December 4, 2025 • 26 mins
As a mysterious burning smell blankets Marshport, Officer Klein opens the fourth door to find something that forces him to confront the darkest night of his childhood—and the terrible secret his family tried to bury.
Get the print version of the novel: https://weirddarkness.com/AdventOfEvil
#WeirdDarkness #ChristmasHorror #HolidayHorror #SupernaturalThriller #HauntedCalendar #DarkChristmas #HorrorStory #DemonicEvil #CreepyTales #YuletideTerror
Get the print version of the novel: https://weirddarkness.com/AdventOfEvil
#WeirdDarkness #ChristmasHorror #HolidayHorror #SupernaturalThriller #HauntedCalendar #DarkChristmas #HorrorStory #DemonicEvil #CreepyTales #YuletideTerror
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:02):
Officer Matthew Clines. December began with chaos when he arrested
his best friend's son for a violent attack at a
local cafe, But that same day brought something far more disturbing.
A mysterious advent calendar appeared on his porch with no sender,
wrapped in festive paper and bearing twenty four numbered doors.
(00:24):
Behind the first door was a miniature replica of Matt's
childhood home, which burst into flames in his palm, just
as the Reel House had burned years ago. That night,
a damaged child's voice whispered through the darkness, Uncle David,
can you hear us? The second day revealed a red
cardinal feather. Matt dismissed it as harmless until he witnessed
(00:48):
Pastor Hart's mini van crash caused by a cardinal smashing
through the windshield. His best friend, Simon revealed that his
son Zach, had been visited by a strange young boy
who smelled of campfire smoke, who had convinced him to
attack the cafe cook that night, when Matt tried to
open the third door early, a shadowy child appeared in
(01:09):
his living room with a chilling warning. One day at
a time. Follow the rules or the consequences, We'll be dire.
The third door held a crystal star. Throughout the day,
stars appeared everywhere on the main street, Trooper's crest as
he led the town's Christmas tree into Marshpurt on a
g Walker's street address atop the Nativity scene in Matt's home.
(01:34):
When Matt checked the star again, its five points were
dipped in blood. Hours later, Lieutenant Sears called with terrible news.
Bridget Car, the city planner, and Matt's former academy friend,
lay dead beneath the thirty foot Christmas tree, the giant
decorative star embedded in her skull. Three doors opened three
(01:58):
days of December and twenty one doors still waiting in
this Advent of Evil. Welcome Weirdos. I'm Darren Marler and
(02:41):
this is Weird Darkness's Advent of Evil, a holiday horror
novel written by Scott Donnelly based on a concept from
Darren Marler. Twenty four doors, twenty four days, twenty four
secrets waiting in the darkness, just like an advent calendar,
counting down the Christmas will unlock one chapter each day.
(03:02):
But what we find behind these doors may not be
the gift you're expecting. You can find all available chapters,
as well as the print version in paperback, hardback, or
kindle at Weird Darkness dot com slash Advent of Evil.
The calendar is waiting. Let's see what awaits us behind
today's door. Thursday, December fourth. I found it incredibly strange that,
(03:31):
after all of the rough and sleepless nights i'd had
all a week, it was only after seeing an old
friend dead in the snow beneath the Christmas tree that
she had been so proud of that I actually slept decently.
Maybe it was because my subconscious didn't think things could
get any worse than they already were. Or maybe it
was because Lieutenant Sears had given me the day off
(03:53):
to grieve, and I knew the stress of work had
automatically been alleviated. When I finally opened my eyes and
looked at my phone with blurry morning vision, I was
shocked to see that I had slept until nine. I
couldn't remember the last time I had slept in that late.
Even on the weekends, when I was normally off, my
(04:14):
body would still wake me up not long after three
or four in the morning. At the latest. I sat
in my phone back down on the nightstand and inhaled
deep breath, taking in the faint odor of the fireplace downstairs.
Annika usually didn't start fires that early in the morning,
so it must have been extra cold outside, or maybe
it was still snowing, and Annika felt like a fire
(04:36):
would add to the wintery esthetic in the house, putting
another exclamation point on the beginning of a Christmas season.
I climbed out of bed, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs,
still in my flannel pajamas, hoping the coffee was still hot,
or at least the new pot was freshly brewed. The
stairs emptied down into our wide open living room. As
soon as my bare feet touched the carpet, my entire
(04:58):
body absorbed the in the house. The fireplace hadn't been lit.
I sniffed the air again, and surprisingly still smelled the
faint odor of something burning. I naturally thought of the
shadowy silhouette of the child that emitted the same odor.
I turned and looked in the archway that led into
the other room, the exact spot where I had seen
(05:20):
the figure stand. There was nothing. I turned my attention
to the kitchen where I thought maybe Anika had burned
breakfast for the boys before they left for school. When
I walked in, the kitchen was just as cold as
the rest of the house. The stove hadn't been used,
there were no pots and pans in the dish drain,
and a coffee pot was off, leaving half of it
(05:42):
filled with the cold, stale black liquid. I noticed a
note that had been left on the table. I faked
it up and read the words that Anika left for
me good morning. I chose to go the old fashioned
paper note route instead of risking waking you up with
a text chime. I went to breakfast with Jasmine. Pick
me up around eight thirty. We'll be back before noon.
(06:03):
Hope you're okay. Hope you got some good sleep, Love
you well. I didn't expect to wake up to an
empty house, but maybe it's what I needed to gather
my thoughts and get a handle on things. As much
as I tried my best and not to think about
the gruesome sight at the town center yesterday evening, the
scarring imagery kept creeping back. In not being at work
(06:27):
and not having access to the death investigation, my natural
curiosities were getting the better of me, I decided to
call Lewis Chambers. He was a good friend and one
of the other officers on the scene, and stayed there
much longer than I had. I was certain he would
have some answers as to what the working theory on
Bridget's death was, and I needed to know. I needed
(06:48):
to know if it was an accident, another unfortunate coincidence
given the crystal star that came out from the Advent calendar,
or if it was something else altogether. The phone rang
three times before Lewis answered. He sounded hurried or busy. Matthew,
You okay, Bud, he asked, and it was obvious that
he felt an obligation to answer my call during whatever
(07:10):
busy assignment he was currently in the middle of. Yeah,
I'm okay, I said, kind of numb. I guess a
little confused. Do you guys have anything on Bridget's death yet?
Sayers told me to take the day off, so I'm
kind of in the dark here, No, Lewis said, not yet.
The running theory is that he was just an accident.
Maybe a gust of wind took the star off the
(07:32):
top of the tree and she was standing in the
wrong spot at the wrong time. There was a witness
report of someone running around in a hooded sweatshirt as well,
so we're looking into that. The hooded sweatshirt, I thought
Mike Campbell. I told Louis I'd stopped him after he
jay walked near the town Center, but that was earlier
in the day. I doubt he would have still been
(07:53):
in the area Mike Kimbell check Lewis said, thanks, Matthew, Hey,
look I have to go. We're trying to track down
some strange odor right now. The fire department is on
alert as well. I'll keep you posted. What what odor?
I asked, but before we could hear me, Lewis hung up.
After I brushed away the possibility of Mike Campbell having
(08:15):
anything to do with Bridget's death aside from the generic
description of a hooded sweatshirt, I started thinking more about
the odor and why the fire department would be on alert.
I sniffed the air again, and against the coldness in
the house, I could still smell the faint odor of
something burning. I walked over to the back door that
opened up from the kitchen out onto our back deck.
(08:38):
The cold, wintery air rushed in. It was snowing. Bridget
told me yesterday that we were supposed to get a
few inches, but from the looks of what had gathered
in my backyard, it was probably a few more than that.
At this point, I poked my head outside and inhaled
a deep breath. There it was the odor. It was
much stronger outside than it was inside, and that's exactly
(09:01):
what it smelled like, something burning, whether it was a campfire,
a structure fire, or something else. The air was definitely
saturated with it. I pulled my phone back out and
called Anika. She answered after the first ring. Her voice
wasn't hurried or rushed like Lewis's was. It was calmer
and more concerned. Matthew, Hey, how are you, she said,
(09:23):
her voice immediately putting me at ease when I could
feel my body beginning to teeter on the verge of
anxious uncertainty again, I'm good, I said, Hey, where you
and Jasmine getting breakfast? Did Joe and go? Just some
coffee and donuts? Not very healthy, I know, but it
seemed cozy for the snowy morning. You're really doing okay?
I mean, you didn't really talk much about what happened
(09:44):
last night. I'm okay, I assured her. Do do you
smell something burning where you are? Yes, she said, seemingly
surprised that I would even ask her. It's all over town,
isn't that weird? Yeah? I said, I could smell it
here too, in the house. Someone here at the cafe
said it was widespread around Marshpoort, but no one could
(10:07):
seem to figure out where it's coming from. Lewis told
me they're trying to track it down now. I told her,
so weird. Annika reiterated, okay, Well, I'll be home soon.
We could talk about what happened yesterday if you'd like, sure,
I said, We said our goodbyes and I love yous,
and ended the call. I stood in the open back door,
(10:29):
still inhaling the cold air and fiery tang which it possessed.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the scent, and
once again I was thrown back in time thirty years.
Our house was burning, and I was running for my life.
I had barely made it out of the front door
when the monstrous roar of those devilish flames began chasing me.
(10:50):
I could smell the fire, the smoke. I could smell
the hair on my head burning off as the flames
desperately tried to claim me as well. I could hear
the screams from behind me as the flames rose higher
into the air, casting my small, agile shadow ahead of
me on the flickering blanket of orange snow that shrouded Bayville.
With the roar of the fire and the screams from
(11:12):
those I loved, I still didn't turn back. Even though
the screams erupting from our house were mortifying signs of
life in peril. My ten year old self could only run.
And it wasn't just survival instincts that kept my feet
moving so fast through the snow. It was fear. The
fear of being burned alive like my family, the fear
(11:34):
of what I saw in the house, what we conjured.
I closed my eyes as I made my final strides
for the neighbor's house, fighting back a sea of stinging
tears and swelling guilt. As I reached the porch of
the house next door, that's when the screams had stopped.
My heart sank in that moment. The screams stopping meant
(11:57):
so did their lives. Three lives gone in the fire,
I pounded on the neighbor's door, and it opened almost immediately.
The man who lived there, Wilbur Ward, must have already
known what was happening. He was dressed in a winter coat, boots,
and hat. When he opened the door, he looked at
me first, and then behind me, where our house was burning.
(12:18):
I didn't turn around, but I could see the reflection
of the rupturing orange flames in his eyes. That image
burned its way into my brain and would remain there
for years. After Nicole call nine one one, Wilburg shouted
back into his house. I looked past him and saw
his wife. Nicole was also in the middle of throwing
on a coat and boots, but she stopped when he
(12:41):
gave her the task of calling for help. She threw
her coat to the ground and ran for the phone inside. No,
Wilbur shouted, pulling me inside before he raced toward our house.
It was the first act of true heroism I'd seen
up close in my life. I watched him run through
the snow toward the hellish sight next door. I thought
for a brief moment that an act of heroism like
(13:03):
that might be able to save my family. But then
I remembered that their stomach churning screams had all gone silent.
I clenched my jaw and ground my teeth together in
a moment of guilt. Why did I run? Why didn't
I save them? Maybe I wouldn't have been able to,
but I didn't even try. I was selfish. I ran
(13:26):
like a coward while a fire consumed my entire family.
Everything around me started to lose its cohesiveness. Sounds were muffled,
my vision was blurry. I felt like I was in
a dream state, not wanting to believe any of this
was real or was even capable of happening. A muffled,
almost inaudible voice behind me grew louder until a hand
(13:48):
was placed on my shoulder. I turned around and saw
Nicholl on the corded phone. My hearings snapped back to
clarity as she frantically repeated the words where are your parents,
your brother? I didn't know how to answer. I could
have said they were dead. I could have said they
were still in the house. I could have said I
(14:08):
left them all to save myself. But my unresponsive reaction
told Nicole Ward everything she needed to know. Into the phone,
she told the nine one. One operator that my family
was still in the house, And just as she said that,
I heard a loud crack, followed by the collapse of
the second floor of our home. I turned around and
(14:29):
watched as the upstairs of our home gave way and
sank into the blaze, spitting out even more thick black
smoke speckled with bright red, sizzling embers. I saw Wilbur
come to a stop not far away from the house.
I didn't blame him for not going any closer. It
wouldn't have made a difference if the fire didn't kill
my family. The second floor caving in certainly would have.
(14:53):
Wilbur had already done more than I did to help,
to be a savior and not a coward. Cole's voice
was muffled again. It dipped in and out of clarity.
I heard her frantically ask me, how did the fire start, Matthew,
I just stared into the raging inferno. I didn't answer.
I didn't know how to answer her without my response
(15:16):
sounding impossible. I could have just said the candles had
fallen over at the dining room table. Sure, the candles
did fall over at the table, but it was how
and why they fell over. That would have been impossible
to explain. At least it would have sounded impossible to
anyone that wasn't there. It wasn't impossible to me to
(15:38):
my brother. My parents were in the other room when
it happened, so I had stomach turning thoughts of them
not even knowing what was happening. While it was happening,
I closed my eyes and tried to think back to
the calmer moments right before the flames began to ravage
the house. I remember my parents were in the other room,
sitting by the fireplace and listening to classic Christmas music.
(16:01):
I remembered sitting at the dining room table with my brother.
I remembered the game we had out in front of us.
It was something our grandmother had given us as an
early Christmas gift, something she said had belonged to our
uncle before he died. We hadn't seen our uncle in
a long while, and no one in the family really
talked about him anymore. If I had known then what
(16:23):
I knew now, I wouldn't have talked about him either.
I would have also banished him to the shadows of
our familial narrative. But when you're a kid and you
know you have a family member one day, and then
the next they're gone and no one ever talks about
them again. You start to question things. You start to
wonder about truths, lies, and concealment. Steven and I knew
(16:46):
our uncle had died, that much we were made aware of.
We just didn't know why no one ever talked about
him after his death. Steven and I had fond memories
of our uncle. He was a very friendly man and
smiled a lot. He always told us stories about his
thrifting hobby and the cool things he would find and
sell for more money than he spent on them. To
(17:07):
begin with, My memories of him were pleasant, and even
though Stephen was three years younger than I was, I
knew his memories were good ones. Also, Uncle David was
a fun, loving uncle. That's why we tried to contact him.
Stephen and I missed him a lot and were curious
about what truly happened. Why our family wouldn't dare speak
(17:27):
of him. It didn't seem fair or right to us,
so we used the early gift our grandmother had given us.
It was a spirit board that belonged to Uncle David.
One of his and most thrift finds before things took
the dark turn that they did. Stephen's last words echoed
in my head as I stood there in the wards doorway,
(17:49):
still feeling the heat from the house fire. He was
sitting there at the dining room table across from me.
The spirit board was set up between us. We had
done everything the way we were supposed to. The candles
the mood ucka David, can you hear us? Stephen sawt
with a soft, tranquil voice. I opened my eyes. I
(18:09):
was no longer staring out at our burning house as
emergency sirens began to whirl in the cold Christmas Eve.
I was standing in my kitchen thirty years later, looking
out into my backyard and feeling the same cold sting
against my skin. The feel, the smell, it was all
the same. I closed the back door and turned around.
(18:33):
Stephen's sweet, young, innocent voice rolled around in my head again,
Uncle David, can you hear us? Then his voice changed.
It became rough, ragged, hoarse, as if his lungs and
entire body had been savagely violated by an invasion of
fire and brimstone. Uncle David, can you hear us? His
(18:56):
new distinct voice sent an alarming chill throughout my body.
It was as clear as day like it was merely
feet away from me. My jumbled thoughts didn't take long
to arrive on the Advent calendar. I stormed into the
living room, where the odor of fire was overwhelming, drifting
through the room like analless dust particles were flecks of ash.
They blew from one side of the room to the other,
(19:18):
where they cycloned around the Advent calendar and then vanished.
I locked my gaze on the calendar, propped up on
a small end table by the fireplace. It was day four,
and as much as I didn't want to know what
was behind that little door, I needed to Another life
could be in danger, Another prelude to a tragedy could
(19:38):
be lurking on the other side of it. I swallowed
hard and approached the calendar. I placed my fingers on
either side of the tiny heart shaped knob that stuck
out from door number four. I closed my eyes, took
a deep breath, and then I opened it, blowing out
from inside the small nook like an unnatural breeze had
(20:00):
caught it with a small piece of paper. The same
dimensions of a wallet sized school photo. The aberrn gust
that hoisted out the photo also carried with it the
same black flex of ash that I had seen course
through the living room. When the small piece of paper
hit the floor, it landed upside down, hiding whatever image
graced its front for another suspenseful moment. I knelt down
(20:22):
and put a finger on the back of the paper,
and then I pulled it closer to me, pinching it
and picking it up. I didn't know what I expected
to see on the other side, but when I flipped
it over and laid my eyes on it, I exhaled
a gasp of disbelief. My subconscious had already gone there
when I had fallen back into my memories. I didn't
(20:45):
know they were preparing me for this. On the other
side of the paper was a black and white headshot
of a man. He was young in his appearance, somewhere
in his late twenties. He had dark hair, a chiseled jawline,
and bit big dark eyes. Even though he wasn't smiling
in the picture, I could still remember his smile as
(21:05):
if it were still there, and his eyes they looked
so dark, not the way I remembered them at all.
Behind his head was a white background, and in front
of him, possibly held up by his own hands, it
was a black slate with numbers and letters. Below the
numbers of letters were the words Bayville Police Department. The
(21:26):
man's name was there too, but I didn't need to
read it to know who it was. It was my
uncle David, or, as he had been known around the
Bayville area, the Demon of Bayville. Uncle David never had
a chance to hear us. A hoarse, mangled voice resounded
behind me. I spun around as quickly as I could,
(21:48):
and my heart dropped again. Standing in the archway of
the living room was the shadowy, childlike figure. Again. I
swallowed hard, the saliva struggling to go down. I didn't
say anything back to the spectral intruder this time. I
just watched him, studied him. He stood about four feet
high and was smothered in blackness. Ashy flex flaked off
(22:09):
and drifted through the air around him. It was hard
not to try to put an identity to the blackness. Now,
as he spoke of Uncle David and quoted exactly what
Stephen had said before the fire, I felt a familiarity
with him. A feeling I hadn't felt in thirty years.
It was the brotherly bond that went up in flames
(22:31):
along with my house. I opened my mouth to say
his name, but it was caught lodged in my throat.
I knew if I said it and there was a response,
there would no longer be any doubt as to who
this mysterious, shadowy apparition was, And then that would open
up an entirely new can of worms and endless questions.
(22:52):
Why why? Now? Why? Here? Why the calendar? Was he
mad at me? Was he that I ran instead of
trying to protect him? My eyes welled up with burning tears.
The guilt I had carried with me for the past
three decades, the guilt of running and not staying to
help them, to save them, was unbearable. I broke down
(23:15):
and cried, holding my uncle's mugshot and standing only a
handful of feet away from what I only assumed was
the charred, angry spirit of my little brother. The word
finally dislodged from my throat and escaped my mouth as
a weak, helpless whimper. Stephen, within the blackness of the figure,
(23:36):
light began to breathe, but it wasn't a bright, brazing light. Instead,
it was a red, hot, pulsating glow that resembled a
fire being stoked back to life from its final stage
of decay. The red glow morphed into vanelike trackways that
separated and traveled to all parts of the figure's form. Stephen,
I asked again, more troubled, and took a step back,
(23:59):
shielding my eye from the daunting, ardent tracks with my hand.
The palpitating glow from the smoldering labyrinth of trackways were
making my eyes burn more than they already were, and
eventually the glowing tracks became too overpowered and exploded with
a horrible, foul shriek and pop that sent ash and
embers detonating all over the living room. When it was over,
(24:20):
I unshielded my eyes and looked under the archway. The
dark figure Stephen, if I assumed correctly, was gone. The
ash and embers that exploded out into the room had
fallen to the floor and disappeared like a lightly falling
snow that wouldn't stick to a warm surface. I looked
at Uncle David's mugshot again, which I still held firmly
(24:42):
between my fingers, his dark eyes now glowed orange. I gasped,
swore loudly in shock, and dropped the photo, realizing that
two outlying embers had landed on it. As the picture
fluttered to the floor and landed on the carpet, the
embers burned through, scorching two tiny holes where his eyes
eyes were. It was ironic the way his eyes were
(25:04):
burned out of his face in the picture, because, if
I remember correctly from research I had done years after
Uncle David, the demon of Bayville, had removed the eyes
of several of his victims. Whether this was another disquieted
sign of things to come, or if it was just
a dark reminder of the past, like the trinket that
(25:27):
precisely resembled my childhood at home, I wasn't sure. But
what I was sure of now was that I was
being tormented by forces that I didn't understand, and I
wasn't going to be able to battle it alone. I
needed help. I needed answers. I needed to dig deeper
into my past, deeper into the night of the fire.
(25:50):
I needed to know what the hell crawled out of
that spirit board thirty years ago. For listening, If you
like what you're hearing, Please share it with someone you
know who loves scary stories at Christmas time. If you'd
like to read the full novel for yourself in print,
it's available in paperback, hardback, and kindle versions at Weird
(26:13):
Darkness dot com slash Advent of Evil. That's also where
you can go to hear each of the twenty four
chapters as they're posted. I'm Darren Marler. Thanks for celebrating
Advent with me in the Weird Darkness
Officer Matthew Clines. December began with chaos when he arrested
his best friend's son for a violent attack at a
local cafe, But that same day brought something far more disturbing.
A mysterious advent calendar appeared on his porch with no sender,
wrapped in festive paper and bearing twenty four numbered doors.
(00:24):
Behind the first door was a miniature replica of Matt's
childhood home, which burst into flames in his palm, just
as the Reel House had burned years ago. That night,
a damaged child's voice whispered through the darkness, Uncle David,
can you hear us? The second day revealed a red
cardinal feather. Matt dismissed it as harmless until he witnessed
(00:48):
Pastor Hart's mini van crash caused by a cardinal smashing
through the windshield. His best friend, Simon revealed that his
son Zach, had been visited by a strange young boy
who smelled of campfire smoke, who had convinced him to
attack the cafe cook that night, when Matt tried to
open the third door early, a shadowy child appeared in
(01:09):
his living room with a chilling warning. One day at
a time. Follow the rules or the consequences, We'll be dire.
The third door held a crystal star. Throughout the day,
stars appeared everywhere on the main street, Trooper's crest as
he led the town's Christmas tree into Marshpurt on a
g Walker's street address atop the Nativity scene in Matt's home.
(01:34):
When Matt checked the star again, its five points were
dipped in blood. Hours later, Lieutenant Sears called with terrible news.
Bridget Car, the city planner, and Matt's former academy friend,
lay dead beneath the thirty foot Christmas tree, the giant
decorative star embedded in her skull. Three doors opened three
(01:58):
days of December and twenty one doors still waiting in
this Advent of Evil. Welcome Weirdos. I'm Darren Marler and
(02:41):
this is Weird Darkness's Advent of Evil, a holiday horror
novel written by Scott Donnelly based on a concept from
Darren Marler. Twenty four doors, twenty four days, twenty four
secrets waiting in the darkness, just like an advent calendar,
counting down the Christmas will unlock one chapter each day.
(03:02):
But what we find behind these doors may not be
the gift you're expecting. You can find all available chapters,
as well as the print version in paperback, hardback, or
kindle at Weird Darkness dot com slash Advent of Evil.
The calendar is waiting. Let's see what awaits us behind
today's door. Thursday, December fourth. I found it incredibly strange that,
(03:31):
after all of the rough and sleepless nights i'd had
all a week, it was only after seeing an old
friend dead in the snow beneath the Christmas tree that
she had been so proud of that I actually slept decently.
Maybe it was because my subconscious didn't think things could
get any worse than they already were. Or maybe it
was because Lieutenant Sears had given me the day off
(03:53):
to grieve, and I knew the stress of work had
automatically been alleviated. When I finally opened my eyes and
looked at my phone with blurry morning vision, I was
shocked to see that I had slept until nine. I
couldn't remember the last time I had slept in that late.
Even on the weekends, when I was normally off, my
(04:14):
body would still wake me up not long after three
or four in the morning. At the latest. I sat
in my phone back down on the nightstand and inhaled
deep breath, taking in the faint odor of the fireplace downstairs.
Annika usually didn't start fires that early in the morning,
so it must have been extra cold outside, or maybe
it was still snowing, and Annika felt like a fire
(04:36):
would add to the wintery esthetic in the house, putting
another exclamation point on the beginning of a Christmas season.
I climbed out of bed, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs,
still in my flannel pajamas, hoping the coffee was still hot,
or at least the new pot was freshly brewed. The
stairs emptied down into our wide open living room. As
soon as my bare feet touched the carpet, my entire
(04:58):
body absorbed the in the house. The fireplace hadn't been lit.
I sniffed the air again, and surprisingly still smelled the
faint odor of something burning. I naturally thought of the
shadowy silhouette of the child that emitted the same odor.
I turned and looked in the archway that led into
the other room, the exact spot where I had seen
(05:20):
the figure stand. There was nothing. I turned my attention
to the kitchen where I thought maybe Anika had burned
breakfast for the boys before they left for school. When
I walked in, the kitchen was just as cold as
the rest of the house. The stove hadn't been used,
there were no pots and pans in the dish drain,
and a coffee pot was off, leaving half of it
(05:42):
filled with the cold, stale black liquid. I noticed a
note that had been left on the table. I faked
it up and read the words that Anika left for
me good morning. I chose to go the old fashioned
paper note route instead of risking waking you up with
a text chime. I went to breakfast with Jasmine. Pick
me up around eight thirty. We'll be back before noon.
(06:03):
Hope you're okay. Hope you got some good sleep, Love
you well. I didn't expect to wake up to an
empty house, but maybe it's what I needed to gather
my thoughts and get a handle on things. As much
as I tried my best and not to think about
the gruesome sight at the town center yesterday evening, the
scarring imagery kept creeping back. In not being at work
(06:27):
and not having access to the death investigation, my natural
curiosities were getting the better of me, I decided to
call Lewis Chambers. He was a good friend and one
of the other officers on the scene, and stayed there
much longer than I had. I was certain he would
have some answers as to what the working theory on
Bridget's death was, and I needed to know. I needed
(06:48):
to know if it was an accident, another unfortunate coincidence
given the crystal star that came out from the Advent calendar,
or if it was something else altogether. The phone rang
three times before Lewis answered. He sounded hurried or busy. Matthew,
You okay, Bud, he asked, and it was obvious that
he felt an obligation to answer my call during whatever
(07:10):
busy assignment he was currently in the middle of. Yeah,
I'm okay, I said, kind of numb. I guess a
little confused. Do you guys have anything on Bridget's death yet?
Sayers told me to take the day off, so I'm
kind of in the dark here, No, Lewis said, not yet.
The running theory is that he was just an accident.
Maybe a gust of wind took the star off the
(07:32):
top of the tree and she was standing in the
wrong spot at the wrong time. There was a witness
report of someone running around in a hooded sweatshirt as well,
so we're looking into that. The hooded sweatshirt, I thought
Mike Campbell. I told Louis I'd stopped him after he
jay walked near the town Center, but that was earlier
in the day. I doubt he would have still been
(07:53):
in the area Mike Kimbell check Lewis said, thanks, Matthew, Hey,
look I have to go. We're trying to track down
some strange odor right now. The fire department is on
alert as well. I'll keep you posted. What what odor?
I asked, but before we could hear me, Lewis hung up.
After I brushed away the possibility of Mike Campbell having
(08:15):
anything to do with Bridget's death aside from the generic
description of a hooded sweatshirt, I started thinking more about
the odor and why the fire department would be on alert.
I sniffed the air again, and against the coldness in
the house, I could still smell the faint odor of
something burning. I walked over to the back door that
opened up from the kitchen out onto our back deck.
(08:38):
The cold, wintery air rushed in. It was snowing. Bridget
told me yesterday that we were supposed to get a
few inches, but from the looks of what had gathered
in my backyard, it was probably a few more than that.
At this point, I poked my head outside and inhaled
a deep breath. There it was the odor. It was
much stronger outside than it was inside, and that's exactly
(09:01):
what it smelled like, something burning, whether it was a campfire,
a structure fire, or something else. The air was definitely
saturated with it. I pulled my phone back out and
called Anika. She answered after the first ring. Her voice
wasn't hurried or rushed like Lewis's was. It was calmer
and more concerned. Matthew, Hey, how are you, she said,
(09:23):
her voice immediately putting me at ease when I could
feel my body beginning to teeter on the verge of
anxious uncertainty again, I'm good, I said, Hey, where you
and Jasmine getting breakfast? Did Joe and go? Just some
coffee and donuts? Not very healthy, I know, but it
seemed cozy for the snowy morning. You're really doing okay?
I mean, you didn't really talk much about what happened
(09:44):
last night. I'm okay, I assured her. Do do you
smell something burning where you are? Yes, she said, seemingly
surprised that I would even ask her. It's all over town,
isn't that weird? Yeah? I said, I could smell it
here too, in the house. Someone here at the cafe
said it was widespread around Marshpoort, but no one could
(10:07):
seem to figure out where it's coming from. Lewis told
me they're trying to track it down now. I told her,
so weird. Annika reiterated, okay, Well, I'll be home soon.
We could talk about what happened yesterday if you'd like, sure,
I said, We said our goodbyes and I love yous,
and ended the call. I stood in the open back door,
(10:29):
still inhaling the cold air and fiery tang which it possessed.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the scent, and
once again I was thrown back in time thirty years.
Our house was burning, and I was running for my life.
I had barely made it out of the front door
when the monstrous roar of those devilish flames began chasing me.
(10:50):
I could smell the fire, the smoke. I could smell
the hair on my head burning off as the flames
desperately tried to claim me as well. I could hear
the screams from behind me as the flames rose higher
into the air, casting my small, agile shadow ahead of
me on the flickering blanket of orange snow that shrouded Bayville.
With the roar of the fire and the screams from
(11:12):
those I loved, I still didn't turn back. Even though
the screams erupting from our house were mortifying signs of
life in peril. My ten year old self could only run.
And it wasn't just survival instincts that kept my feet
moving so fast through the snow. It was fear. The
fear of being burned alive like my family, the fear
(11:34):
of what I saw in the house, what we conjured.
I closed my eyes as I made my final strides
for the neighbor's house, fighting back a sea of stinging
tears and swelling guilt. As I reached the porch of
the house next door, that's when the screams had stopped.
My heart sank in that moment. The screams stopping meant
(11:57):
so did their lives. Three lives gone in the fire,
I pounded on the neighbor's door, and it opened almost immediately.
The man who lived there, Wilbur Ward, must have already
known what was happening. He was dressed in a winter coat, boots,
and hat. When he opened the door, he looked at
me first, and then behind me, where our house was burning.
(12:18):
I didn't turn around, but I could see the reflection
of the rupturing orange flames in his eyes. That image
burned its way into my brain and would remain there
for years. After Nicole call nine one one, Wilburg shouted
back into his house. I looked past him and saw
his wife. Nicole was also in the middle of throwing
on a coat and boots, but she stopped when he
(12:41):
gave her the task of calling for help. She threw
her coat to the ground and ran for the phone inside. No,
Wilbur shouted, pulling me inside before he raced toward our house.
It was the first act of true heroism I'd seen
up close in my life. I watched him run through
the snow toward the hellish sight next door. I thought
for a brief moment that an act of heroism like
(13:03):
that might be able to save my family. But then
I remembered that their stomach churning screams had all gone silent.
I clenched my jaw and ground my teeth together in
a moment of guilt. Why did I run? Why didn't
I save them? Maybe I wouldn't have been able to,
but I didn't even try. I was selfish. I ran
(13:26):
like a coward while a fire consumed my entire family.
Everything around me started to lose its cohesiveness. Sounds were muffled,
my vision was blurry. I felt like I was in
a dream state, not wanting to believe any of this
was real or was even capable of happening. A muffled,
almost inaudible voice behind me grew louder until a hand
(13:48):
was placed on my shoulder. I turned around and saw
Nicholl on the corded phone. My hearings snapped back to
clarity as she frantically repeated the words where are your parents,
your brother? I didn't know how to answer. I could
have said they were dead. I could have said they
were still in the house. I could have said I
(14:08):
left them all to save myself. But my unresponsive reaction
told Nicole Ward everything she needed to know. Into the phone,
she told the nine one. One operator that my family
was still in the house, And just as she said that,
I heard a loud crack, followed by the collapse of
the second floor of our home. I turned around and
(14:29):
watched as the upstairs of our home gave way and
sank into the blaze, spitting out even more thick black
smoke speckled with bright red, sizzling embers. I saw Wilbur
come to a stop not far away from the house.
I didn't blame him for not going any closer. It
wouldn't have made a difference if the fire didn't kill
my family. The second floor caving in certainly would have.
(14:53):
Wilbur had already done more than I did to help,
to be a savior and not a coward. Cole's voice
was muffled again. It dipped in and out of clarity.
I heard her frantically ask me, how did the fire start, Matthew,
I just stared into the raging inferno. I didn't answer.
I didn't know how to answer her without my response
(15:16):
sounding impossible. I could have just said the candles had
fallen over at the dining room table. Sure, the candles
did fall over at the table, but it was how
and why they fell over. That would have been impossible
to explain. At least it would have sounded impossible to
anyone that wasn't there. It wasn't impossible to me to
(15:38):
my brother. My parents were in the other room when
it happened, so I had stomach turning thoughts of them
not even knowing what was happening. While it was happening,
I closed my eyes and tried to think back to
the calmer moments right before the flames began to ravage
the house. I remember my parents were in the other room,
sitting by the fireplace and listening to classic Christmas music.
(16:01):
I remembered sitting at the dining room table with my brother.
I remembered the game we had out in front of us.
It was something our grandmother had given us as an
early Christmas gift, something she said had belonged to our
uncle before he died. We hadn't seen our uncle in
a long while, and no one in the family really
talked about him anymore. If I had known then what
(16:23):
I knew now, I wouldn't have talked about him either.
I would have also banished him to the shadows of
our familial narrative. But when you're a kid and you
know you have a family member one day, and then
the next they're gone and no one ever talks about
them again. You start to question things. You start to
wonder about truths, lies, and concealment. Steven and I knew
(16:46):
our uncle had died, that much we were made aware of.
We just didn't know why no one ever talked about
him after his death. Steven and I had fond memories
of our uncle. He was a very friendly man and
smiled a lot. He always told us stories about his
thrifting hobby and the cool things he would find and
sell for more money than he spent on them. To
(17:07):
begin with, My memories of him were pleasant, and even
though Stephen was three years younger than I was, I
knew his memories were good ones. Also, Uncle David was
a fun, loving uncle. That's why we tried to contact him.
Stephen and I missed him a lot and were curious
about what truly happened. Why our family wouldn't dare speak
(17:27):
of him. It didn't seem fair or right to us,
so we used the early gift our grandmother had given us.
It was a spirit board that belonged to Uncle David.
One of his and most thrift finds before things took
the dark turn that they did. Stephen's last words echoed
in my head as I stood there in the wards doorway,
(17:49):
still feeling the heat from the house fire. He was
sitting there at the dining room table across from me.
The spirit board was set up between us. We had
done everything the way we were supposed to. The candles
the mood ucka David, can you hear us? Stephen sawt
with a soft, tranquil voice. I opened my eyes. I
(18:09):
was no longer staring out at our burning house as
emergency sirens began to whirl in the cold Christmas Eve.
I was standing in my kitchen thirty years later, looking
out into my backyard and feeling the same cold sting
against my skin. The feel, the smell, it was all
the same. I closed the back door and turned around.
(18:33):
Stephen's sweet, young, innocent voice rolled around in my head again,
Uncle David, can you hear us? Then his voice changed.
It became rough, ragged, hoarse, as if his lungs and
entire body had been savagely violated by an invasion of
fire and brimstone. Uncle David, can you hear us? His
(18:56):
new distinct voice sent an alarming chill throughout my body.
It was as clear as day like it was merely
feet away from me. My jumbled thoughts didn't take long
to arrive on the Advent calendar. I stormed into the
living room, where the odor of fire was overwhelming, drifting
through the room like analless dust particles were flecks of ash.
They blew from one side of the room to the other,
(19:18):
where they cycloned around the Advent calendar and then vanished.
I locked my gaze on the calendar, propped up on
a small end table by the fireplace. It was day four,
and as much as I didn't want to know what
was behind that little door, I needed to Another life
could be in danger, Another prelude to a tragedy could
(19:38):
be lurking on the other side of it. I swallowed
hard and approached the calendar. I placed my fingers on
either side of the tiny heart shaped knob that stuck
out from door number four. I closed my eyes, took
a deep breath, and then I opened it, blowing out
from inside the small nook like an unnatural breeze had
(20:00):
caught it with a small piece of paper. The same
dimensions of a wallet sized school photo. The aberrn gust
that hoisted out the photo also carried with it the
same black flex of ash that I had seen course
through the living room. When the small piece of paper
hit the floor, it landed upside down, hiding whatever image
graced its front for another suspenseful moment. I knelt down
(20:22):
and put a finger on the back of the paper,
and then I pulled it closer to me, pinching it
and picking it up. I didn't know what I expected
to see on the other side, but when I flipped
it over and laid my eyes on it, I exhaled
a gasp of disbelief. My subconscious had already gone there
when I had fallen back into my memories. I didn't
(20:45):
know they were preparing me for this. On the other
side of the paper was a black and white headshot
of a man. He was young in his appearance, somewhere
in his late twenties. He had dark hair, a chiseled jawline,
and bit big dark eyes. Even though he wasn't smiling
in the picture, I could still remember his smile as
(21:05):
if it were still there, and his eyes they looked
so dark, not the way I remembered them at all.
Behind his head was a white background, and in front
of him, possibly held up by his own hands, it
was a black slate with numbers and letters. Below the
numbers of letters were the words Bayville Police Department. The
(21:26):
man's name was there too, but I didn't need to
read it to know who it was. It was my
uncle David, or, as he had been known around the
Bayville area, the Demon of Bayville. Uncle David never had
a chance to hear us. A hoarse, mangled voice resounded
behind me. I spun around as quickly as I could,
(21:48):
and my heart dropped again. Standing in the archway of
the living room was the shadowy, childlike figure. Again. I
swallowed hard, the saliva struggling to go down. I didn't
say anything back to the spectral intruder this time. I
just watched him, studied him. He stood about four feet
high and was smothered in blackness. Ashy flex flaked off
(22:09):
and drifted through the air around him. It was hard
not to try to put an identity to the blackness. Now,
as he spoke of Uncle David and quoted exactly what
Stephen had said before the fire, I felt a familiarity
with him. A feeling I hadn't felt in thirty years.
It was the brotherly bond that went up in flames
(22:31):
along with my house. I opened my mouth to say
his name, but it was caught lodged in my throat.
I knew if I said it and there was a response,
there would no longer be any doubt as to who
this mysterious, shadowy apparition was, And then that would open
up an entirely new can of worms and endless questions.
(22:52):
Why why? Now? Why? Here? Why the calendar? Was he
mad at me? Was he that I ran instead of
trying to protect him? My eyes welled up with burning tears.
The guilt I had carried with me for the past
three decades, the guilt of running and not staying to
help them, to save them, was unbearable. I broke down
(23:15):
and cried, holding my uncle's mugshot and standing only a
handful of feet away from what I only assumed was
the charred, angry spirit of my little brother. The word
finally dislodged from my throat and escaped my mouth as
a weak, helpless whimper. Stephen, within the blackness of the figure,
(23:36):
light began to breathe, but it wasn't a bright, brazing light. Instead,
it was a red, hot, pulsating glow that resembled a
fire being stoked back to life from its final stage
of decay. The red glow morphed into vanelike trackways that
separated and traveled to all parts of the figure's form. Stephen,
I asked again, more troubled, and took a step back,
(23:59):
shielding my eye from the daunting, ardent tracks with my hand.
The palpitating glow from the smoldering labyrinth of trackways were
making my eyes burn more than they already were, and
eventually the glowing tracks became too overpowered and exploded with
a horrible, foul shriek and pop that sent ash and
embers detonating all over the living room. When it was over,
(24:20):
I unshielded my eyes and looked under the archway. The
dark figure Stephen, if I assumed correctly, was gone. The
ash and embers that exploded out into the room had
fallen to the floor and disappeared like a lightly falling
snow that wouldn't stick to a warm surface. I looked
at Uncle David's mugshot again, which I still held firmly
(24:42):
between my fingers, his dark eyes now glowed orange. I gasped,
swore loudly in shock, and dropped the photo, realizing that
two outlying embers had landed on it. As the picture
fluttered to the floor and landed on the carpet, the
embers burned through, scorching two tiny holes where his eyes
eyes were. It was ironic the way his eyes were
(25:04):
burned out of his face in the picture, because, if
I remember correctly from research I had done years after
Uncle David, the demon of Bayville, had removed the eyes
of several of his victims. Whether this was another disquieted
sign of things to come, or if it was just
a dark reminder of the past, like the trinket that
(25:27):
precisely resembled my childhood at home, I wasn't sure. But
what I was sure of now was that I was
being tormented by forces that I didn't understand, and I
wasn't going to be able to battle it alone. I
needed help. I needed answers. I needed to dig deeper
into my past, deeper into the night of the fire.
(25:50):
I needed to know what the hell crawled out of
that spirit board thirty years ago. For listening, If you
like what you're hearing, Please share it with someone you
know who loves scary stories at Christmas time. If you'd
like to read the full novel for yourself in print,
it's available in paperback, hardback, and kindle versions at Weird
(26:13):
Darkness dot com slash Advent of Evil. That's also where
you can go to hear each of the twenty four
chapters as they're posted. I'm Darren Marler. Thanks for celebrating
Advent with me in the Weird Darkness
Popular Podcasts
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
Are You A Charlotte?
In 1997, actress Kristin Davis’ life was forever changed when she took on the role of Charlotte York in Sex and the City. As we watched Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte navigate relationships in NYC, the show helped push once unacceptable conversation topics out of the shadows and altered the narrative around women and sex. We all saw ourselves in them as they searched for fulfillment in life, sex and friendships. Now, Kristin Davis wants to connect with you, the fans, and share untold stories and all the behind the scenes. Together, with Kristin and special guests, what will begin with Sex and the City will evolve into talks about themes that are still so relevant today. "Are you a Charlotte?" is much more than just rewatching this beloved show, it brings the past and the present together as we talk with heart, humor and of course some optimism.
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.