Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:17):
Hello everyone and
welcome back to another episode
of the lunatics radio, ourpodcast.
I am Abby Branker sitting herewith Alan Kudan, hi, and we
haven't done this in a while.
Speaker 2 (00:27):
Done what.
Speaker 1 (00:28):
Today we have a
Campfire Tales episode for you.
Do you remember that seriesthat we abandoned and left for?
Speaker 2 (00:35):
dead Hang on.
It was not abandoned, it wasput into cold storage, which is
ironic because this is aboutfire.
Speaker 1 (00:43):
That's right.
So the premise of our CampfireTales series is that we are
going to present to you storiesthat play with darkness in their
own way.
They're not tied to anyunifying theme.
They're just really good,well-written stories, very well
narrated, kind of similar to ifyou were sitting around a
campfire right and people weretaking turns telling stories.
(01:04):
Yeah, that's the vibe, that'sfun.
Yes, we should do this moreoften and I think we will
foreshadowing.
Oh, but without further ado,I'm super excited for the
stories today.
I think they're all incrediblyunique from each other and all
actually are kind of fresh, Ithink, in terms of types of
(01:25):
stories that we feature on thepodcast.
So I feel very lucky andexcited to present them to
everybody.
Speaker 2 (01:31):
I got to say these
are three very unique stories.
Instead of just teasing, let'sjust roll the first one.
Speaker 1 (01:36):
Absolutely Roll the
tape.
Lakeland, written by MariskaPichette, read by Michael Grosso
.
Speaker 4 (01:53):
You might think
there's no way to survive in a
landscape of exposure.
Scrub grasses, icy tarns, barerocks only fit for lichens.
What could live in this barrenworld, and what could it
possibly eat?
Birds are dissatisfying,rodents unappetizing.
(02:13):
No, here, in a districtregarded for its wilderness,
there is only one meal able tosate us.
You will not find us hunting,looking at us.
You won't find us at all, untilit's too late.
I am not the only thing thatmoves in the fells, unseen,
(02:36):
lingering under two still waters.
My view ripples across grassesand rocks.
From my position I can seeacross the rugged peaks out to
the gaping edge that claims allfailures.
This privileged spotcontributes to my success.
I never lose a catch.
Mist gathers along the groundand the banks of my tarn, and
(03:02):
there I see them Clods creepingon, rooted legs, spindly white,
some no larger than pollywogs,some the size of quail eggs,
some masquerading as hares, twintufts of heather pretending at
(03:27):
ears.
They creep and roll and dig inthe earth, and after ages of
watching, I know what theyprefer.
Rain is no issue for them,flickering their roots so they
can slide away from the rabbitholes they cover, take advantage
of the mist to twist and breakan ankle.
They come in all kinds ofweather.
I pray.
Resting under the gentlylapping waters, I feel them.
Boots strike, soil Clods settleinto place next to rocks and
(03:50):
holes and roots.
As one, we wait.
We're not in direct competition.
Each of us plays to ourstrengths here at the base of
the sky.
Strengths here at the base ofthe sky, a solitary hiker, poles
gripped in hand, slick withmoisture Red jacket, like a
(04:18):
streak of blood in the mist.
They cross the fell confidently, ignorantly.
A clod shifts, exposing adepression that wasn't there.
Before the hiker's foot catches, their voice croaks briefly,
stifled by heavy clouds.
Earth rises before they canright themselves, climbing their
leg and filling their face withchoking mud.
Wet and cold and alone.
(04:38):
The clod's prey sinks under aherd of hungry grass.
A soft mound marks the placethey were.
I spin lazily under my surfacewaiting for the next one.
The clods catch the most.
Their tactics are simple,instinctual.
I ignore my closest neighborsmost of the time, look to their
(05:01):
hunting for entertainment.
The rest, on clear days, theyare almost inert, with no sign
of another hiker.
I swim to the other side of thetarn and watch the rocks.
The rocks don't lie in waitlike the clods.
They are listening.
Still until voices, still untilfootsteps.
(05:23):
Ambush predation is the natureof granite and shale.
I rarely see their victimsWatching under the water.
I see only the hunters leapingdown the fell, cracking from the
bedrock to roll into actionFiltered by icy water.
(05:43):
I hear distant screams, drawnout or cut short.
I feel, deep in the muddybottom of my home, the
satisfaction of a successfulkill.
Rain passes, wind whips, somerocks detach themselves, but if
they hit true, the storm absorbsthe sound.
(06:08):
As the day fades into afternoon,the sun sheds glorious light on
my waters.
I warm anticipation tinglingthrough my body.
Now is the time I hunt.
My tarn glistens brilliant,reflecting the sky.
My ripples promise relief.
(06:28):
My banks invite rest.
Sometimes there's just one whostops, sitting down to gaze
across the surface, sometimes agroup.
I rarely manage to catch morethan a couple, but one is all I
need to sustain me for a group.
I rarely manage to catch morethan a couple, but one is all I
(06:50):
need to sustain me for a year.
Boots grind against gravel.
I hold still as they stop, setdown all they carry when they
bend to remove their shoes.
I've already won bend to removetheir shoes.
I've already won.
(07:10):
Toes grip mud, fingers ticklethe warmer waves at the edge.
Hunger stirs my core.
I wait until the hiker leansclose and tastes my tarn,
regarding their face in itspristine reflection.
They don't feel my fingerssliding through the mud to
circle their feet.
I've had an age to perfect myattack.
When they see me at last, eyeson the other side of the water,
(07:35):
they rarely scream.
Shock breeds silence.
This one tries, their mouthopening wide as the clods pits,
the sound is quickly stifledwith a splash.
I drag them down, kicking.
I drag them down, flailing.
I drag them down down limp andcooling to the bottom.
(07:57):
There I feast until I'm full.
What of them remains, then Iplant in the mud, covering their
body with rocks that hunt nomore and clods past their prime.
We share what we don't eat therocks, the clods and I.
Our ecosystem would not endureotherwise.
(08:18):
And can you not say, looking onus and the world, we have made
over so many of your bones thatwe are beautiful.
Speaker 2 (08:31):
Didn't we have
something on like freshwater
monsters or lake monsters orsomething?
Speaker 1 (08:35):
Lake horror many
years ago.
Speaker 2 (08:37):
A long time ago.
Speaker 1 (08:38):
Worth a revisit,
probably, but this is prime oh
yeah, lake horror so good.
Speaker 2 (08:43):
Where was this story
when we're talking about loch
ness, monster bullshit?
I?
Speaker 1 (08:48):
know, I don't even
think we did lunatics library
back then.
Speaker 2 (08:50):
That's insane how old
that this was so good yeah, so
good so this was not only a veryscary lake monster, but it was
very well written oh yes, sothis story comes to us by many
time.
Speaker 1 (09:04):
Collaborator at this
point, mariska Pichette.
The story was originallypublished in text in Night
Terror Novels as part of theirTheater Phantasmagoria series,
and that was in September of2022.
And also so, mariska, has theirfirst novella coming out in
spring 2025 from Ghost OrchidPress, which is the original
(09:24):
publisher of this story.
That's awesome.
It's going to be called EveryDark Cloud and we are so, so, so
excited.
Speaker 2 (09:33):
Okay, so just putting
it out there.
This would make a great novella.
Speaker 1 (09:37):
Yeah.
Speaker 2 (09:37):
I want to read
everything about this lake
monster.
Speaker 1 (09:40):
Yes.
Speaker 2 (09:40):
And all the stuff
they do.
Just any time you get into thehead of a monster and start to
understand their not justmotivations but hopes and dreams
.
I think that's so cool.
Speaker 1 (09:54):
Yeah, I agree, and
this was such an ancient monster
from the depths and I've lovedthe world's building and I think
Mariska did a really good jobof flipping kind of what you're
saying but flipping the world onits head and looking at it
through this lens and theecosystem that it maintains and
the centuries of time that havepassed, and it was kind of this
very rich, beautiful, dark story.
Speaker 2 (10:15):
I've always felt that
making a relatable villain is a
higher tier of writing, andit's difficult.
The villain is typically theother.
That's fine, that's expected.
But when you make someone theother, but still relatable, that
just adds all these extralayers where you care about not
(10:38):
just the protagonist but alsothe antagonist, and it leads for
a more balanced story.
That you know, I don't, it'sjust good writing.
Speaker 1 (10:44):
Yeah, because I truly
believe't it's just good
writing.
Yeah, because I truly believeright, very rarely are people
evil.
Everybody is human and there'snuance and humanity and reasons
for all of us.
Speaker 2 (10:56):
Every time one of
these articles comes out about
like best villains of all time.
You often see Hannibal Lecteroh, always number one, and that
is because he is, I don't know.
Some people call him anantihero, but that's not true at
all.
He's just a straight up villainthat has relatable motivations,
(11:16):
to the point where he sometimeshelps the protagonist.
Every so often, when you have avillain that you can empathize
with, it just changes the entiredynamic and makes the whole
story more complex.
And we have a fucking ancientlake monster and we're feeling
those vibes.
So that's cool.
Speaker 1 (11:36):
Very cool, yeah, and
so this story was narrated by
our friend Michael Krosa.
We are, as I'm sure everyonewho listens to this podcast
knows, very big fans of Michael.
He runs the Podnuga podcastnetwork out of Chattanooga,
tennessee, and I want to remindyou guys.
So Michael actually also read astory for us for New England
Vampire Panic, and at that timewe had called for donations for
(11:59):
a charity that Michael suggestedcalled Beloved Asheville, and I
just want to remind everyonethat there's still a lot of need
for all the flooding and thestorms that have hit this
country this year.
So we will leave a link in thedescription of this episode as
well, especially as we'regetting into the holiday season
and I know there's so manydifferent places to donate and
give back to, but BelovedAsheville should be on your list
(12:21):
of contenders, for sure.
Speaker 2 (12:23):
Yeah, michael is just
like one of those great people.
Then, without people like this,just the world would straight
up collapse.
So thank you, michael, foreverything that you do.
Your personal content isincredibly wholesome, yet here
we have you, joyfully voicing aprimordial lake monster that
feasts on quite innocent people.
(12:45):
Uh, so thank you for everythingthat you do.
Speaker 1 (12:48):
Thank you especially
supporting this podcast we
appreciate it so in turn.
Speaker 2 (12:52):
We're going to
support you and you can just
save the world there you go.
Speaker 1 (12:56):
There you go, all
right.
Well, without further ado.
We have two other stories inthe queue.
Shall we get to the next one?
Speaker 2 (13:03):
please do roll the
here we go.
Speaker 3 (13:09):
Black tea, cream tea,
chocolate tea, mud.
Red by evil Carol, red byDiGiulio Pardo.
Speaker 5 (13:20):
In Goldenboar there
lives a good wife.
She knows she is good becauseshe can feel the nails sticking
out of the hole in the nape ofher neck.
The nail tells her she is goodand so she must be.
When the traders came, theybrought with them ships full of
tea and finery, and the goodwife bought up a larder full of
teas and foreign ingredients forbaking.
(13:42):
It is in this way that shekeeps her husband happy.
She has been keeping him happyfor as long as she can remember,
and the rounded mound beneathher dress tells her that she is
happy too.
She is different from herneighbor's wives.
Her skin is not the same richgold as theirs and her curves
are not curves really, besidesthe one in her belly on which
(14:04):
she places her hand.
It whispers to her soon.
It has been whispering soon foras long as she can remember.
When she sleeps she is a birdand she visits girls with golden
skin.
She can feel their pulses, slow, as she drinks them.
Oh, how she loves the shallowrise and fall of their chests.
(14:27):
Towards the end she strokesthem soft as a feather and all
is still forever.
But she is a good wife and goodwives do not dream of golden
women.
So she forgets the dream andinstead goes about her chores.
She makes pretty the beds andmends her husband's clothing.
When the mending is done, thegood wife ventures out into the
(14:50):
garden to pick potatoes andfresh vegetables.
Her husband is fond of heartymeals.
She watches as he eats them andwarmth swells in her chest.
Her own plate is always empty,but she does not hunger for food
, for she is a good wife and heronly hunger is to make her
husband happy.
The neighbors, dressed in theirfinery, with blushing cheeks and
(15:13):
smiling faces, do not look atthe good wife when they leave
their house and board thecarriage that waits for them.
She does not envy their leaving, for she is a good wife, and a
good wife wants nothing morethan a home and a husband.
The nail in her neck tells herit is so, and so it must be.
When the neighbor's daughter,with her dark eyes and her
(15:35):
golden skin, pulls the carriagecurtain just so and gazes timid
across to the good wife, thegood wife feels a tremor in her
chest.
Across to the good wife, thegood wife feels a tremor in her
chest when the neighbor'sdaughter, with her dark eyes and
her golden skin, closes hereyes, long eyelashes casting
long shadows across her cheek.
The good wife remembers hersleeping, the way her mouth
(15:57):
hangs open just a little, theway her chest rises.
No, the nail in the nape of herneck tells her.
You do not know the hiddenplaces of her, for you are a
good wife.
And a good wife thinks only ofher husband.
The nail in her neck tells herit is so, and so it must be.
In the morning she wakes herhusband with a pot of black tea
(16:21):
as rich and flavorsome as hissoul, which must be rich and
flavorsome because she wantsnothing more than to keep him
happy.
He drinks deeply and tells herthat she is a good wife and she
will always be his good wife.
The good wife breathes deep andis happy.
Her wound whispers.
Soon as he leaves, she kisseshis cheek and promises she will
(16:45):
wait right here until he returns.
The good wife places her handson her stomach, arranges them
gently, prettily, and waits.
Her husband shuts the doorbehind him and the good wife
watches him leave.
She is still by the door, handscrossed about her belly, when
(17:05):
the neighbor's daughter comes upgarden path.
The good wife sees her throughthe window and her palms grow
damp.
It has been hours since herhusband left and will be hours
still until he returns.
But she told him she would waitand so she must.
The neighbor's daughter,dark-eyed and golden-skinned,
(17:26):
dithers in front of her door.
She raises her hand to knockthree separate times, but her
knuckles never quite meet thewood.
The neighbor's daughter shakesherself and looks up.
Then she jumps when her eyesmeet the good wife's, who is
standing so still and so solemnthat she might be a statue
(17:47):
carved for her husband'spleasure.
The good wife swallows, wutsher lips, but the other woman
with her dark eyes flees backdown the path and does not look
back.
When her husband returns in theafternoon, the good wife serves
cream tea with cakes and sconesfresh from her oven.
She makes them like the traderstell her, and they come out
(18:11):
warm and soft.
She takes a crumb from theplate and it melts in her mouth
at first, and then it burns her.
She spits it out because it'sher husband's and she is a good
wife and good wives do not stealfrom their husbands.
He eats it all up and licks hislips after he tells her she is
(18:32):
a good wife and that she willalways be his good wife.
The good wife is happy becauseher husband is happy and guilt
pools thick in her belly.
She should not have taken thecrumb and she should not think
of girls with dark eyes and softgolden skin.
As her husband reads in hisstudy, the good wife stands
(18:53):
behind him, she cups her bellyand her womb whispers Soon.
The good wife is happy with herhusband.
She places a hand on hisshoulder and her husband looks
up at her through thick lashes.
She feels the look heavy in herstomach and knows that she is
wanted.
(19:14):
Before bed the good wife giftsher husband with a thick, rich
tea of chocolate and cinnamon.
He drinks and drinks and hiseyes warm.
He tells her that she is abeautiful wife and that she will
always be his beautiful wife.
He takes her in his arms andshe is filled with him.
The good wife does not knowwhere he ends and she begins,
(19:37):
and this tells her she is happy.
When she is so full with herhusband, the good wife does not
think of dark eyes and goldenskin.
With her husband, the good wifedoes not think of dark eyes and
golden skin.
The good wife thinks only ofher husband, his long fingers,
his large hands, hands whichtravel to her face, close upon
her neck.
His fingers graze the nail, buthe does not notice.
(19:59):
She is his and it is in thisway that she makes him happy and
he is very happy.
Again, his hand finds the nail,but he does not notice.
He is close and she is happy.
But the good wife wants to becloser, wants to pull her
husband up inside herself andhold him in her swollen belly
(20:21):
like a babe.
In this way they will both behappy.
One last time his fingers hitthe nail and it slips from the
hole with a liquid thump, thegood wife pales, her fingers
sharpen and she feels as if shemight once have been a bird.
She looks down at her husbandand he is happy.
(20:44):
Her fingers move to his stomachand press deep until the red
wells up.
It is in this way that shemakes him unhappy.
The good wife remembers thehammer and nail, the look on her
husband's face when he caughther Not yet a husband then, but
(21:04):
a boy, hungry and wanting theonce.
Good wife remembers feathersand golden women with soft, soft
skin.
Her neighbor's daughter in thecarriage.
Her neighbor's daughter on thepath.
Her neighbor's daughter at thedoor.
Her neighbor's daughter in herbed with her.
Her mouth hung open, the oncegood wife pulls her fingers from
(21:25):
his navel and up.
She knows she is not a goodwife and she is not good because
the hole in the back of herneck is empty.
The hole in the back of herneck tells her that she is not a
wife and so she must not be.
She remembers the taste ofmetal and salt when she looks
(21:46):
down at her husband.
She has been keeping him happyfor as long as she can remember.
His hair is peppered with grey.
No longer the young man whocaught her and held her down and
hammered the nail into her nape, the iron biting and taming and
cold.
The mound beneath her dress isstill too still and tells her
(22:10):
that she was never happy.
She is different from theneighbor's wives.
Her skin is not the same richgold as theirs.
Her curves are not curves.
Besides the one in her belly onwhich she places her hand, it
stays silent.
It has been silent for a long,long time.
(22:37):
Her skin is not the same richgold as her neighbor's wives and
her curves are not curves.
Her curves are joints, skinpulled tight over them.
Her still veins painting herbones with map lines.
Her eyes are not like theireyes.
When it is night she is a birdand she visits girls with golden
skin.
She can feel their pulses, slow, as she drinks them.
(22:59):
Oh how she loves the shallowrise and fall of their chests.
Towards the end she strokesthem soft as a feather and all
is still forever.
She drinks them up and leavesthem tucked in their beds where
she found them.
But her neighbor's daughter isspecial.
Her neighbor's daughter looksat the once good wife meets her
(23:24):
eyes with wonder.
Daughter looks at the once goodwife meets her eyes with wonder
.
The once good wife drinks hertoo, but not fully just enough.
The once good wife remembersnow.
It is in this way that sheknows she is happy.
In the morning she wakes to herhusband with a pot of tea as
black as her hair, which is moreblack than her neighbor's wives
(23:47):
, and brittle to the touch.
She drinks deeply and places ahand down into his stomach.
When she pulls it out again shehas in her hand his kidney and
she tells him he was never herhusband and that she will never
have a husband.
She leaves the kidney on thebed and is happy when she
(24:10):
returns to him.
In the evening she sips creamtea and melts cake crumbs in her
mouth.
She does not spit them outbecause they are hers and he was
never her husband.
The once good wife reaches ahand into his stomach and pulls
out his liver.
She tells him that he was neverher husband and that she will
(24:30):
never have a husband.
She looks to his face and seesthat he is unhappy.
She is glad she ate the crumbsBefore bed.
The once good wife drinks deepof chocolate, tea and cinnamon.
She drinks and drinks and hereyes grow cold.
She tells him of theirneighbor's daughter and her soft
(24:54):
golden skin and how when shedrinks her she doesn't know
where she ends and the daughterbegins and how.
It tells her she is happy.
She tells him he was never herhusband.
The once good wife feels in hischest and removes his heart.
She tells him she will neverhave a husband.
(25:14):
The once good wife takes thenail from the floor and pokes it
through the heart, lets out afaint hiss.
In Goldenpore there lives awoman no one looks at a woman
without a husband.
Ran away in the night, they say, and left her there alone.
(25:34):
She has a hole in her neck andit tells them to steer clear of
her.
It is in this way they keep herhappy.
In Goldenpore there lives agolden girl who tastes just like
vanilla.
She knows she is good becauseshe dreams that a bird visits
her while she is sleeping.
The bird tells her she is goodand so she must be.
Speaker 1 (26:02):
I freaking love this
story, which I guess is
surprising to no one, but Ireally, really, really like it.
I love the mechanic of the nailin the neck as this symbolic
control mechanism orbrainwashing or both mechanism.
I love the journey of it'salmost like the Stepford Wife
language of I'm a good wife, I'ma good wife right Repeating and
(26:24):
repeating, and repeating untilit's true, and then the
unraveling of that in just themost violent and satisfying way.
I think it's beautiful.
I think it's really unique.
Speaker 2 (26:35):
I don't think we've
ever had something quite like
this.
Speaker 1 (26:39):
No, not at all.
Speaker 2 (26:40):
And I mean that in
the best way.
This was a classic tale ofrepressed sexuality that was
straight up unleashed in thecoolest possible way.
Speaker 1 (26:52):
And control.
And, you know, I think in a lotof ways it's something that's
very familiar to people, even ifthe circumstances aren't quite
one for one Right, the idea ofneeding to feel like you're
fitting in or doing the job thatyou feel like people want you
to do, or living the life peoplefeel like they you're supposed
to live quote, unquote, ofcourse and kind of the freedom
(27:13):
that comes from having, you know, being able to break out of
that, which is not alwayspossible.
So that was really beautifuland moving, in addition to being
like pretty rock and roll and Ilove, you know, the kind of
full circle moment of having thenail that's been in her neck
for so long go through his heartat the end.
Speaker 2 (27:30):
It's a cool mechanic.
Speaker 1 (27:31):
Very cool.
I love the nail.
I think it's so simple butvisual and you understand
exactly what's happening andit's gross and and horrifying
and all these things at the sametime.
Speaker 2 (27:42):
I'm really trying to
place it, because the idea of a
spike going through someone as away of dampening their power
sounds so familiar and I can'tremember where it's from.
Speaker 1 (27:58):
I don't know it
doesn't ring a bell for me in
that lens, but to me it kind ofjust reminds me of, you know,
almost like medieval torture, oflike oh, I'm sorry, it's the
opposite.
Speaker 2 (28:08):
I'm thinking of
brandon sanders, mistborn okay
where they put spikes throughpeople, through certain organs
yeah and, depending on where thespike is, it actually amplifies
their abilities seems like arisky little game, though,
though.
I mean, sure, but this is afantasy setting, right, it's all
magic.
And all these spikes are donein ritual format, Sure, and by
(28:32):
removing the spikes you actuallykill the people.
Very cool, but regardless.
Having spikes through people asa way of restraining them not
only, I mean, I don't knowthat's honestly quite biblical.
Speaker 1 (28:47):
It is yeah, for sure.
Speaker 2 (28:49):
If we may be a bit on
the nose, that's the spikes 101
.
Speaker 1 (28:59):
There you go, the
originator.
This story was narrated for ustoday by Denali Bartel, who was
a film student at BrooklynCollege, majoring in screenplay
writing.
When they're not busy workingon scripts or projects, they
enjoy participating inBrooklyn's vibrant art scene and
performing poetry from theirnew book, laundry Day, which, of
course, we will link below.
I thought Denali did just aperfect job with this story and
I'm very, very interested tocheck out Laundry Day and keep
(29:21):
kind of getting to know theirwork.
But beautifully narrated.
And this story, of course, isfrom Elu Carroll, who has been
featured on this podcast before,and this story was previously
published in Kaleidotrope lastyear and was included in TOR's
dot com must read short fictionlist for September 2023, which
is amazing Cool and TORcom isnow Reactormagcom.
(29:42):
But, as always, we will linkeverybody's social handles on
social media and links to theirwork in the episode description,
because we're such big fans ofthese folks and we encourage you
to go out and interact withtheir stuff and keep supporting
indie artists along the way.
Speaker 2 (29:57):
This story just had
such unique world building.
I'm like really curious if thisis almost wild assumptions that
this is not part of a largerpiece but this author's writing
style.
I'm kind of hoping that it'slike some kind of like larger
universe where, you know, otherworks still have this type of
(30:21):
mythos, cause I think it's super, super cool.
Speaker 1 (30:24):
I agree.
I think it's beautiful and verypoetic.
All right, and we have onefinal story which is, I would
say the least, lunatics style.
What?
But give it a chance, it's gota lot to say eulogy of the lake,
written and read by MichaelCero.
Speaker 6 (30:48):
I spent all my
childhood summers at the
Hospitality Creek Campground inWilliamstown, new Jersey.
Back then, it was a familybusiness passed down by three
generations of people who livedon the premises in a log cabin.
In 2004, it was cheap andlawless and contaminated with
great ideas.
There was this rickety naturetrail there, and this was my
(31:08):
absolute favorite.
It was a small pathway, twoplanks wide for its entirety
that would twist and turn intothe muggy forested swamp.
The bugs were awful and theplanks were so close to lake
level that they would frequentlyflood or be covered in mud.
The planks then just stopped atsome point and the trail would
drop you off into some sandypatch of woods without any
(31:29):
indication of where you weresupposed to go next, and the
sand was full of these littlebugs.
That would make these littlepits.
They looked like these reverseant holes, and my dad and I
would put ants in the reverseholes and watch as the sand
would cave in around them andthey would get pulled under by
this unseen monster with claws.
It was really fucking cool.
Now, if you made the right turnin the trail, you would end up
(31:52):
back at the lake.
You would do a full circlearound the entire campground.
I'm not sure what would happenif you made a wrong turn and
just kept going further into thewoods.
I guess eventually you wouldend up somewhere along the
Garden State Parkway.
Now, these are the strongestmemories I have of Hospitality
Creek, walking that nature trailand going in circles over and
over again until sunset.
I haven't been back, though,since around the 2010s.
(32:15):
The last time I went, I was asophomore in high school.
I brought a girl and we gotbored, and then we ran back to
my place to have sex for thefirst time before my mom got
home.
I chickened out anyway, so itdidn't matter.
I should have stayed.
The campground had been boughtout at this point years later by
Yogi Bear's Jellystone Park.
I have never heard of theseguys, but apparently they are a
(32:36):
corporate campground chain andthey're the largest one around.
They own 75 campgrounds acrossAmerica.
I remember I expresseddisappointment to my neighbor
about this and he said well, theowners are happy.
They sold the place for $3million and they moved to
Florida.
So this year I decided toreturn to Hospitality Creek to
see what was old and what wasnew.
(32:59):
I think firstly, just to get anidea of what's changed, I should
break down the guest andmembership fees at Hospitality
Creek.
So at Hospitality Creek a daypass was originally $8.
That gave you total access tothe picnic grounds.
It gave you access to a pool, abeach, a lake.
There was a small activitywater park kind of thing, an
island to fish off of, and therewas the nature trail I talked
(33:22):
about.
So for around $15 an hour youcould also rent boats to take
out onto the lake and for alittle extra you could even rent
a ping pong table.
You could play some arcadegames.
You could purchase someterrible food it was like hot
dogs and really good fries andyou could get ketchup in these
little paper cups.
(33:42):
When I was getting older, thatentrance fee, it rose to $10,
and then it climbed to $12 atsome point.
There were also yearly swimclub memberships that I recall
being somewhere around a couplehundred bucks a summer, like
$300 or something.
So that would grant you dayaccess to the campground and its
amenities at any point over thesummer so you wouldn't have to
pay every time you go in.
Now, with Jellystone acquiringthe place, a day pass has now
(34:06):
risen to $36.
And the swim club membershipsthey're only valid on the
weekdays now.
So if you want to go during theweekends, when you'll probably
be like off of work and you'llbe, you know, most available to
take your kids, you got to paylike another premium.
So a $36 experience atJellystone is no better than a
$12 one at Hospitality Creek.
(34:26):
I would actually argue it'sworse, because upon entrance
there's these ceramic andinflatable yogi bears and
boo-boos and picnic baskets, andnow these things adorn the
entire campground.
But other than you know,sprinkling in some really dumb
Hanna-Barbera aesthetics,jellystone has massacred
Hospitality Creek.
The lake has become a shadow ofits former self, the old
(34:48):
Hospitality Creek Lake.
It felt like Williamstown'sanswer to like Action Park or
something.
There were these terrible pinkwater slides.
They would thrash you aroundand dump you in the water, like
your fucking life wasmeaningless.
There were these platforms withdiving boards you could
backflip on and go into 10 feetof dark, murky lake water.
There was this terrifying ropeswing that I didn't even have
(35:12):
the balls to try until I waslike 12.
First you had to.
You had to climb onto thismetal staircase.
That was like rusting, it wasfull of tetanus and you know.
And while you were walking upthe stairs you had to drag this
large knotted rope behind you.
It was like you were leashing agiant.
Then you had to jump off thestairs and hoist yourself onto
this rope midair, or else you'djust get dragged into the water.
You'd hit a piece of water,you'd slam back into the tetanus
(35:34):
metal stairs.
It was incredibly violent, butthe threat of injury really
enhanced the feeling ofaccomplishment I had when I
finally got my ass on that ropeswing and I soared into the air.
Now all of this is gone.
It's replaced by thisinflatable cornucopia of water
slides and trampolines thatJellystone calls the wibbit.
(35:56):
It is big and green andresembles a severely disfigured
frog.
And when you're on this wibbityou need to wear a life jacket.
And you know the wibbit seemsfine enough, but this looks like
something you know you couldbuy at like Lowe's and, like you
know, I'm not going to wear alife jacket at Hospitality Creek
.
That's ridiculous.
(36:17):
I mean, maybe I'm psychotic,but I just miss when this place
was dangerous.
And safety aside, jellystonehas just removed stuff for no
good reason the wooden waterwheel.
This was Hospitality Creek'sunofficial mascot.
They used to have this waterwheel that was in a field.
It's been torn down and nowit's replaced with a photo op
opportunity.
There's a wooden cutout of YogiBear.
You can stick your head next tohim and, you know, pose for
(36:39):
photos.
The trail's been closed.
It's not gone, though.
They kept the entrance, whichwas an old bridge that
overlooked the creek, but thefirst few planks that would lead
into the swamp they've beenripped up.
They've been removed.
Now only their pylon stubs kindof remain there.
A yellow construction sign nowreads Trail Closed, but they
didn't bother to raise theentire thing.
(37:01):
Like I looked ahead, I couldstill see the winding wood path
disappear into the marsh.
They only took out the firstfew planks, so the only thing
between me and this trail was athick puddle of mud, and I
didn't go through that.
Jellystone did leave somethingbehind.
They left the swimming poolexactly how they found it all
the way down to the oldHospitality Creek logo.
(37:22):
The logo of Hospitality Creekhad the old water wheel wheel in
it, and there's a ceramic tiledversion of it.
It sits carved into theconcrete at the bottom of the
three foot section.
Now, when I wasn't even threefoot tall yet, my dad would
teach me how to swim by goingunderwater with me to touch
those tiles.
I remember how they felt too.
You know.
They'd feel different than theconcrete.
They felt smooth, um, and Idon't know.
(37:44):
I wonder why they kept thatpart if they're going to tear
everything else down.
But part of me thinks they justdidn't bother to empty the pool
and replace it with a ceramicversion of Ranger Smith or
something like that.
So I walked around HospitalityCreek at dusk and I think about
what this campground meant to meand why I felt so strongly
about slides and water wheels,and I realized with some fear
(38:06):
that maybe this is the firsttime I've ever felt really old
in my life.
You know, I'm 24 now and I'mbeginning to feel the stinging
effects of nostalgia, like how Ifeel when old fast food places
get torn down near me andreplaced with sleek and gray,
lifeless versions of themselveswithout playgrounds.
Hospitality Creek feels likethat.
It feels sleek and it feelsgray.
(38:27):
Now, you know, gone are theroad signs that were carved into
wood with painted yellowletters.
Now they're replaced bycartoony ones with fonts I can
make out from Microsoft Word.
Maybe the world really wasbetter back then, and I wonder
if the degradation ofHospitality Creek would be my
dive towards inevitableconservatism.
You know when are all myoutlooks going to become watered
(38:49):
down to back-in-my-dayarguments.
The world will continue to spinand it will spin towards the
sun for many, many summers tocome.
And it left Hospitality Creekbehind, and you know, it could
leave me behind too.
So I stood there for a whilethinking about this, where the
water wheel once was, and Iwatched these kids as they
cannonball and backflip off thewibbit and I watched them make
(39:13):
all these new and happy memoriesof their own, and I think
nostalgia does not hinder theirenjoyment at all, because they
don't know it yet.
And that's the worst part ofnostalgia is making you think
that you know better than others.
They probably do not remember atime before the wibbit even,
and if they do, they'll probablyprefer these inflatable thrills
(39:36):
over a rope swing that couldhave easily paralyzed them.
Maybe someday they'll close thewibbit too.
They'll also deem that unsafe.
Maybe they'll close the lakealtogether and ban swimming
because it's filled with germsand brain-eating bacteria.
And maybe these kids, they'llclose the lake altogether and
ban swimming because it's filledwith germs and brain-eating
bacteria.
And maybe, these kids, they'llbecome parents and they'll think
sadly to themselves.
What happened to thedeath-defying Jellystone Park
that I grew up with and, youknow, maybe they'll tell their
kids how good they had it.
Speaker 2 (40:00):
I have my own
theories, but tell me why you
think this story exhibits thehistory of horror.
Speaker 1 (40:11):
Well, I don't know
that every story feature on this
podcast needs to exhibit thehistory of horror, but I do
think it exhibits existentialdread and something that's super
relatable to a lot of people,which is kind of like, even in
some ways more powerful andpoignant, because it's very
human for all of us to growconnections to things that are
(40:33):
fading right To.
Things don't last forever,places even like the energy of
being at college or high schoolor your parents' house when
you're young.
Everything changes and nothinglasts and you get to a point in
your life where you leave homeor you graduate school or
whatever, you move apartmentsand that phase ends, and things
(40:55):
don't always end when they'reready to end or when you're
ready for them to end or whenthey're bad.
Right, sometimes good thingsend and then you have to miss
those things, and that's like asuper human, relatable mini
tragedy in some ways right.
And so the reason this storyreally resonated with me is
because there is a place that myfamily has actually gone to
(41:18):
every single year of my life.
Me and my sister are in our 30snow.
Her husband comes, alan comes,we've had friends come, and it's
very simple in its execution ofa family trip.
I would say it's a comedicallysmall cabin on this plot of land
that has many cabins.
Speaker 2 (41:37):
Oh, that place.
Speaker 1 (41:38):
And we go multiple
times a year.
Speaker 2 (41:40):
Oh, it's so small.
Speaker 1 (41:42):
We all bunker in
together and light fires and
swim in the ocean and cook mealsand the.
You know it was built in the1920s and it's very charming and
was very, very special to allof us.
Speaker 2 (41:56):
It's comedically
small.
Speaker 1 (41:58):
Yes, I think so.
Speaker 2 (41:59):
The ocean is 50
degrees.
Speaker 1 (42:01):
Yeah, okay, well, for
me it's, it was very important
and it was something that feltlike home, almost more so than
any other place, because we'vegone there more than my parents
have lived in any single houseor anything else like that, and
it was always owned by a family,right, that we knew very well.
And last year they sold it andit became very commercial and
(42:22):
very expensive and theyrenovated these cottages from
the 1920s and everything changed, you know, and we didn't return
and it was the first time in 30something years that we didn't
go to this place and have thisexperience in this kind of very
simple communal lifestyle for,you know, a few weeks or a week
or whatever it was.
Speaker 2 (42:42):
But it was a big deal
.
Speaker 1 (42:44):
It was a big deal and
it was really sad.
And it wasn't sad because youknow it's a tragic thing and
there's lots of things in theworld, obviously, that are worse
than that.
But it's like it's very rare, Ithink, for families to have a
place and a vacation and aritual that lasts that long.
You know, now that you mentionedit but it was super special and
important to us, and now it'sgone, you know, and that's just
(43:06):
how the cookie crumples, and youknow we're very grateful that
we got those experiences for solong, but it doesn't mean that
it's not doesn't feel like aloss and the reflection of, like
a commercialization of a partof the world that for a long
time felt very pure, you know,and so I think that's a lot
about what this is about too.
It's about that feeling ofnostalgia, of course, which Mike
(43:28):
talks about directly in thestory, but I think it's also, in
a lot of ways, of course, aboutkind of the loss of simplicity
or purity and this need forexpansion and growth, and you
know it's living in a capitalistsociety.
Speaker 2 (43:41):
I think it is one of
the most adult and wonderful
things to have something that isso, so dear to you and then let
it go.
I feel like this is somethingthat everyone has experienced in
one way or another.
You have this recurring bit ofcomfort, something that you
(44:02):
associate with home, and thenit's gone.
Either it's a place that's goneaway, it's a person that leaves
your life, it's all thesethings.
But to not look at that with asense of loss, but instead to
look back at it and smile and belike man, that was great.
I feel like that is one of themost beautiful moments in life
(44:26):
and it's it's rare.
Speaker 1 (44:28):
I'm actually getting
a little bit emotional as I'm
talking about this, because thiswas such a special, magical
place.
Speaker 2 (44:34):
I know what this
place meant to you.
Speaker 1 (44:36):
And one of the people
that I met there many, many
years ago recently passed, andso when our friend, mike Massera
wrote and recorded and gave ushis story, you know, in time for
this episode, which was wellbefore that news came in, I
don't think he realized howpoignant it would feel for me
now.
Speaker 2 (44:53):
I had a feeling this
was going to come up and it
honestly I'm sure the Germanshave a word for this feeling of
being able to look back atsomething nostalgic and not look
at it with a sense of loss, butlook at it with a a sense of
(45:14):
love well, it can be both things.
Speaker 1 (45:16):
I think it can be an
acknowledgement of how you're
going to miss something so much,but your memories are all fond.
I also really love how Mikenarrated this story, which he
also wrote.
But he has a way in thisnarration that feels because
obviously I think the story isquite personal to him but it
just feels like he's talking tosomeone directly, it just feels
(45:38):
like you're in conversation withhim.
It's kind of this casualstorytelling style and I thought
it was A perfect for campfiretales right, the premise of us
all sitting around togetherlistening to these stories.
But it also just felt quiteunique and intimate, which I
really loved.
Speaker 2 (45:55):
This was really
special for me.
I know Mike as a talentednarrator, actor, a crew member.
You know he's a very talentedguy, but I didn't know that he
was a writer and that the factthat this is the first thing
that he whipped out as a writeris really, really special.
Speaker 1 (46:19):
Mike is an incredible
writer, is very, very talented
and we've discussed some reallycool story ideas together.
Mike isn't a horror, you know.
I don't think he loves horroras much as we do or loves
writing it.
Speaker 2 (46:32):
Okay, Mike's canceled
.
Speaker 1 (46:33):
But he kind of meets
us halfway with, you know, with
stories like this, and he's verygood at dissecting humanity and
analyzing it and bringing it topeople in kind of a very
personal way.
So, Mike, thank you very muchfor your words and your
narration and a very well-timedyou hit Abby right in the feels.
Speaker 2 (46:53):
Mike, I hope you know
what you did.
Speaker 1 (46:57):
And, of course, our
friend Mike Massera is one half
of Beach Therapy, which is avery talented band.
Check out Parking Lots.
Speaker 2 (47:06):
Abby loves Parking,
lots Love it so much.
Speaker 1 (47:09):
Check it out on
Spotify.
We're big fans.
We'll link everything below, ofcourse, but thank you to all of
the writers and narrators.
I really enjoy these episodesand, as I kind of hinted at
earlier, we will be.
There will be more in coming,in 2025, because I love giving
kind of a little, because I dothink it's super important to
(47:29):
give a stage to our horrorwriter community or that's
always tied to a theme talentedwriter community yeah, who knows
?
Speaker 2 (47:37):
because apparently
mike doesn't Tied to a theme.
Talented writer community yeah,who knows?
Because apparently Mike doesn'twrite horror, despite being
dangerously handsome.
Speaker 1 (47:45):
Oh, there you go.
Well, as always.
Thank you guys so much forbeing here.
We hope you're all doing welland hanging in there as best as
you possibly can, and we'll beback soon.
Bye, bye, bye.