Tales From the Vault: Volume 2

The Vaultmaster of the Ardent has compiled a selection of stories from all corners of The Vault to commit to the wax. This variety show is sourced from the Far and Tall Tales community. Our sincerest thanks to everyone who contributed to this episode, and to our patrons for making this project possible!
Featured:Hannah Brown is the co-creator of the upcoming audio drama Englewood After Dark. Originally from Wales, she now calls Tokyo Bay her home. A ghoul at heart, her horror writing has appeared in anthologies from Eerie River Publishing, Fly on the Wall Press, and Cosmic Horror Monthly. You can find her on Twitter at @Hannah_Aimee_17 and BlueSky @hannahaimee17.bsky.social.Engelwood After Dark on Twitter: https://twitter.com/EnglewoodDarkEngelwood After Dark on Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/englewoodafterdark.bsky.social
Marlo Not Found is a writer and twitch streamer. Find them at https://twitch.tv/marlo_notfound
Sam Taylor
Noxcorvum
Christine Wolfram https://www.youtube.com/c/whimsydearest https://twitter.com/whimsydearest
Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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Episode Transcript

(00:00):
Welcome to ghost Wax, a ForeignTall Tales production. The following story may
contain graphic content. Listener discretion isadvised. Tales from the Vault is a
community sourced variety show featuring readings ofclassic fiction, real life testimonials, poetry,

(00:22):
music, and stories created by ghostWax listeners. If you have anything
you'd like to contribute to future Vaultepisodes, please feel free to email us
at Foreign Tall Tales at gmail dotcom. Depths of the Doldrums by Hannah

(01:19):
Brown read by Kate Jackson. Oilspills are loud, chaotic things, with
crews on fireboats yelling, helicopters circlingoverhead, and the groans of machinery being
dragged down into the depths. Butas our crew approaches, the silence is
an oppressive, numbing, like anesthesiain the air. Even Harvey in full

(01:47):
officer mode, barking commands and avoidinghis feelings, stops as if his tongue
has grown heavy. I pull ourfireboat Arris into a rolling stop beside the
cruelest Leshie and idle the engine framedperfectly by the two halves of the cargo
ship. As they drift apart.Harvey stares down into the viscous oil spill

(02:09):
coalescing in the still ocean waters.Someone has set up an oil boom,
so the spill is edged in thefluorescent orange freeboard, but the oil isn't
touching the edges of the oil boomas normal. The spill is turning inwards,
coalescing. Our engineer, Alex saddlesup beside me and mutters, where

(02:31):
the fuck is everyone? The crewof the less She is vanished. No
one shouts from the cargo ship.The water is void of any survivor.
Bobbing in a life jacket, itis still. I grip the helm,
fighting down a reflexive shudder. Alex'svoice is muted, but Harvey still turns

(02:53):
to look, and I see itthen in his eyes, the same panic
he had on his face when hepulled me in the water after my diving
equipment failed. We are going todie. I shake it off, swallowing
back file and looking past Harvey.Our deckhand Crook leans over the bow towards

(03:15):
the shiny spill hovering on the surfaceof the water. I watch as the
shimmering oil seems to avoid his questingcollection flask, bobbing out of reach,
curling back in on itself. Igrabbed the VHF radio and search for a
clear line, But no matter howmany times I changed channel, only white
noise greets me. Radio crapped outEva. I look at Harvey, helplessness

(03:42):
numbing my throat before I choke itback. Something's wrong. I'm the first
one to voice it, that deepseated knowing that lingers in all our bellies.
Something is very, very wrong.We should head back. Alex says,
there's no one here and we needback up. Harvey's lips turn inwards,

(04:06):
loathe to shirk our duties, Butthen his gaze flickers to me,
and I see it again. Heno longer looks at me like a firefighter,
a pilot, a coworker. Instead, he looks at me like I'm
just a woman. Fuck one sweep, I correct Alec before Harvey caves.

(04:30):
They could still be out there.Harvey relents fine Crook. Crook's scream comes
from the bottom of the ocean.We charge towards the bow, towards where
we last saw him, and watchas the oil sucks something wearing a life
jacket beneath. It's not a splash, The darkness simply bubbles up for a

(04:53):
moment, and then draws krook beneath, falling back into calm stillness. Seconds
later, his scream doesn't even echo. Harvey shoves Alex away, stripping his
life jacket and outer layers until onlyhis wet suit remains, grabbing one of
the scooby units and strapping himself in. I help him with numb hands,

(05:16):
Harvey, I say, eschewing histitle, as the numbing sets into my
lungs too. You sure? Hegives me a stoic nod, and I
step away so he can dive intothe water. He avoids the spill that
has been fenced in by the oilboom as he dives, and then swims

(05:38):
over, dipping beneath it. Thesecond he is out of sight, I
turn my attention back to the oilspill, watching as it seems to take
in a deep breath, the edgesof the slick turning back in on the
center, becoming darker more opaque.Seconds later, Harvey's head is birth from
the center, his mouth gaping,viscous oil stretching across his skin, blocking

(06:01):
his airways. His eyes ava run, and then he is swallowed again,
his head disappearing below the numbing stillnessof the surface. I hear myself scream
as though from far away, thenumbness and my lungs leeching into my heart.
Beside me, Alex reaches for theblowtorch. I jolt from my panic,

(06:23):
grabbing it as he does. No, I screamed at him. They're
still out there. Wild eyed,Alex kicks me and my gut, knocking
me onto my ass. I slaminto the gunwhale, our lucky fish hook
clattering into the floor beside me intime to watch him lean over the bow.
I griped the fish hook, bracingmyself as I catch his ankle,

(06:45):
ready to tug him back onto thedeck. Alex extends the ignited blowtorch towards
the oil, but it doesn't ignite. The second he touches the flame to
that inky darkness, the darkness reachesout, sloughing up his arm and yanking
him face first into the void atits center. I'm tugged to my feet

(07:06):
by the motion, forced to letgo of the fish hook as my shoulder
screams in protest. I fall backonto the deck and watch as Alex flails,
his arms and legs covered in afilm viscous black ooze, before everything
falls silent again. Still the fishhook clatters to the deck. The crew

(07:30):
of the cargo ship, crew ofthe Lesche Crook, Alex and Harvey.
Whatever this thing is, it tookthem, and more ships will come.
That numb, horrifying feeling, Iunderstand it with sudden, heartbreaking clarity.

(08:00):
It's the feeling of being beheld bya predator. Beyond knowing. There's only
one thing I can think of,one stupid, deadly thing I can do
to contain it. After all,wear a fireboat. We have a pump
for a reason, only this timeit won't be water. I pump,

(08:22):
I grab a sharpie and scrawl acrossthe control panel. Death in tanks do
not open. And then I grabthe helm, swallow my fear, and
plunge into the midst of the beast. As the black ooze of silence rolls
up to greet me, I closemy eyes and reach for Harvey. And

(08:56):
now a first hand account from BrianWatson Jones. Hi, I'm Brian.
I'm one of the writers and actorson Ghost Wax, and this is a
story that is not fiction and Iam not acting. This is a true
thing that happened to me. WhenI was young, I was obsessed with
the unknown, read books by CharlesFort dug into all the wild stories that

(09:22):
led to both the well known andthe obscure Bigfoot and Nessy of course,
rains of frogs and blood and jellychains and pterodactyls that were cracked out of
coal and mines. A lot ofthose things have been debunked or have gone
unreported for so long since their initialstories that they became conspicuous in their absence.

(09:43):
But that doesn't change the feeling Ihad when I was reading them,
and it doesn't make me less likelyto chase things that make me feel that
feeling. Again. That's a bigpart of what brought me to ghost Wax.
I haven't had a lot of myown experiences, but maybe more than
most. Saw you once so afield of ghosts, once heard another ghost

(10:03):
laughing another time. But there's onlyone time. Something happened that I absolutely
cannot explain, not even with paranormalstories. I have no idea what this
was, what it could have been. I was eleven or twelve and visiting
my step grandmother's house. It's aroundmy birthday, so late spring, but

(10:24):
it's hot. My brother and Iare staying in a side room and I
cannot sleep. I am baking.There is no ac there is no window
to crack. It is hot,so I take my sleeping bag out onto
the back porch, where at leastthere's a breeze. I've been tossing and
turning all nights, so by thetime I get out there, the sky
is starting to lighten with dawn.My stepgrandmother lived in a pretty rural area,

(10:50):
but less rural than I was usedto. You could see signs of
other properties from the porch, andwe weren't surrounded by trees. As I
lay there, trying to get evena little sleep before the day actually started,
I was staring off to the west, away from where the sun would
come up, and aside from alarge bush in the yard, I could
see all the way to the horizon. There was a flashing light just at

(11:13):
the edge, cone shaped, pointinga little off from straight up, like
a spotlight, but pulsing regularly,tick tick tick. I could almost hear
it, like that electrical clicking thatcomes from some appliance getting switched on.
A couple of rooms away. I'mlying there wondering what it was, why

(11:37):
I was doing that so early inthe morning. When the bush lights up,
it just illuminates from within, notlike Moses's burning bush, more like
a dimmer bulb that got dialed upfrom nothing to full. No sound,
not even that electrical hum. Itjust became bright. And I lay there

(12:01):
staring at it, holding my breath, noting that the pulse on the horizon
was continuing and waiting, waiting forthe next step in whatever was happening,
waiting for something to escalate or arrive, waiting for whatever this portended to pay
off. And nothing else happened.After a minute, or five minutes or

(12:24):
ten seconds, I have no idea. The bush goes dark again, the
same in reverse, just full lightto normal bush. The pulse on the
horizon continued. The sun still wasn'tquite up, it was still goddamn hot,
but the spell was broken. Iwent back inside quick as I could,
scared as hell, and went backto my room. I don't remember

(12:46):
if I slept after that. Inever went back to the house after that
trip, and to this day,I have no idea what that was.
I'm certain I wasn't asleep, that'sall I'm really sure of. But in
all my weird reading, I've neverheard of anything like that. I don't
even have a debunked name to slapon it. It just was, for

(13:11):
a few minutes, just a littleslice of broken reality. The Green Bridge
by Marlow Not Found read by GaylasStell and Robert Knutson. This is this

(13:31):
is silly. I'm really anxious rightnow, and I feel this this need
to get this out. I justgot out of work, and I have
to wait for my car to warmup. So so I'm just gonna tell

(13:54):
the story from the beginning, justin case when it snows, I take
the long way home. I workthe night shift in my office, usually
getting out at midnight. I don'tmind the dark on the drive home,
and the snow doesn't scare me mucheither. Mostly I'm just concerned with assholes

(14:18):
on the freeway rushing home after theirshifts end. People who grew up driving
in this weather think they're invincible.I take the second way home, twenty
five miles per hour, through suburbsand into the softly lit town. I
get to enjoy the holiday lights illuminatingthe freshly fallen snow. It's beautiful and

(14:41):
no one is there to tail gaveme a perfect drive with no unnecessary risks
until I get to the bridge.I didn't used to fear the bridge.
I grew up in this town.The distinct green of the bridge is a
symbol of home for me. Iremember when they added a beautiful new sidewalk

(15:03):
and I used to hang off therailing to look at the rushing water roar
over the rocks. It was probablyeight at the time. I loved that
bridge so much. The sidewalk isat an angle now. The supports under
the bridge are rusted nearly through toomany years of town not having the budget

(15:26):
to make proper maintenance. They finallygot a grant from the state to build
a new, safer bridge, butbridges take time to build. Until the
new one is built, there areonly two ways to cross the river,
the freeway or the green Bridge.The bridge was always part of my winter
risk assessment. The odds of thebridge collapsing are much lower than the chances

(15:50):
of me getting driven off the roadon the freeway. Something about the bridge
at night has started to feel wrong, though I know that's really vague.
It's almost as if the bridge hasa presence something that I don't feel the

(16:14):
weight of until I'm halfway across.It's been two winters of feeling this weight.
Heading into my third last winter,the street lights on the bridge started
flickering off right as I passed underthem. I thought it was a fluke
or that passing under the light andmy car roof throwing a shadow over me

(16:37):
just seemed like the lights were shuttingoff. Easy to explain. Right the
next time I crossed, I paidattention to the lights. The last light
on the bridge shut off right asI passed. I didn't tell anyone,
not until it happened two more times. My coworker shrugged, and so the

(17:00):
city probably shuts off the lights ata certain hour to save energy, since
there's such little traffic after midnights.Anyways, when I explained it wasn't always
all four lights, and that Ididn't arrive at the bridge at the same
time every night, she just shruggedme off. Ghosts aren't real, after

(17:22):
all. She didn't believe it wasanything strange. It started happening at other
times too, in other seasons anicer weather. I walked across the bridge
at sunset this summer, and everysingle light flickered off as I passed,

(17:45):
ignoring the crossing cars completely. Ican convince myself it's safe to cross in
the daylight when the lights are alreadyoff. Nothing scary happens in the daylight.
It's an easy lie. Early autumn, I drove over it once at
night and the light stayed steady forthe first time in a long time.

(18:11):
God, I was so relieved untilI dreamt of drowning. That night.
I woke up with my teeth chattering. I couldn't get back to sleep until
dawn. I stopped driving over thebridge entirely after that, I go far

(18:33):
out of my way to cross anyother bridge to get home. The dreams
haven't stopped. I remember more andmore every time I wake up from them,
and just thinking about that makes mefeel so cold. And if I

(18:56):
zone out even a little bit whenI'm driving around town, my brain auto
routes me directly to the bridge.It's just I can't avoid it. I
should have called out today when Iheard about the weather, but it's too
late for that. Now I thinkI'm going to die tonight, like I'm

(19:27):
running the risk in my head,and just know if I take the freeway
home tonight, I'll slide and crash. It's It's Murphy's law right where it

(19:48):
only rains if you forget an umbrella. The one day I choose to take
the freeway instead of the back rowit's home and a snowstorm will be the
day I wreck my car. Thebridge is inevitable for me. It's the

(20:11):
only option. That's why I neededto record this. I need someone to
know about this in case the bridgedoes collapse tonight. This is so stupid.

(20:33):
The death of j Sterling wouldn't haveimmediately raised any red flags. It
was how the recording surfaced and itsmessage that finally got our attention. The
bridge did collapse that night. Jay'scar was found, but their body was
never recovered. This recording was postedto their social media account two weeks after

(21:00):
their presumed death, giving enough localsaffright that it made news stories. We
haven't been able to locate the bodyof the victim either. This testimony,
recorded before their death, now committedto wax, is all we have.
It's unclear if there were other worldlyentities at play on that bridge, or

(21:22):
if the victim just had a latentpremonitory ability and predicted their own death.
Until we have more to go onit will remain A cold case feeding by
Sam Taylor, performed by Robert Knutsen. As Van said, Owen sat at

(21:48):
his desk and wondered about his newfamiliar. The black cat pranced in happily
with something in his mouth. Whatdo you have, Jinx, Owen asked,
with an eyebrow raised. Jinks jumpedup to the desk and sat in
front of his necromancer. He satproud with his fresh kill. Owen observed

(22:11):
the cat and the kill. Isthis an offering? Owen asked. Jinks
set the creature down in front ofhis necromancer. It was bluish, with
eyeballs covering all of it. Jinkslooked expectantly at him. Are you wanting

(22:33):
me to eat that? Owen asked. Jinx me out at him and pushed
the creature forward. Owen looked atthe creature and back at Jinks. Good
cat. He patted Jinks on thehead before picking up the creature and dropping
it in his mouth. The creaturewas chewy, as Owen made sure to

(22:56):
make it more manageable to go downhis throat. It was not the worst
thing Owen had ever eaten. Hetook a few SIPs of his tea,
and the offering was moving towards hisstomach. Oh my God's, Pip said
in the doorway with Luca. Youdidn't eat that, did you. I

(23:18):
cannot let this hunter's offering go towaste. Owen tried to defend his actions.
Jinks seemed to be in agreement,nodding his head and yowing indignantly to
Philippa. Though I like my offeringscooked, Owen said, taking another sip
of tea and patting Jakes's head again. Good cat, Good cat. Mannekin

(24:03):
Memories by Knox Corvum read by AtlasGizzi. There's a mannequin in the corner
of my living room, wearing thebeginnings of an evening outfit in blue and
purple and black fabric like a galaxy. It is a simple torso and featureless

(24:26):
head, rotten, pale, slightlyworn cloth, held up by a pole
to the thick wooden stand. Iglance over, and the chin is drooping,
wasn't it looking ahead? I didn'tknow the neck was posable. I

(24:48):
thought it wasn't. The mannequin wobblesas a book, slides off the top
of the stack on the table,and hits the arm when did he get
an arm? Didn't I buy thisone because it was cheaper for having only
the basic form? Why is thereonly one? Oh? Oh? The

(25:14):
other arm is on the floor.One sleeve is empty. When did I
add sleeps? When I glanced atit on my way out the door,
part of the pin fabric of thecollar has fallen onto its feet. When
did it get legs? Wasn't itheld up by a pole before? Its

(25:37):
stance is sure? Feet planted?I put the fabric on the desk to
be fixed later, and the mannequinseems to loom over my shoulder When I
return, it gazes longingly out thewindow and I can't remember why I spun
it around when I have just begunworking on the front details. The outfit

(26:03):
is mostly done now, galactic colorssweeping across the limbs and body. The
mankin's feet are offset, hips twistedas if preparing to spin. Why didn't
I buy a more standard mannequin?Did I want the challenge of creating something

(26:26):
around a dynamic shape? The mannequin'sface, a plastic mask like thing,
gazes off towards the front door,a small smile, as if holding a
secret on its face what's my name? I have a name, don't I.

(26:51):
I stare into the mirror and panic. I'm mostly sure I recognize the
face that makes up my reflection,but nothing comes to mind when I try
to remember my name. My eyesare wide and so very gray, a
misty forest just before dawn. Perhapsthat's my name forest. No, No,

(27:17):
that isn't it. That isn't right, that isn't me. Dawn wrong
again, too colorful, too fullof light, and something I can't place.
Gray. Hmm, perhaps gray willdo. Why why can't I remember?

(27:44):
The mannikin stares at me through themirror in two doorways, expression full
of mirth. I lock both doorsand go to bed. Some part of
me is afraid of the mannequin's eyes, such a startling color, as they
are silvery, sort of sharp andquiet, gray like woods anticipating the sun.

(28:14):
I remember my face in the mirror, and I wonder how I'm just
now being frightened that the mannequin's eyesresemble mine. I've had it for long
enough that my project is almost done. I should be able to finish it
tomorrow. What was I making again? I cannot sleep, I've just been

(28:38):
sitting up in bed staring at mybedroom door. It took me a minute
to work out just exactly what thesound coming from beyond the two locked doors
is. But I think I justdon't want to admit to myself that someone
is using my sewing machine. Idon't know when someone could have gotten in

(29:02):
without me knowing, given I've beenhome for most of the day uninterrupted,
and why would someone break into ahome to use a sewing machine in the
dead of night. My breath catcheswhen I hear a hum accompany the noises
of the machine, and I can'tquite convince myself that I should go remove

(29:26):
whatever has fallen onto the pedal andtake a look at whatever appliance is humming
in my home. I stay likethat for several hours, based on the
clock of my nightstand, but therewere several moments where I nearly fell asleep
from exhaustion. I'm a little afraidI did. When the noises from the

(29:52):
living room stop, I can justabout see you around the room, but
I still haven't heard any move nofootsteps on the floorboards, no creak of
a door. I haven't moved forquite a while, and most of my
attention has been focused on the doorto the hallway with short glances around my

(30:15):
room and out the window, andsuddenly something in the room is unfamiliar.
I didn't think to look down beforethe figure clad in purple and black and
blue, sitting on the floor nextto my bed rises fluidly, far too

(30:37):
quickly, and its eyes are wideand unblinking and gray, and its hands
are cloth and plastic and too warmto be made from non living material.
As they settle on my jaw.My hands are just starting to move,
and the mannequin's almost mirrored eyes,with that face full of mirth, stare
into my own as it snaps myneck. I jul to awake, then

(31:04):
trying to breathe to calm myself fromthe nightmare, at the same time as
instinctively trying to hold my breath tolisten to any noises in my home.
My lungs heave as quietly as Ican make them do so, and I
don't hear anything out of the ordinary, nothing I haven't heard before on any

(31:26):
other night, No sewing machine.My alarm will be going off soon,
but I feel as though I reallydid stay up all night staring at the
door. I go through what routineI can while keeping the door between me
and the mannekin firmly shut and locked. And when I can stall no more,

(31:48):
I know I have to face thething in my home in the light
of day, not just in thedarkness of my dreams. When I opened
the door, the wooden stand isempty. I stop in my tracks,
and my exhaustion does me no favorsas a figure swirling in the colors surrounding

(32:13):
the stars, sweeps out from thehallway to my left and takes my hand,
leading me in a strange semblance ofa waltz towards the empty stand.
The figure starts to look more andmore like the gray in the mirror with
every step, and my own fleshis losing its color, cooling to the

(32:34):
texture of cloth. And there isa moment where neither of us are skin
and neither of us are fabric,but both of us briefly alight in the
same place. In between. Thefigure gently spins me so that my bare
feet step onto the wooden stand,and my eyes are so heavy, my
joints are so stiff I cannot feelmy hands anymore. I'm not sure when

(32:57):
I stopped breathing, but my chestwon't move and neither will my legs,
and the figure puts a warm handon my cheek. Their smile is no
less mirthful, but it seems toobright on a human face. I can't
move as the figure lets me goand steps towards the door, and the
last thing I see before my eyesdisappear into cloth and plastic is the galaxy

(33:22):
of fabric disappearing through the front door, and the sound of it closing aligns
with the final beat of my heart. The Oceans Lament by Christine Wolfram,
performed by Stephanie Olsen as Jane,with Brian Watson Jones as Mister Rochester,

(33:47):
Kate Jackson as Leah the Maid,and Adelaide Rochester, Gaylastell as Missus Fairlax,
Missus Ainslie, and Bertha Rochester.Pale. Moonlight streamed through my curtains
when I awoke to the sound ofa woman weeping. At first I thought

(34:08):
that it was perhaps one of theother servant girls, so I donned my
slippers and quietly tiptoed down the gallery. Hello are you all right, I
whispered. I heard back no reply, save for the weeping and the sounds
of trickling water coming not from outside, but from within. Along the walls,

(34:30):
the portraits appeared to be crying,tears streaming down their faces. In
the distance, I heard a wet, slopping noise, accompanied by the sound
of something hard dragging across the floor. My thoughts began to churn. Was
I experiencing a haunting with some ghostlyapparition trying to communicate with me? A

(34:54):
burning curiosity possessed me. I felta tug, a pulsion to investigate the
source of the noises, so Iventured onwards. I had reached the main
hallway when I stepped on something.I stumbled, falling out of my slipper.
When I bent down to retrieve it, I was met with a strange

(35:17):
resistance. I pulled it back witha sickening squelch, and as I held
it up in disgust to inspect it, a sticky, viscous slime dripped from
it. I nearly jumped when Iheard a voice behind me. What are

(35:37):
you doing wandering about in the latehours of the night. I spun around,
finding myself face to face with theManner's shrewd and owl like housekeeper,
missus Fairlax. I thought I thoughtI heard a woman crying, I replied,
this is an old and creaky mannerthat's prone to drafts. It'll play

(35:59):
tricks on your mind if you letit. You don't suppose it could be
the ghost of Lady Rochester. Doyou maybe she still roams these halls,
and that's why the Master fears tospend more than a fortnight here. No,
child, this isn't one of thosegothic tales. Now get you back
to bed. I lingered in thehallway, hesitating, debating whether to tell

(36:21):
her about what else I saw whenshe already thought me silly and superstitious enough,
missus Fairlax drew an exasperated sigh.Well, what else is it?
Out with it? I found thisstrange substance on the floor. Look,
it ruined, my slipper. Doyou know what it could be? It

(36:43):
must be drool from one of thehounds. I'll have one of the servants
clean it up in the morning,but it's far too much. That is
of no concern of yours. Youoversee Adele's tutoring, and I manage the
household duties. Those are the roleswe play here? Is that clear?
Fighting back protest, I mumbled ayes, ma'am, then good night,

(37:05):
miss Eyre. By morning, mymind was still reeling from last night,
so I set out to investigate themanner for proof that what happened was real
and not imagined. Besides just mysoiled slipper, All traces of the slime
had vanished from the hallway, soI backtracked to the gallery, where the

(37:25):
Rochester family portraits scowled down at mewith their grim and imperious faces. But
as I stepped forward to examine themclosely, I noticed a crystalline residue streaking
down their faces. Curious, Iwiped at it with my finger and sniffed
it. It smelt salty, eitherfrom tears or salt water. How strange,

(37:53):
Thornfield Hall was miles from sea andby no body of brackish water.
I was convinced that this was nonatural phenomenon, and became even more certain
of this when one day I caughtLeah carrying a tray filled with parsnips and
bones. Who is that for,I asked. Leah's eyes darted around nervously,

(38:20):
she could barely meet me in theeye. It's a it's for the
little missus rabbit, she squeaked,I shot her an incredulous look. You
give her rabbit bones as if shewere a dog. Yes, he likes
to gnaw on em to wear downhis teeth. Why not give it something
more suitable then, like a woodenstick. Leah shrugged. He prefers bones.

(38:45):
Now, if you don't mind me, I'll be on my way.
She brushed past me and scurried awaywith the tray. But something told me
to follow her. I trailed behindher, watching as she set out into
the yard and disappeared down into acellar. I returned back inside the manner,
even more perplexed. From my understanding, ghosts don't require mortal food.

(39:07):
No, they were keeping some creatureof flesh and blood in that cellar,
and I was determined to see it. I waited for the perfect opportunity to
investigate the cellar without anyone noticing.That day came in early November, when
all the servants were bustling about preparingfor mister Rochester's arrival. In the chaos,

(39:31):
I donned my shawl and slipped outside, making a beeline for the cellar.
As I plunged down into its depth, darkness swallowed me inside. I
heard the scuttle of insects, echoingdrips of water and hushed whispers. Taking
a deep breath, I steeled myselfand felt along the damp wall, using

(39:55):
it as a guide. As Icontinued onward, the whispers grew louder and
louder, and as I rounded acorner, I expected to find some werewolf
like beast chained to the wall.But what I found instead was a different
sort of monster. There was awoman, half snail, half human.

(40:19):
Her skin was a pallid, bluishhue, and upon her back grew a
giant, opalescent shell. She kneltbefore a makeshift altar, illuminated by dozens
of candles, whispering a chantlike prayerunder her breath. I held my breath

(40:39):
so as not to disturb her,and began silently backing my way out.
When a bone crunched beneath my foot, I flinched. Her chanting halted,
and her neck elongated, twisting aroundto peer at me. I prayed to

(41:02):
the gray man, blood lies,so I can scarcely any more, she

(41:25):
said, dragging her flaccid body towardsme. Would you help me? Here
was terror clawed at me as ablood curdling scream escaped my mouth. I
fled, scrambling up the stairs,as if the very hounds of hell were

(41:46):
on my heels. I burst outof the cellar door and ran towards the
manner, my heart pounding in myears. When a large animal barred my
path, I frozen my tracks whenrealization hit me. Master had returned.
He stood before me, holding thereins of his black steed as he watched

(42:07):
me with an amused expression. Well, is your curiosity satisfied now, Jane?
Mister Rochester asked, what what wasthat horrid thing that is my wife?
I thought you said she died ina sense. Is there anything you

(42:28):
can do to help her, somethingthat can revert her back to her natural
state? And what would you haveme do? Hmm? Send her to
a madhouse and tell them here's mywife. I'm afraid she's turned into a
mollusk, so please do what youcan for her. Or, better yet,
perhaps I should send her to asurgeon who will have her vivisected an

(42:52):
ogle dat before an entire theater.Then we'll find our own way. He
raised an eyebrow. We I'll finda way if you're so content with your
lot. I like to consider myselfa pragmatist. But you're free to go
about searching for a non existent cure, so long as you're discreet about it.

(43:15):
I won't tell a soul outside thismanner, Sir, Your secret is
safe with me, good because noone will believe you anyway. With that,
he turned on his heel and ledhis horse to the stables, leaving
me to shiver in the autumn chill. The next morning, I found mister

(43:35):
Rochester sprawled in a chair, staringpensively into the flames of the fireplace,
lost deep in thought. As henursed a glass of wine. A sort
of bone tired weariness clung to himlike a cloak. I could see it
in the shadows of fatigue under hiseyes and the strain in his jaw.
Isn't it a bit early for wine, sir? I asked? Yours still

(44:00):
here? He replied? Does thatsurprise you? I asked, I half
expected you to pack your bags andflee during the night. I scowled,
I'm not so easily deterred, sir. Evidently not. He regarded me like
he was appraising me anew, seeingme in a whole new light. No,

(44:21):
you fancy yourself a noble heroine cometo save us from our curse.
And what manner of curse is thathe drew a heavy sigh. It's a
bit of a long story, sosit if you wish to hear it.
Pulling a chair, I sat downbeside him and listened as he began his

(44:42):
tail. Three years ago, wewere on a holiday along the English coast.
We were exploring the tide pools whenBertha came across this giant purlescent shell.
She picked it up and held itto her ear exclaimed that she heard
the ocean along with something else,a chorus of heavenly voices. I didn't

(45:07):
think much of it at first,because she was a bit of an odd
bird, much like yourself. Shebrought the shell home with us, and
the more she listened to it,the more it changed her from the inside
out. She began to crave leafyvegetables, and I found her gnawing on

(45:29):
discarded bones for their calcium. Ipresume she began to grow a shell of
her own, and now she spendsher days begging to listen to the artifact
once more. But what of you? Are you unaffected by it? Not
entirely, I hear it still callingto me, but I find the ringing

(45:55):
subsides the farther I go from it. And that's why you disappear so often,
and for societal parties and so calledbusiness. Correct, clever girl,
surely there must be a better solution, though a permanent one. Alas,
he smiled bitterly as he swirled thewine in his glass. Just as I
cannot bring myself to kill my wifeand put her out of her misery,

(46:19):
I cannot bring myself to destroy thecursed shell. What if I destroyed it
for you? Just tell me where? No. I watched in horror as
something inside him shifted, anger,contorting his face. His eyes bulged,
extending unnaturally long, until I wasafraid that they might pop out from his
head. Entirely, you would daredesecrate such a sacred thing, he roared.

(46:45):
The wine sloshed from his hand,spilling onto his trousers and jolting him
back to his senses. His featuresnapped back into place, but I could
still see that he was visibly shaken. He hunched over, clutching at his
eyes, as if frightened of himself. Forgive me, that was unseemly,

(47:06):
he said, his voice strained.Go now you are dismissed from your service.
He gave a small shake of hishead. No, just for the
day. I rose from my chairand bobbed my head in a curtesy as
you wish. As I turned onmy heel to leave him, I walked

(47:28):
with a new found purpose. Theartifact was taking a toll on him,
wearing him away piece by piece,and I needed to find it and cast
it back into the sea before hiscondition deteriorated any further. But where would
he hide such a thing. Surelyhe would keep it close enough that no
random stranger might accidentally stumble across it. Perhaps it was hidden somewhere inside the

(47:52):
manor or on the grounds, andI was determined to find it. I
set out and searched every nook andcranny. I checked beneath loose floorboards and
behind every book in the library.I even went into that frigid attic.
I crawled around on my hands andknees amongst the dust, miscellaneous heirloms,

(48:13):
and moth eaten sheets. My bodyfroze up at the sound of creaking footsteps.
I debated whether to hide or comeup with a convincing excuse for why
I was poking around in the attic, but I let out a sigh of
relief when I saw that it wasjust Adelaide, her hands covered in dirt
and a wrapped bundle in her arms. She scrunched up her face, giggling

(48:37):
at the sight of me. Whatare you doing. I'm looking for an
old family heirloom, I said,as I stood up and dusted myself off.
Did you find it? Not yet? Ad gestured to her bundle,
But what about you? What doyou have there? It's a way we
can all be together. Smiling,I knelt down beside her. May I

(48:57):
see it? She nodded, sheepish, and pulled back the blanket to reveal
a beautiful purlescent shell. When ahaunting melody began emanating from it, my
eyes widened in horror and panic seizedme. I snatched the shell out of
her hands and fumbled for the stagshaped lamp beside me, and brought it,

(49:20):
crashing again and again as Adelai wailedfor me to stop. I don't
know how long I bashed the dreadfulthing, but when I looked up,
panting for breath, I saw misterRochester standing in the hallway, his face
blanched with shock. Jane, whathave you done? I hurriedly rose to
my feet as words came tumbling outof me. Adelaide brought the shell to

(49:45):
me. It began playing a song, and I didn't have much time to
think. I just grabbed the closestheavy object next to me to protect us
both. I said. My wordscouldn't reach him. They slid off him
like rain and glass, as hestaggered in a daze and fell to his
knees before the relics remains. No, no, no, he cried with

(50:08):
trembling hands. He sobbed as hetried to piece the shattered shell back together.
He was unrecognizable, a broken man. The very sight of him such
a state sent a pang of guiltthrough me. I just wanted to help,
I said, My voice smoke.He glared up at me, his

(50:30):
eyes brimming with furious tears, andshot me a look of such utter loathing
that I took a step back.Leave, he hissed. I flinched as
the venom in his voice stung me. As you wished. I tried to
maintain my composure as I stiffly marchedback to my room, but my lips

(50:52):
began to quiver. By the timeI reached my door, I had fully
broken down. Tears blurred my visionAs I shoved my dresses, my sketch
book, and the rest of mymeager belongings into my baggage. I silently
departed Thornfield Hall with a strange,aching hollowness inside my chest. I felt

(51:15):
like I had somehow bestrayed mister Rochester. That I had abandoned poor Adelaide,
and I was now leaving behind theonly home that had brought me joy.
What options did I have. Icouldn't go back to living with my cruel
aunt and cousins. I couldn't livein Millcote. That Shire lay too close

(51:36):
to Thornfield's looming shadow, so Isettled for taking a carriage to Morton,
a small town to the east.Sewing was one of the few skills I
had acquired at Lowood, so Ifound a job there as an assistant at
a seamstress shop. The work wasdull, but it kept me fed.

(51:58):
Three months passed without a single wordfrom mister Rochester. I was sketching an
idyllic scene of fairies attending their queenwhen I heard a rap at my door.
There's a man who wishes to speakto you. He asked for you
by name, said the seamstress,missus Ainsley. My attention piqued. Did

(52:20):
he happen to give his own nameas well? No, but he's a
brooding sort of fellow, with afierce brow and a hawk like nose.
Groaning, I set my sketch bookand charcoal pencil aside on my bed.
I know exactly who you're referring to. Shall I tell him you're here?
Or would you like me to sendhim away? No? I'll see him,

(52:43):
although I cannot fathom what he couldpossibly want with me. Apprehension crept
over me. I hadn't seen misterRochester in months, or spoken to him
since I departed the manner. Ididn't know whether his anger had waned,
or if his resentment of me hadfestered like an infected wound. Whatever the
case, I stealed myself and waited. I heard footsteps and looked up to

(53:09):
see mister Rochester standing before me,stripped of his hot e veneer, a
proud man. Undone, Jane,you appear to be in good health.
Have they been treating you well?He asked missus Ainsley. Is fair,
and she provides me with room andboard at the deduction of some of my

(53:30):
wages. I stared at him pointedly, But why do you care? Do
you customarily check on the well beingof your former employees. I felt obligated
to check up on you, especiallyafter I so hastily removed you from my
service. He awkwardly wrung his handsas he searched for the right words.

(53:52):
You see, the truth of thematter is I have not been myself for
a long time. In the gripof my madness and anger, I lashed
out at you. I treated youmost unfairly, even after you had saved
myself and my ward from straying furtherfrom our humanity, And for that I

(54:15):
am eternally in your debt. Onename in particular was noticeably absent from his
speech. I'm glad I could saveyou and Adelaide. But what of Bertha?
Have her symptoms improved? I inquired? He smiled ruefully. I'm afraid
she remains a giant snail. Onlynow a profound melancholy has taken her,

(54:39):
and she scarcely leaves her shell atall. Oh, my heart fell I
had hoped to free her, butit appears I have only made matters worse.
You mustn't blame yourself. There's notexactly a precedent for this sort of
thing, so you couldn't have known. That's what would happen to her.

(55:01):
That's the thing, isn't it.There was no telling what could have happened.
I could have killed her, Icould have killed all of you.
I'm just a silly girl whose headis filled with fanciful dreams, and everyone
around me suffers for it. Myshoulders racked as I broke down into tears.

(55:21):
Never apologize for that, mister Rochestersaid. As he crossed the little
distance there was between us. Hetenderly cupped my face in his hands and
wiped a tear away with his thumb. That's the very quality that makes me
so fond of you. My cheeksflushed and my heart fluttered wildly. Words

(55:43):
caught on my tongue, and Ilost all capacity for speech as I became
suddenly aware of the heat in hisbody and the length of his dark eyelashes.
As he peered intently down at mylips, his face painted with yearning
and desire. For a moment,I swore he intended to kiss me.

(56:04):
Until the spell between us broke.He dropped away from me, and he
took a step back, clearing histhroat. Oh, before I forget.
He reached into his pocket to handme a check. Here are your monthly
earnings, and if there's anything elseI can do to help your life be
more comfortable, Please don't hesitate toask. I hesitated if I may ask

(56:28):
one favor, sir, there isone household I have my eyes on.
I'd appreciate if you could put ina good word for me there. Of
course, name them and I'll singyour praises to them. It's called Thornfield
Hall. The place is gloomy,and so is its master, but I've
grown fond of them both. Uncertaintyflicked across his face, as well as

(56:52):
something else, small spark in himthat dared to hope he would still wish
to work for me, after allI've put you through. He asked,
You're the only employer peculiar enough forme and I for him, I replied.
He beamed a rare smile at me, without a trace of his usual

(57:13):
bitterness, warm enough to melt wintersnow. Then come, Jane, let
us go home. My heart soaredas I caught sight of the iron gates
of Thornfield Hall before us loomed themanor itself, shrouded in fog and latticed
with frost. I once found thecastle like structure imposing, but I now

(57:37):
found comfort in its gloom. Thecarriage rolled to a stop outside of it,
and I took mister Rochester's hand ashe helped me down. I strode
up to the front door, whereMissus Fairlax greeted us with the small incline
of her head, and for thefirst time she looked at me with respect.

(57:57):
Welcome back, miss Eyre, shesaid, thank you, I said,
stepping inside and removing my mittens.It's good to be back. I
glanced around in wonder, absorbing thedetails of the manner's interior once more,
from its mahogany banister to its austeresculptures, to the sprawling, haunting tableau

(58:20):
towards its entrance. My attention snappedwhen I heard a clamor of footsteps and
a child shouting miss Eyre. MissEyre Adelai came running down the stairs to
greet us, squealing in delight.I outstretched my arms as she flung her
arms around me. Burying her facein my shoulder. I'm sorry, I'm
sorry I yelled you. I didn'tmean it. She said, that's quite

(58:45):
all right, Papa, I said, as I smoothed her hair. People
often say things that they don't meanwhen they are upset. As the days
passed, I sank into the rhythmof familiarity. My tutoring with Adelaide resumed,
but something in my relationship with misterRochester had shifted. He appeared more

(59:07):
at ease around me and would seekout my company. We took sleigh rides
through the snow and skated on thefrozen lake beside the manor, and I
felt a forbidden thrill when we beganstealing kisses, deep and fierce in the
shadows of the alcoves. It waslike living inside a fairy tale, a

(59:27):
dream. But that dream shattered whenI awoke to drip, drip, drip.
My stomach sank as an icy dreadsloosed through my veins. No,
I destroyed you. I flung backmy sheets and stared at the wall in

(59:49):
disbelief. Dark water poured in rivuletsdown my wall. No, No,
was it possible someone had restored theshell? Who would do such a thing.
Everyone in the household seems so content, everyone that is, save Bertha.
Marching down the hall, I soughther out to confront her. I

(01:00:14):
descended into the dark of the cellarwith a candle in hand. As I
made my way down the narrow steps, I heard something that was either sobbing
or hysterical laughter. Bertha, Icalled out, cautious, I treaded across
the floor when something burst beneath myfeet, splashing the hem of my dress.

(01:00:39):
I peered down. Intermingled amongst thepuddles of water was cluster upon cluster
of egg like membranes. Swallowing ascream, I hitched up my skirt and
carefully sidestepped them. As I approachedBertha's shadowy silhouette. I know you must

(01:01:00):
despise me, but there's something Imust ask you, I began, to
my surprise. Birth Still, shelifted her head and I could see the
madness in her eyes, glinting inthe candlelight. Despise you, she said,
and a voice as deep in cavernousas the sea. No, I

(01:01:22):
am grful to you. You howme fine? The true? I swallowed
hard? And what truth is that? All time? And my clong onto
my humanity, believing that the greatones were incomprehensible, So far of myry

(01:02:00):
in true, they of josen mejust joy in their ranks. I've snded,
don't you see? I am nolonger need the art of bag because

(01:02:21):
I carry this song with him.She pressed a finger to her lips.
Listen, can you hear? Theenergy of the cellar shifted? The hairs
on my arm stood on end,and I felt a humming, like the
crackling static that hangs about the airbefore a lightning strike. I heard it

(01:02:45):
then, an otherworldly melody that wasboth early beautiful and filled with such utter
sadness and loneliness, A lament soundin the gulf, enveloping me. It
reached into me and strummed my heart, plucking it like Orpheus played his lyre

(01:03:08):
before Hades. I wept, tearsstreaming down my face as I wondered how
I could have ever tried to silencesuch a wondrous thing. Thank you for

(01:03:43):
listening to Ghostwax, a production ofForeign Tall Tales. Find us at Foreign
Talltales dot squarespace dot com. Ghostwaxis an independent podcast. So if you'd
liked the show. Please rate andreview and consider joining us on Patreon at
patreon dot com. Slash feign TallTales also give a listen to our fantasy
roleplay show could Have been Heroes forsomething completely different. Ghost Wax is written

(01:04:10):
and directed by Robert Knutsen, productionand editing by Aaron Schoenrock. Our theme
song is by bo Hoover.