06:26):
I stirred again. The batter became a darker shade of pink,
more interesting than the white. I thought, surely this was
an improvement. That's when I realized I was crying. Tears
were splashing into the batter now too. Fun Fact. I

(06:50):
sleep with a knife under my pillow. No, no, no no,
there had to be something more. Blood dribbled from my face.
I mixed it slowly, watching the swirls blend until they disappeared,
creating an angry seat of smooth crimson. I could be normal,
I told myself. No one would notice. My hands shook

(07:14):
as I poured the batter into the cupcake pan. I
had no choice. I had to give them something. I
put the Pan in the oven fifty degrees. I stared
ahead as the timer counted down. Add a little heat,
a little fire and look at the transformation. Maybe it

(07:35):
was fine, I thought, maybe I was fine. Fun Fact
I I there was nothing fun about me. I decided
to make something up, something no one would question. Because

(07:56):
it was too stupid. Surely I could make something up, mh,
but nothing came to mind. It was as if all
fun had burned from my brain. My breath was loud
in my tiny kitchen. I imagine the pain my parents

(08:17):
went through, the doubt, the terrible and speakable truth that
they never wanted me, a ticking time bomb set to
go off and ruin their lives. I pulled the cupcakes
from the oven. I glanced at the clock. Anytime now

(08:41):
they'd be here. I popped out the cupcakes onto my
cutting board. For a moment I stared at them, their
red color, sickening, detached. I grabbed a knife and covered
them with white vanilla icing, masking their bloody dome. They
looked delicious, but they hid a dark secret. They were

(09:07):
perfect fun fact. Mm Hm, I couldn't think of one,
but I had cupcakes. That had to count for something.
The guests arrived, kind and false. They complimented my apartment.
They giggled and chatted. I interacted with them, but it

(09:29):
was all superficial. I was an alien in my own skin.
I hesitated, thinking perhaps I shouldn't offer them my treats,
that my blood and tears weren't theirs to be eaten.
But as I faked my way at normality, besieged with
concern that I was failing, they found the cupcakes. They

(09:55):
moaned in delight and showered me with praise. My stomach turned,
but I smiled. Then they started sharing their fun facts.
They took turns, one person addressing the group at a time,
like a twelve step program for fun people with facts.

(10:17):
I text when it was my turn, I hesitated. One
of the women took pity on me and asked what
flavor these cupcakes? They're delicious. I stared into her for
a moment, then looked around the room at the happy
people content with my confections. I thought about the Red Dot,

(10:41):
my blood, my essence, and then welcomed guests. On a
perfect white canvas. I was the red dot. I turned
back to the woman and said Red Velvet. They all
wanted the recipe. I muttered something about it just being

(11:02):
from the box and they all laughed about how I
must have a secret ingredient. I didn't mean for things
to get so out of hand. It started small at first.
People requested my special Red Velvet cupcakes for events. Then
local businesses started paying me for them. They were prominently
displayed behind glass cases, a top, lacy white doilies, Red Velvet,

(11:27):
handwritten and delicate cursive on the label. I couldn't stop
making them. More and more cupcakes, more white stained with red,
more blood and tears, my sacrament and offering unknowingly demanded,
unknowingly consumed. At first, I pricked my fingers until they

(11:49):
pulsed with pain, until I could barely hold a spoon
to stir the batter, until my blood flowed sluggishly. I
cried endless tears and until I was sure no more
would come. But they always did. More and more of
my essence poured into sweet delights, devoured for someone else's

(12:10):
fleeting enjoyment. Never enough. Still it rattled in my brain.
Fun Fact. I had none to give, but this I
could give. One day, a woman from the fun fact

(12:31):
party approached me about starting a business. She had the
money and savvy, I had the product. I never said yes,
but I also never said No. At a certain point
it was easier to submit to the ritual of it all.
It distracted me from what I was missing. I named

(12:52):
the shop. Red Velvet, endless trays of cupcakes and lines
of people waiting for them with their money, their eyes
gleaming with desire, unaware of what made them so desirable.
Years passed and demand grew. I wasted away, shrunken and desiccated.

(13:16):
I poured myself into the batter like another ingredient, nothing
more than eggs or butter to be whipped together, exposed
to heat, covered with icing and devoured. Lifetimes I aged,
lifetimes I gave away. I became a Husk of a

(13:37):
woman with no more blood and tears to give. Withered
skin and bulging veins. Customers grew alarmed by my startling decline.
They feared disease in their food. They were being served
by a walking corpse. One night, my business part her

(14:00):
found me alone in the kitchen, punched over a mixing bowl,
as though I was being slowly absorbed by batter. She
watched as blood trickled from my sinewy palms and tears
leaked from my swollen eyes. I don't know how long
she stood there. Horrified by the sight. She didn't make

(14:21):
her presence known until she screamed. I caught her eyes
in mine. I gets, how that she saw a single
red dot soiling the velvet perfection I smiled and said

(14:42):
fun fact, and she is lovely, is she not? Fun Fact,

(15:12):
she begged a cake for our housekeeper's birthday last month.
It was never touched. I will leave you to wander
the gardens, if you like, and to perhaps learn about
yourself in the meanderings. But two warnings. Whereas all paths
will eventually lead you back to the manner, I suggest
that you do not stray from them, particularly in the

(15:34):
more remote portions of the garden. We have lost guests
before who did not heed this warning, and I admit
that I am growing quite fond of you. In second
no matter how alluring, how intoxicating the scent, no matter
how shiny and lovely they seem, do not eat fruit
from this garden. You almost assuredly not agree with you.

(15:58):
It agrees with no. Well, my friend, I must be
off to see to the others and to continue my
search for the door. Perhaps we will meet again tomorrow
for so much more, to tell you that you, my
dear friend. Partying is such sweet sorrow. Thirteen days of

(16:25):
Halloween was created by Matt Frederick and Alex Williams and
executive produced by Aaron Manky, starring Keegan, Michael Key as
the caretaker. Today's story was written by Annie Reese, performed
by Andrea Lang and directed by Alex Williams, with editing
and sound designed by Trevor Young. Only ten days remain.
Tomorrow another story. Despite the panic, I open the front

(16:50):
doors as slowly as I couldn't tiptote in. I thought
maybe they were just napping and I didn't want to
wait them. Well, I could clearly see that they weren't
on the coach and that I had a creak to
my left. That's how quickly called out to my wife began.

(17:10):
No reply, so I turned to the sound. Thirteen days
of Halloween is a production of I heart radio, Blumhouse
television and Grimm and mild from Aaron Mankey. For more
podcasts from my heart radio, visit the I heart radio APP,

(17:32):
apple podcasts or wherever you listen to your favorite shows,
and learn more about thirteen days of Halloween at Grimm
and mild dot com.