Lunatics Library 40 - Ocean Horror Stories: Part 1 - Lunatics Radio Hour

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:17):
Hello everyone, Welcome back to another episode
of the Lunatics Radio Hourpodcast.
I'm Abby Brinker sitting herewith Alan Kudan Ahoy, and today
we have what is a very momentousoccasion for Lunatics Radio
Hour.
This is the first time in ourhistory that we will have two
parts of ocean horror themedstories for you.

Speaker 2 (00:39):
And why is that Abby?

Speaker 1 (00:40):
It is because we have weaned down all of the
submissions that came in to 11stories.
We could not possibly wean itdown further because they're so
freaking good.

Speaker 2 (00:51):
Does this topic hold the superlative for most
submissions?

Speaker 1 (00:55):
Yes, absolutely.

Speaker 2 (00:56):
Would you say we had a tidal wave of submissions?
Oh very good?

Speaker 1 (00:59):
Yes, I would.
I also just want to say itfeels like a bit of a moment in
time because for many years itwas really me sometimes, alan,
but mostly me writing storiessolely for these topics and I
just, you know, I'm reflecting alittle bit on the growth of the
podcast and kind of where we'vecome and the depth of our

(01:20):
research has improved so muchand also just the scope of
writers who are submitting andaware of our podcast.
And you know I can't be moreexcited to present these 11
stories over the next twoepisodes.
And they are paired with somevery, very, very talented
narrators.

Speaker 2 (01:36):
You might have written the majority of stories,
but no woman is an island.

Speaker 1 (01:40):
I know you had your moments there too.

Speaker 2 (01:42):
I wrote Werewolves in Space.

Speaker 1 (01:44):
A classic.

Speaker 2 (01:45):
Something with clones .

Speaker 1 (01:48):
Uh-huh, another really good one.
That was a surprise.

Speaker 2 (01:51):
And there was something that took place in a
basement for the Necromancyseries.
I don't remember anything aboutit.

Speaker 1 (01:57):
Really had a big impact on you I mean I'd say
that was my best work.
So anyway, thank you guys, somuch just for everything.
We feel super excited aboutthis series and we're grateful,
but we have six stories to getthrough in today's episode,
which is just mind blowing to me, and that's only half the other
.
Very cool thing about this isthat a lot of these writers not

(02:19):
all of them, but a lot of themare brand new to lunatics.
So this first story is anauthor who is making their
lunatics debut on the podcast.
We are kicking things off witha story written by Elu Carroll,
and I'm just going to telleverybody a little bit about our
writer today.
So Elu Carroll is a graphicdesigner and freelance
photographer who also, of course, writes.

(02:40):
Her work appears or isforthcoming in the Deadlands
Baffling Magazine and the thirdvolume of.
If there's Anyone Left, whenshe's not whispering with ghosts
, she can be found editing Crowand Cross Keys, publishing all
things dark and lovely andspending far too much time on
Twitter at Keychild.

Speaker 2 (02:58):
I think you mean the social media platform X.

Speaker 1 (03:01):
Well, some of us refuse to acknowledge that
change, and she also keeps acatalog of her weird little wood
creatures on her website,elucarolcom, and of course,
we'll link everything below sothat you can easily find her and
her adorable little woodcreatures.
That's, that's fun.
I just am so grateful to thecool people that we've been
introduced through this.
But without further ado, let'sroll the first tape.

(03:23):
Laura Lee, written by AlouCarroll.
Read by Joseph McKnight.

Speaker 4 (03:36):
She is on the beach again, hair tangled with salt
and sand, fingers gritty andbloodied.
She digs and digs and pulls upeach shell in turn, holds them
close to her ear and casts themaway.
With every empty carapace.

(03:56):
She howls and screams until hervoice breaks like a wave on the
shore.
The seashell in Mara's hands ispacked with sand and seaweed.
She hollows it out and thespace between her ribs whispers.
We are the same now.
Her fingers shake, but beforeshe raises it up to listen, she
looks out to the sea and begsplease, let it be this one,

(04:18):
please.
It is a conch, large and heavy,with its inside stained, browned
by beach mud.
The outside is rough, likeworking hands, worn and striped.
Mara licks her lips with a drytongue and closes her eyes.
The conch rests against her earand she hears the roar of the
waves, brutal punishing and thensilence.

(04:43):
Mara waits.
From the hush, a voice echoes.
There came a wave so big, soterrible.
They said to stay below, tomind my pretty dresses.
It was unlucky, they said, tohave a woman aboard and
unluckier still for a woman tobe on deck where the sea can see

(05:06):
her.
They tried to stop me, bonyfingers digging into the seams
of my skirts.
But I I'd not wanted to diewithout seeing the stars.
Better I plummeted from thedeck than sank in that bloated
coffin with all those souls.
Mara lowers the shell, butbefore she throws it away, the

(05:27):
voice from inside cries wait,not yet.
Hello.
Do you know what happened tohim?
Can you tell me where he is?
Hello, as her hand shakes, thering on her finger beats against
the conch like a brittle heartUp above the sky smiled sadly.
Then I saw it, the wave.
It was so big, so very, verybig, and in it I saw the great

(05:52):
face of death come to swallow uswhole, and it did.
The mouth of the wave came downupon us and it was heavy and
the sea was dark.
The voice in the shell shuddersand gulps.
It sucks in a long breath.
And then Laura Lee, hello,whispers Mara again.

(06:14):
But the seashell does notanswer.
She throws the shell to theside and scrapes another from
the sand.
It is an auger with a point sosharp that it scores her palm.
But her hands are already sobloody and laced with cuts she
barely notices.
Mara does not wait.
She pulls the shell to her earand listens we had no water,

(06:35):
nary scrap of food.
The sailors, they wanted todraw straws to decide which of
us to eat to save the rest, butthere was no saving us.
Which of us to eat to save therest, but there was no saving us
.
Too far from shore, we were noway to tell where we were
drifting to.
But hope is a strange thing.
And they had hope.
They had fight in them too.

(06:56):
They would die anyway.
We slept for a long time, rockedby the waves, and I woke to
hear a singing.
The voice in the shell was hewnfrom rock, rough and wise,
resigned.
The song said what I feared andI looked across and I saw my
shipmates, sicken, starve.

(07:17):
So I did the only thing, themerciful thing.
I dashed their sorrows upon thedeck until each was gone, and
then I waited for the end,waited for the sea to take her
bounty or to die on the deck.
Whichever came.
First, the augur let out a coughand then, laurally, no, wait,

(07:40):
wait.
Do you know what happened?
Which ship did you sail?
Was it the Oyster's Promise?
Did you see him?
Did you sail with my Ronan?
When the seashell does notrespond, mara sinks into the
sand, she curls into the grains,breathes deeply.
The beach sticks to her mouth,dry and choking, as if to make a

(08:03):
sandcastle of her, to makedriftwood of her bones.
Mara lies among the shells andweeps, though no tears trickle
down her cheeks.
Everything about her is parchedand coarse, like the sun-baked
sand, too far from the tide.
The space between her ribs isquiet.
Now the pit there deep.

(08:23):
Her hand coils between herbreasts, nails pressing
crescents into her skin, as ifshe can fill the empty well in
her chest with her fingers.
From the dried sea husks comewhispers, manifold, each
overlapping the other so thatthey sound like the sea.
Each of those voices, long dead, drowned, lost shape themselves

(08:49):
in the same way, calling out.
And then Loralee, loralee,loralee.
She wakes to rain lashing herface and the tide brushing her
shoes.
The shells are silent at hersides, beneath her hands,
stories spent on the sand, theirlast moments rasped out until

(09:10):
the early hours.
But there is another voice,slow and plaintive, singing
across the water my bonnie liesover the ocean.
My bonnie lies over the ocean.
My bonnie lies over the sea.
My bonnie lies over the ocean.

(09:33):
Bring back my bonnie to me,mara whispers.
The last time they had beentogether, the night before he
travelled to port.
Ronan had cradled her to himand sung soft and low like a
lullaby until she'd fallenasleep.
When she woke the next morninghe was already gone and the bed
beside her was cold.
It has been months since then.

(09:55):
The Oyster's Promise never madeport and now the townspeople
never look at her.
Instead, they avert their eyeswhen she nears and pretend they
don't see her own eyes swollenwith tears.
All she has now is the beachand the shells and the
sempiternal sea.
Mara rises clutching the moundof her belly and walks out into

(10:18):
the surf With her lips pursedand her brows knit in
concentration.
Last night, as I lay on mypillow, last night as I lay on
my bed last night, as I lay onmy pillow, I dreamt that my

(10:38):
bonnie was dead.
The singing ebbs, flows andfalls with the wind, until it
hits the cliffs and is cast backwhence it came.
Perhaps she is imagining it.
Perhaps there is no voice atall, only her own warbling
shanties towards the wavesBeneath the sea, foam glowing

(11:00):
grey.
In the night, mara trips, hertoes caught in the mouth of a
seashell.
It rolls iridescent in thewater and her stomach rolls with
it.
What was it?
They said the shell speakers.
Mara crouches low, collects theshell and holds it close to her
chest when she is waist deepand the current pulls at her

(11:21):
dress and fills her shoes.
Mara calls hoarse and wildLaura Lee.
The wind stops singing and thesea stills For a moment.
It is as if Mara is the onlything left in all the world she
and the child that squirms inher belly.

(11:42):
She clenches her dress in herfist.
She'd meant to tell him, butthen he, a figure, crowns up
ahead, a woman, naked, but forthe pearls and barnacles,
limpets and starfish dottedacross her grey-blue skin and
the odd sea snail trailing abouther neck.

(12:03):
Kelp sprouts from her head andhangs long like hair.
She rises up into the moonlightuntil her webbed feet rest on
the still waters.
She does not move, herpearl-pale eyes staring out at
Mara like twin stars.
Loralee, are you Loralee?

(12:24):
Mara asks, voice ringing loud,clear.
Her shoulders shake and shudder, but she holds her head high.
The water woman does notrespond but tilts her head just
so, one wet lock slipping acrossher cheek.
Ronan, my, my Ronan.
Mara clears her throat,swallows His ship was his ship

(12:51):
never reached port.
I want, need to know whathappened.
I need to have him back, please.
She hugs her swollen bellytighter, pushes her shoulders
back and tries not to sob.
Laura Lee walks the water like apath steps steady and sure.
When she reaches Mara, sheoffers a water-wrinkled hand and

(13:14):
waits.
Mara gazes up at her eyes wide.
She raises a hand but pulls itback at the last moment and
holds it against her chest.
The water woman opens her mouthand speaks light as a bell.
No evil shall befall you,neither above nor below, neither

(13:35):
in sea nor on the shore, nor inthe depths.
Mara's hand moves to her mouthand she stifles a cry.
Ronan's voice rings alongsideLaura Lee's's crisp, as it had
when they were wed, but nowthere is a tremor there.
With shaking breath, maracontinues their vows Do not walk

(13:58):
in front of me, I may notfollow.
Do not walk behind, I may notlead.
Walk beside me.
Laura Lee offers her hand oncemore and this time Mara takes it
.

(14:19):
They have been walking hand inhand for so long that the shore
has dropped away into the nighttime and twinkling lights from
the town have been replaced bythe cool, pale light of the
stars.
Mara looks down into the gloombelow and somewhere in the deep
something is glowing.
There are ghosts at the bottomof the ocean.
Mara knows, as every sailorwife knows.
She imagines them beneath herfeet, bearing their souls to her

(14:41):
souls, looking up from thedoldrums and raising their arms
as if to reach her.
But they are anchored there,fast and forever.
As she looks down, she swears.
She sees Ronan's face yawningwide beneath the water.
She gasps and her grip onLoralee's hand falters.
Without the water woman toground her, mara plunges into

(15:04):
the deep, thrashing her arms andgrabbing at the sea.
Laura Lee floats in front likea spectre, places her cold hands
on Mara's cheeks, herbarb-sharp nails nicking her
skin and her lips on warmer lips.
She breathes then for the widowand her breath tastes like

(15:24):
oysters, like cockles andmussels, like salt Together.
They rise from the water.
Mara coughs, sputters andheaves and Laura Lee waits,
running her hands from Mara'sface down to her shoulders, down
until her fingers circle herwrists.

(15:49):
Ronan Mara chokes the waterwoman, regards her and when she
speaks again, ronan speaks withher.
Please, I have a wife, please,I cannot die here.
Water seeps from the waterwoman's mouth and she chokes it
up, gasping for air.
You have to help me.
I have to get back.
I have to get.
I'll do anything, I'll giveanything.

(16:11):
Laura Lee and Ronan's voicesfalter and they suck in a breath
so deep and so full that itsounds like an ending.
Tears trickle down from hereyes, though her face remains
dispassionate.
No evil shall befall you,neither above nor below, neither
in sea nor on the shore, nor inthe depths.

(16:32):
Do not walk in front of me, Imay not follow.
Do not walk behind, I may notlead.
Ronan's voice, weaker, nowfalls away and Laura Lee
continues Walk beside me.
There is a shell on the beach, aperfect periwinkle, smooth and
whole and green as the sea.

(16:52):
It reminds him of Mara's eyes.
So he picks it up and holds itin his palms, as if the act of
holding it might bring her backto him.
For months he has been walkingthe beach and calling her name,
until his cries are as familiarto the waves as the seabirds
overhead.
She walked into the sea, theysaid she and the child.

(17:14):
Ronan does not know whatcompels him to raise the shell
to his ear, but when he does, hedoes not hear the shh of the
waves, but silence.
Then, soft as a whisper, shespeaks.
She tells him of the beach andthe seashells and the waves,

(17:35):
tells him how she howled andscreamed and how their child
howled and screamed inside her.
She tells him of thetownspeople, of their downturned
faces and their backs and theirwhispers.
Tell tells him of thetownspeople, of their downturned
faces and their backs and theirwhispers.
Tells him of the months thatpassed and the night that
followed.
And then Laura Lee.

Speaker 2 (17:56):
I liked this one, as did I.
I think this is one of the moreunique submissions we've had.

Speaker 1 (18:01):
I agree.
Tell me your thoughts.

Speaker 2 (18:02):
Well, first off that little sea shanty.

Speaker 1 (18:05):
I know, like me, your thoughts.

Speaker 2 (18:06):
Well, first off, that little sea shanty.
I know Like that's amazing.
Is that?
I mean that feels like rippedright out of the the annals of
time.

Speaker 1 (18:12):
Exactly.

Speaker 2 (18:13):
I don't know if it was, but if it was, that's fine.
Or it was original.

Speaker 1 (18:16):
Who can say I'm going to say it was original and some
of the best sea shanty workI've ever heard.
I actually think my dad used tosing me that sea shanty, but
perhaps it was a differentversion, you know, maybe it was
altered for the story.

Speaker 2 (18:28):
Well, you know what they say about sea shanties.

Speaker 1 (18:30):
What do they say?

Speaker 2 (18:31):
They shan't belong to anyone but the sea.

Speaker 1 (18:34):
There you go.
That was very good, alan, thankyou.

Speaker 2 (18:36):
It was cute, it was haunting.
Everything about this storyjust kind of like struck a bunch
of chords was pretty cool.
I just also loved the imageryof embracing the oblivion of a
rogue wave.
I don't know if it was a roguewave or not, it was a really big
wave.

Speaker 1 (18:52):
That that's what I was imagining well as we learned
from the series, a rogue wavehas to be at least double the
height of the average wave inany given region at the time
regardless, I just love the ideaof you.

Speaker 2 (19:04):
Just see this overwhelming force of nature and
just like, yep, here we go.

Speaker 1 (19:10):
I just also love the old-timey sailor maritime
folklore element here, which isone of my favorite little
sub-niche genres that exist inthe world when it comes to
literature and history.
And there's actually a bookthat really doesn't remind me
much of this at all, except forthe kind of very vaguely similar

(19:30):
plot, but the book Villette,which is one of my favorite
books.
I spent a whole seminar incollege studying it, so it's
really one of my favorites onlybecause of that.

Speaker 2 (19:38):
Villette.
Villette I don't even know that.

Speaker 1 (19:40):
It's a novel written by Charlotte Bronte, and
Villette is a fictional, I think, French town, but it's
fictional.
But it has a similar plot point, which is why I'm just putting
it out there.
If someone needs a good fallread, I would suggest.
But beyond that, Laura Lee wasso beautiful, so haunting, so
ethereal.
In so many ways I was very intoit and so I wanted to start

(20:02):
there because it also felt likea really great nod to a lot of
the history and folklore that wecovered in the series.

Speaker 2 (20:08):
I liked it how it kind of mixed and matched some
stuff, but nothing felt out ofplace.

Speaker 1 (20:12):
I know I want a novel of this world honestly, yeah it
was a lot of fun.
Yeah, we demand a novel.

Speaker 2 (20:16):
Also, those wedding vows were so cute, so cute,
pretty spot on.

Speaker 1 (20:21):
As someone who's heard a lot of stupid wedding
vows, and I also just want totake a second for Tessa McKnight
.
We love Tessa McKnight.
She did such a freaking goodjob with this story, as she
always does, and her voice addsso much gravitas to a lot of
these stories and it's just sobeautiful to listen to she's
cheating.

Speaker 2 (20:41):
She's cheating.
She's cheating why she soundstoo good.
You can give her the phone book.
Actually, it's such a datedreference.
You can let her read the.

Speaker 1 (20:50):
TV guide.

Speaker 2 (20:52):
Yeah, another dated reference.
Hang on, what do we got?
Come on, we're hip, we're cool.
You could give her a TikTokvideo to transcribe.

Speaker 1 (21:01):
She could read a subway sign.
Abby, I don't know, what do youwant me to say?

Speaker 2 (21:05):
I feel like she could read the most boring Wikipedia
article out loud.
And it would just feel likebutter.

Speaker 1 (21:14):
Yeah, her voice is entrancing.
Yeah, she's excellent.
All right, as much as I couldtalk about Laura Lee, until the
cows come home, we have fivemore stories to present to you
today.

Speaker 2 (21:23):
Don't you mean the manatees?

Speaker 1 (21:25):
Yeah, until.

Speaker 2 (21:25):
The manatees come home.
They're the cows of the sea.

Speaker 1 (21:28):
All right.
So next up we have a storyagain by a first time writer for
Lunatics Radio Hour, first timethat this writer is being
featured.
His name is Warren Benedetto.
Warren writes dark fictionabout horrible people, horrible
places and horrible things,which is quite relatable.
He's an award-winning authorwho has published over 230

(21:49):
stories appearing inpublications such as Dark Matter
Magazine and Fantasy Magazine.
He's also been featured on theno Sleep Podcast one of my
favorites and Tales to Terrify.
He also works in the video gameindustry, where he holds more
than 35 patents for varioustypes of gaming technology.
This story that we are about toplay for you now is originally
published in Night TerrorsVolume 7 by Scare Street in

(22:12):
December 2020.
You can also visit WarrenBenedetto and follow him at
Warren Benedetto on Twitter andInstagram and, of course again,
everybody for this whole episodewill be linked in the
description, so don't worryabout taking notes.
Also, just a content warning onthis one for child neglect and
drug addiction.
But without further ado, let'sroll the tape.

Speaker 3 (22:35):
A sinking feeling.
Read by Warren Benedetto.
Read by Chance Cook.
How long before help comes?
Andre asked no rep by chancecook.

Speaker 6 (22:45):
How long before help comes, andre asked.
The two of us were sitting on asodden mattress that was
semi-submerged under the water.
It wasn't exactly a life raft,but it was buoyant enough to
keep us somewhat dry.
Without the mattress, we'd bein the water up to our necks.
With it, the water was only upto our ribs.

(23:09):
I glanced at Andre Wet hairstuck to his face and thick
matted strips that looked likerotting seaweed.
Beads of water clung to hisspiny, rust-colored beard.
The chattering of his teethreminded me of the clicking of
scrabble tiles in a velvet bag.
I don't know.
I replied A few hours.
They'll probably wait until thesun is up.
But they'll come, right.

(23:30):
I nodded.
They'll come.
I tried to sound more certainthan I was.
The ship had an emergency beacon, that much I knew.
When triggered, it was supposedto send a distress signal along
with GPS coordinates and abunch of other data that could
be used to help locate thedamaged vessel.
If it worked, help should be onthe way.

(23:52):
If it worked In the meantime,we were on our own.
I have no idea what hit us.
We were asleep when it happened.
What hit us?
We were asleep when it happened.
Both of us were thrown from ourbunks, sliding across the
suddenly slanted floor andcrashing painfully into the
opposite wall.
I managed to stand and stumbleover piles of fallen debris

(24:14):
toward the cabin door.
Before opening it, I paused topeer through the peephole into
the hallway.
It was a good thing I did,otherwise we'd be dead.
Hallway it was a good thing Idid, otherwise we'd be dead.
An irregular gash, maybefifteen feet long, was gouged
through the hull right outsideour cabin.
A torrent of water the color ofgraphite foamed in through the

(24:36):
breach, transforming the narrowhallway into rapids that roared
angrily toward the front of theship.
My stomach cartwheeled when Isaw it.
Angrily toward the front of theship.
My stomach cartwheeled when Isaw it.
The ship was nose down.
It was taking on water at anincredible rate.

(24:56):
That could only mean one thingwe were sinking.
The descent was quick.
At first I could hear thescreams of others in my crew
echoing through the ship,overlapping with the sounds of
rushing water and rending metal.
Some were begging for help,others seemed to be praying,
others wailed inconsolably.
Then, one by one, each of themfell silent.
Even after the screams ended,there was still some banging,

(25:20):
metal on metal, as if someonewas hitting a wrench against a
pipe.
The pattern was unmistakableSOS.
Soon that too subsided, growingweaker and weaker until it
tapered off to nothing.
Andre and I called for helpuntil our voices were raw.
After a while we lapsed intosilence as well.

(25:42):
There was no use wasting ourbreath, we were too far gone.
We both sat quietly on thecrooked floor, each of us lost
in our thoughts, waiting for theend to come.
I mostly thought about my mother.
She was an addict who used togo missing for days on end,
taking off with whoever wassupplying drugs to her at the

(26:04):
time.
She'd stumble home for a fewdays, burn a quesadilla or two
in a half-hearted attempt atmothering, then disappear again.
Nighttime was the worst.
I'd sit in the dark for hours,huddled on the filthy mattress
in our tiny one-room apartment,waiting for her to return.
Mattress in our tiny one-roomapartment, waiting for her to

(26:28):
return.
I always left the door unlockedin case she forgot to bring her
keys.
As I grew older, her absencesgrew longer.
Hours turned to days and daysturned into weeks.
Eventually I started lockingthe door again.
A few months after I last sawher, I found out she had OD'd in
a hotel room in Arizona, 350miles from home.

(26:50):
The police found her with aneedle in her arm and a baby in
her belly.
I was 12.
I guess my mind went therebecause it was the last time I
remember feeling so scared andalone.
I had the same sense of beingcompletely powerless.
There were no good options, nogood outcomes.

(27:11):
No matter what I might do, Iwas doomed.
The funny thing is I was wrongabout that.
I turned out all right.
I moved in with my grandmother,finished high school, took some
community college classes andultimately ended up finding a
life as a ship's cook.
I knew being at sea was riskyIntellectually that made sense

(27:34):
but I never felt like I wasreally in danger.
There were some close calls,sure, some wicked storms that
made me puke on my shoes, but Ialways felt like ultimately.
Wicked storms that made me pukeon my shoes, but I always felt
like, ultimately, everything wasunder control, until we sank.
That is when the ship hitbottom.
I was sure I was dead.
The hull let out a mournfulgroan that sounded like a whale

(27:57):
song.
Then there was a series ofbangs, one after the other, like
a ten-car pileup on the freeway.
A second later the whole roomturned upside down, sending
Andre and me tumbling ass overelbows.
It was like being in a snowglobe, thrown from an airplane.
Our cabin ended up almostentirely inverted.

(28:18):
With the angle where the floormet, the wall now steepled
overhead.
We were trapped in a triangularpocket of air that was maybe
five feet wide and ten feet long.
From our position on thefloating mattress we had only a
few inches of headroom.
It was tight.
Andre's voice broke me out of mythoughts.
He sounded far away, lost.

(28:40):
Numb Marla had her ultrasoundlast Tuesday.
He said absently oh yeah, boyor girl, girl, we're gonna name
her ripley, ripley, like fromalien.
He looked up and smiled alittle.
Pretty badass, right, prettybadass, I agreed.

(29:02):
I looked down through the murkybrown water.
I could dimly make out theshape of the cabin door.
Far below us, an emergencybeacon over the doorframe
flickered erratically, fillingthe space with an eerie glow
that reminded me of a vintagehorror film.
Diffused through the filthyliquid, the light had a sickly
yellow cast.

(29:22):
It made the whole scene feellike a literal nightmare.
I shook my head bitterly.
That door was supposed to havebeen watertight.
It wasn't.
It had been closed and locked.
It still was, but the cabin hadflooded anyway.
The damage to the ship musthave deformed the doorframe
enough to compromise the seal,allowing water to rush in around

(29:45):
the edges.
Within minutes, the spacefilled up to our waists, then to
our armpits, then to ourshoulders, and then it stopped.
I didn't know why.
Maybe the pressure equalizedsomehow.
Maybe there was something aboutthe way the air was trapped,
like when you put a glass into afish tank upside down, or maybe

(30:07):
something wanted to keep usalive until it was ready for us.
Suddenly, a hollow clunkresonated through the ship.
The surface of the waterrippled and sloshed, distorting
my view of the door below.
That sound was followed byanother one that my
concussion-dulled brain hadtrouble processing.
What was that, andre asked.

(30:29):
He looked around nervously.
I held up my hand to silencehim, then placed my ear against
the wall.
The metal was cold and slimyagainst my face.
I didn't know how long we hadbeen underwater at that point we
had no way to measure time.
But for however long it was, wehadn't heard any noises outside
of our own movement and theoccasional groan of the ship's

(30:52):
structure as it settled into theocean floor.
But this noise was different.
Something was moving and it wasclose.
I listened in silence for a fewseconds.
Then I heard the sound again,louder this time it was a
dissonant squeal that remindedme of a garden rake dragging
slowly across a pane of glass.

(31:14):
I didn't know what was makingthe sound, but I wasn't taking
any chances.
It could be a diver or one ofthose underwater drones with a
camera on the end.
I thought maybe we were beingrescued, maybe we had been found
.
I wasn't wrong, we had beenfound, just not like we hoped.
Hey, I shouted.

(31:35):
The sound was explosive in theenclosed space.
It was startling even to me.
I began pounding my palmagainst the wall.
Hey, we're in here.
Andre balled up his fists andjoined in the ruckus, drumming
on the wall as hard as he couldHelp.
He yelled hey, hello, can youhear us?
Hello.
We kept at it for a solidminute, making as much noise as

(31:57):
we could.
Then we stopped and listened.
The water around us had grownstill.
I could see the bottom again.
The water around us had grownstill.
I could see the bottom againall the way down to the door.
As I looked, I felt my heartstall.
My breathing stopped.
Everything seemed to slow to ahalt Somehow during the short
time while Andre and I werepounding on the wall, someone or

(32:20):
something had opened the doorwhen, once there had been the
unmistakable architecture of thedoor's horizontal handle and
crisscrossing support struts,there was now nothing but a
yawning black chasm opening intothe lightless depths below.
Andre, I said quietly.
The door?

(32:40):
Andre looked at me with aquizzical expression.
The door Andre looked at mewith a quizzical expression.
What the door?
I said again, more urgently.
This time it's that's when thelight went out.
I wish I could say that the bulbdied.
That would have been upsettingbut understandable.
After all, the ship wassubmerged deep under the ocean.

(33:02):
The emergency electrical systemprobably wasn't designed to
withstand such brutal conditions.
It would have been totallyreasonable for the wiring to
short out or for the battery torun out of juice.
But that's not what I saw.
What I saw was a long blackappendage slithering around the
top edge of the doorway.
It was smooth and featurelessand so black it seemed like a

(33:25):
tear in the fabric of realityitself.
Even the ink-black depths ofthe water beyond the door looked
pale and gray in comparison.
The thing snaked along the edgeof the doorway, coiled around
the emergency light's plastichousing, and it squeezed,
crushing the fixture in its grip.
The light hadn't just failed,it had been extinguished.

(33:50):
The resulting darkness wastotal.
Not a single photon of lightremained.
It was as if I had gonecompletely blind.
There was a loud sloshing noiselike something moving across the
surface of the water.
I whipped my head around tryingto locate the source.

(34:11):
It sounded like it came fromthe far end of the space, past
Andre.
It was hard to tell, though.
The way the sound bounced offthe angled ceiling made every
noise seem to be coming fromeverywhere at once.
What was that?
I whispered.
I don't know.
He answered.
I can't see anything.
You heard it, though.
Yeah, his voice was thick andheavy with fear.

(34:32):
I could hear his throat clickas he swallowed.
There's something in here.
My mind raced as I tried topicture what it could be A shark
, maybe, but sharks didn't havesure what?
It could be?
A shark, maybe, but sharksdidn't have a what.
What the hell?
Did I even see A tentacle?
No, not really.
Tentacles had suckers on thebottom.

(34:53):
What I saw was completely smooth.
It was more like a worm or aneel.
It didn't move like one, thoughit wasn't slithering or
swimming.
It was reaching that's theimpression I got.
It was reaching for the lightand then it snuffed it out.
It wasn't an accident or acoincidence, it was intentional.

(35:13):
What do we do, andre asked.
His breath was coming in short,panicked gasps Just don't move,
maybe it'll go away.
But shh.
I listened intently for anyindication of where the thing
might be.
Was it getting closer to us,closer to me?
Was it under us, swimming alongthe bottom, or had it slipped
silently along the surface,circling between us, winding in

(35:36):
figure eights as it tried todecide who to attack first?
I tried to rein in my panic.
The thing could be harmless,just a curious fish exploring
the new artificial reef that hadso rudely intruded on its
habitat.
The water was calm, quiet.
Nothing made a sound.
The only thing breaking thesilence was Andrei's labored

(35:57):
breathing.
There was no attack, nomovement, no, nothing, no
movement, no nothing.
Then a voice spoke.
It was smooth and pleasant, awoman's voice, andre, it said.

(36:19):
My eyes went wide.
What the hell was that?
My mind screamed Before I couldsay anything.
Andre answered Marla.
His voice was full of awe Comehome, andre, we're waiting for
you, ripley and I.
Andre exhaled a shuddering sob.
I know I'll be back soon.
I swear, andre, I said, myvoice wavering on the edge of
total breakdown.

(36:40):
That's not Marla, of course itwasn't.
It couldn't be.
We were trapped God knows howfar under the ocean, dozens of
miles out at sea.
There was no way his pregnantwife could be there with us.
And yet I had heard the voicetoo.
It was as real as my own, asreal as Andre's.

(37:01):
It even echoed off the walls ofthe space, a little just like
ours.
There had to be a logicalexplanation.
Maybe it was some sort ofauditory hallucination, a shared
delusion manufactured by ouroxygen-starved brains, or maybe
it was sensory deprivation.
The darkness was so completethat our minds had started to

(37:22):
make up sounds to fill the voidin our senses.
Where are you, andre, said tothe not Marla.
How are you here?
It doesn't matter?
The voice replied Come on,let's go home.
I realized suddenly that Icould see again.
The dark wasn't quite asabsolute as it had been a moment
before, A barely perceptibleluminescence was pulsing in the

(37:46):
far corner of the room below thesurface of the water.
It gave off just enough lightfor me to see Andrei silhouetted
against the dim blue glow.
It wasn't just an auditoryhallucination.
I could see her just under thewater, her pale porcelain skin,
her eyes sparkling like bluetopaz, her black hair rippling

(38:09):
behind her like a sheet of silkin a bath.
I could see the curve of herbreasts and the roundness of her
belly.
It was Marla.
It really was.
She began to drift closer toAndrei.
He leaned down toward her,reaching for her.
Marla, he whispered.
His tone was almost reverent.
His fingers dipped into thewater.

(38:31):
Andrei, I hissed, don't.
Suddenly, marla disappeared in aburst of brilliant white-hot
radiance.
The searing light stabbedthrough my eyes, blinding me.
At the same time, the air wasfilled with a terrifying screech
.
It was the same metal-on-glasssqueal we had heard only minutes

(38:53):
before, except now it was athousand times louder.
I reflexively covered my earsand squeezed my eyes shut as
tightly as I could.
Then I opened one eyelid, justenough to see what happened next
.
I wish I hadn't.
The light was emanating from afleshy orb attached to the end

(39:14):
of a smooth black appendage,similar to the one that had
extinguished the emergencybeacon over the doorway.
Similar to the one that hadextinguished the emergency
beacon over the doorway.
It protruded from the center ofa gaping mouth lined with rows
of clear crystalline fangs, pinssharp and glistening.
The mouth was at the front ofan undulating, boneless body

(39:35):
midnight black and lined with adozen eel-like tentacles.
Above the mouth was a singleenormous eye the size of a
volleyball.
An oily black eyelid slid overit.
As it blinked, the light beganto strobe, turning the
creature's fluid movements intohellish snapshots of jerky,
uneven motion.

(39:55):
Its tentacles elongated, thenlashed out of the water with
whip-like speed, seizing Andreand yanking him forward.
The thing's octagonal mouthflared open like the underside
of an umbrella.
The inside was lined with ringsof barbed hooks that slanted
inward the kind of adaptationthat evolved to prevent prey
from escaping as they wereswallowed alive.

(40:16):
The last thing I saw before Iclosed my eyes again was Andre
being dragged into thathorrifying maw, his body folding
in half backward, his spinesnapping like a tree branch in a
summer storm.
He never made a sound.
I fully expected the creatureto grab me after it was done
with Andre, but it didn't Notyet.

(40:38):
Anyway, as far as I can tell,it's gone.
It'll be back, though, I'm sureof it.
In the meantime, I sit here inthe darkness, alone and scared,
waiting.
My eyes are open, but itdoesn't matter.
It's just as dark with themopen as it is when they are
closed.
Time passes, my thoughts returnto my mother.

(41:01):
I'm twelve again.
I'm sitting on the saggingmattress in our tiny one-room
apartment waiting for her tocome home.
It's after midnight.
The electricity is out, theroom is pitch black, except for
a faint blue glow flickering inthe corner from the streetlight
outside.
I hear her voice just beyondthe door Billy, she says I'm

(41:26):
home.
I slide off the mattress andwalk across the apartment, water
sloshing around me as I move.
I can see her silhouettedthrough the screen, her black
hair flowing behind her inmesmerizing waves.
I unlock the door, open it andstep out into the brilliant,
blinding light.

Speaker 1 (41:48):
Speaking of narrators whose voices, like butter, we
had to pull out John C Cook forthis one.

Speaker 2 (41:55):
Another cheater.
He's too good.
He's too good Again.

Speaker 1 (41:59):
thank God, this guy helps us out I know he's so good
, he's so talented and he takesso much care for these stories.

Speaker 2 (42:07):
He really does what were we watching?
We're like, is that john cook?

Speaker 1 (42:11):
twister, we said he looks a lot like bill paxton and
twister.
And then last night we werewatching late night with the
devil and you said that the oldskeptic guy in the show looks
like an older John Cook.

Speaker 2 (42:22):
I did yeah.

Speaker 1 (42:23):
We talk about John Cook's appearance.
I guess more than we think.

Speaker 2 (42:27):
He's great.
Yeah, he's very much on themind.

Speaker 1 (42:30):
Yes, ever present.

Speaker 2 (42:32):
But this is another story.
That was just killer.
So good, right.
What'd you think?

Speaker 1 (42:37):
I really loved this story.
I thought it was very beautifuland I, john, actually
specifically wanted a story likethis to read, which was great.
It worked out that we had a few, actually, that he could pick
from.

Speaker 2 (42:47):
What did he specifically request?
I'm just very curious.

Speaker 1 (42:51):
He wanted like a big, like a creature, you know, okay
, a water creature type storySure which, yeah, of course,
there's going to be a few inthis series, so this was a great
match for him.
But I also think that thisstory is so much more than just
about a creature.
Obviously.
I think Warren did such a goodjob at telling a deeper story
through this horror lens and tome it feels a lot like a

(43:12):
meditation in some ways on deathand the value of a life lived
and the value of yourrelationships with people and
your impact on them, and itreally touched me.

Speaker 2 (43:22):
I love any big creature story.
I thought this one was supercool.

Speaker 1 (43:25):
Yeah.

Speaker 2 (43:26):
However, there was one thing that I could not get
past Just the fact that itreminded me of a boss from Devil
May Cry 4.

Speaker 1 (43:34):
What's that?

Speaker 2 (43:34):
There's this toad boss.

Speaker 1 (43:36):
What's Devil May Cry 4, a video game.

Speaker 2 (43:38):
Video game.

Speaker 1 (43:39):
Okay, well, I guess Warren will know because he's in
the video game industry.

Speaker 2 (43:41):
And so you know, there's this big, you know like
a castle looking thing.
And there's this courtyard andthen in the courtyard is this
like beautiful ethereal woman.

Speaker 1 (43:51):
Okay.

Speaker 2 (43:52):
And she's like really trying to like lure you into
her embrace, but you're notfalling for this.
You know there's something upto it and so you just you smack
around a little bit jesus, andthen you realize that the
beautiful ethereal woman wasjust a puppet, because it was
like an angler fish, but insteadof a fish.
It was a giant toad with a bigangler thing, with his little

(44:14):
dangly bit being the beautifulwoman yeah, that's a great way
to look at it.
That's kind of a cool mechanic Imean mean everyone loves the
anglerfish.

Speaker 1 (44:20):
It's such a unique, everyone loves the anglerfish?

Speaker 2 (44:24):
Yeah, of course it's such a unique, scary-looking
little monster thing.
It's got its big old teeth andit's so scary-looking that no
one's ever come up to it, soit's got to do its little dangly
bit to entice people to makefriends that he eats.
You see this reused a bunchalso just deep sea creatures in
general, are creepy as fuck.

Speaker 1 (44:44):
Yes, as we learned during our research, and then
you.

Speaker 2 (44:47):
They all need like some kind of like weird hook in
order to survive in thesebasically super bleak and
inhospitable environments, andso when you take these unique
characteristics and combine themwith, like surface monsters or
just literally anything in thesurface, it just gets so much
more ethereal and creepy, whilebeing grounded in Mother Nature.

Speaker 1 (45:09):
Yeah, sure, I also think it was great, like
grounded in the past, trauma andlike the current lives of these
characters.
You know, it just kept it quiterelatable, despite the monster
element, for sure, yeah, soanyway, thank you so much,
warren.
Thank you, john c cook.
As always, this was a beautifulstory and we are honored to
have featured it.
Next, we actually have areturning writer.

(45:30):
Mariska pichette's poetrycollection, rivers in your skin,
sirens in your hair, came outalmost exactly a year ago and
received a nomination for thisyear's Brom Stoker Award, which
we are incredibly excited foryou about and honored to have
this story featured on ourepisode.
You can find out more aboutMirska at their website,
mirskapichetcom, and follow themon Twitter at Mirska Pichet,

(45:53):
instagram Mirska underscoreright and Blue Sky at
mirskabskysocial.
But without further ado, let'slisten to their beautiful words.
Silky's Bones, written byMariska Pichette, read by Cyril

(46:14):
Luke.

Speaker 7 (46:16):
Dear Mata, how are you?
How's Idaho?
Spring has found me here,turning the yard to cork, spongy
and full of the season's name.
I don't know how long it's beensince you saw my ginkgo, but
it's adapted well to the shiftin temperature, better than me.
But I guess it's been at itmany thousands of years, longer
than old women like us, hasn'tit?

(46:37):
Millions?
Maybe the storms have me hidinginside, but when I look through
the window, there it is blowingthis way and that and shaping
its trunk to hug the wind whenit rains.
Here it's like sky and oceanhave traded places and we live
in an inverted world.
Mata, I started collectingplastic.
Do they have you doing that too?

(46:58):
It might be an initiative onlyin the eastern communities.
Our council is hosting a driveto turn old plastic into housing
to withstand the storms.
It's easy to get.
It washes up right on my beach,seeking haven in between the
rocks.
I find it among the shells andhermit crabs, fellow squatters,
tossed together by the waves andleft coated with sand when the

(47:21):
tide ebbs.
I walked down to the shore thispast weekend a basket on my hip,
and retrieved zip ties,shopping bags, saran wrap and a
dragon fruit vitamin waterbottle.
I must tell you, mata, therewas too much for my basket to
hold.
I had to put together a neoncairn with what I couldn't carry
.
I set it high enough for thewaves to leave it be till I get
back.
I brought to put together aneon cairn with what I couldn't

(47:41):
carry.
I set it high enough for thewaves to leave it be till I get
back.
I brought the saran wrap, zipties and shopping bags to the
town hall, but I kept thevitamin water bottle.
I don't know why the light willlook so nice when the light
comes through.
Oh, mata, the storms arerolling through again, driving
the drones off course.
Some rations end up in the seaand the waves lash my little

(48:04):
shoreline with brine anddisembodied drone blades.
Even standing on my porch I cantaste the sharpness of the sea.
When I was at the town hall,people were talking about
hurricanes in the next few weeks.
They get stronger every year.
I'm glad that my little houseis nestled in the slope, safe
from the wind and rain.

(48:24):
I'm like a little hermit crabholed up on the shore.
The waves scare me, thoughthey're getting bolder.
After last night's storm, Iventured down to the beach
looking for more pieces for myproject.
Did I tell you in my lastpostcard I've decided what to do
with that vitamin water bottle.
I'm going to make something.
My cairn is gone, though,washed away when it stood.

(48:48):
Just yesterday I found thebeach disc of a jellyfish.
Dear Mata, I've hardly begun andalready I'm out of my depth
with this project.
Do you remember Tetris?
It feels like playing that withsome Jenga thrown in to
challenge my sense of balance.
Every day confronts me with adaunting mass of geometry.
My fingers shake and rattle mycreation from toe to tip.

(49:12):
It's growing despite myconstant cock-ups.
I hope you can come and see it,mata, before it surpasses my
home.
Dear Mata, I went down to thebeach this morning, taking
advantage of a window of calmbetween storms.
At least the violence of thesea has been helpful in throwing
all manner of debris into mylittle patch of sand.

(49:32):
I brought my basket, thoughit's much too small.
Today I collected some nylonnetting, a bright red cup, a
wonderful turquoise condomwrapper and several different
plastic chips and scraps.
These I'm using for scales.
Oh, I do hope you are able tocome visit.
Did you get a pass for travelthrough the unoccupied zone?

(49:54):
When you do come, I don't knowwhere you'll stay.
My creation has completely takenover the house.
Its tail stretches to the frontdoor, glittering with shreds of
tinsel from the boughs of anartificial Christmas tree that
found its way to my shore.
The main body fills the livingroom Rigid linoleum tiles
fastened to a skeleton I piecedtogether from bits of lawn

(50:16):
chairs and one almost perfectkayak the storms brought in.
When I started this thing, Iwas still taking the boring
stuff plastic bags, bottle caps,credit cards to the town hall.
Last time I went there werehardly any people left.
All the sleeping mats wererolled up and stacked in a
corner against the wall.

(50:37):
Everyone had homes made fromthe recycled plastic.
They got so much I thought theywouldn't miss.
What little bits I could carryfrom here.
My body is old and tired.
I haven't been to the town hallin weeks.
Mata, I think we might be cominginto the dry season at last.
Blue and yellow beach pails dotmy floor.

(50:58):
To catch all the leaks.
I normally have to empty themfour times a day.
Now they've slowed to a drip.
I can focus on my work.
The head is coming along.
I'm making the eyes out of theskins of mylar balloons, folded
and melted against Tupperware togive them depth.
Do you know what I had the mostexciting find the other day?

(51:18):
As the rain lessened, I wentdown to the beach and there,
half buried in the sand, was asealed package of shining
stickers.
They depicted extinct animalsElephants, zebras, giraffes and
all manner of birds.
I'm using them to decorate thefins.
I still haven't found somethingsuitable for the teeth Mata.

(51:41):
The rain has stopped.
All the other plants in thegarden have necrotic spots, but
not my ginkgo.
Its green fans shake in thebreeze.
I'm starting to think it willoutlast me.
Are they really not allowingtravel passes anymore?
I wish I could send you apicture of my creation, but it
won't fit in a single imageundulating through the curves of

(52:03):
my home as it is.
Here is one of the fins.
It's almost as big as I am,dear Mata, I think I'm almost
there.
Luck and the sea brought apaddle onto the beach today and
I broke it in two to use forhorns.
The waves are thick with saltcoating the beach white.
I'm still on the hunt for teethMata.

(52:25):
Lightning struck close theother night.
One of the new plastic homeswas hit and you could smell the
melted stink for hours.
I think the owner wasn't home.
I haven't seen anyone aroundfor a long time.
I flit from my beach to thehouse and back and your
postcards have piled up on mytable.
I'm sorry.
I'll get around to sending themsoon.

(52:46):
I just have to finish my workfirst.
Dear Mata, can I break my ownrules?
This sculpture was meant to bea monument to memory, to all
those lovely, bright andenduring details of our
childhood.
Plastic serving no real purposeexcept for enjoyment, a luxury
that's prohibited now.
I wanted color, mata.

(53:08):
That's what started this thingColor and something that would
never die.
But I couldn't find teeth, notproper teeth.
Until today, I combed the beachand found the perfect thing,
but it's not plastic, it's bone.
I think it's from a seal, partor most of a rib cage the ribs,

(53:28):
mata.
I found my teeth.
Mata, I know you said youcouldn't travel, but I miss you
still.
The sea has been especiallyloud the last few nights and
it's so hard to move around thehouse with the sculpture filling
every room.
The metallic pieces glitter inthe moonlight and I see their
reflections in the window when Ilook out at the waves.

(53:50):
They look almost like clustersof eyes staring back.
Mata, the rations have stoppedcoming and I haven't heard a
drone in days.
There's no way to send this,but I like to think that you
know I'm writing you.
At one time I thought I wouldspend my last days with you, but

(54:10):
the storms did their work there.
The sea is louder than ever.
Sometimes the wind sounds likeseals singing.
Mata, I want to get my sculpturedown to the beach.
It's where it belongs.
I can feel it.
Does that sound silly?
It's supposed to swim.
That's why I made fins.

(54:31):
I wonder if I can move it on myown.
Maybe if my house fell downaround the pair of us, we would
be free to seek the waves.
Mata, there hasn't been rain inweeks.
Everything has died in the yard, except the ginkgo.
I'm almost out of water jugs,no drones.
I hope you're not thirsty there, mata.

(54:53):
I am as dry as my sculpture.
We are both creatures of water,my sculpture.
We are both creatures of water,beached and gasping At night.
I sleep under its teeth.
The ocean calls us Dearest.
Mata.
The ginkgo was struck today.
It burned and burned as Iwatched from the window.

(55:13):
When it was blackened and bare,I walked down to the beach.
Someone has been there.
I found footprints in the sand,a mix of feet and fins.
The seals have come at last.
I'm ready to follow them If youmanage to get a travel pass.
I'm leaving these letters inthe sculpture's mouth.

(55:34):
They should be safe when thewaves come.
I made the body from the seafor the sea.
When the waves come, I made thebody from the sea for the sea.

Speaker 1 (55:43):
So, first of all, I think the way this story is
written is so interesting to me,because it is a it's an
epistolary.
Ding, ding ding.

Speaker 2 (55:51):
Story.

Speaker 1 (55:52):
As we learned on our Frankenstein episode.
Yeah, oh as we learned on ourfound footage episode.

Speaker 2 (55:57):
Really Not, even not Dracula.
Wow, yeah, she just shook herhead.

Speaker 1 (56:04):
no, you can't tell on a podcast, but she did we
talked about, you know,epistolary novels on the
frankenstein episode and on thedracula, but we really got into
them during the found footageepisode because I made the quite
bold and ambitious case thatthey are a precursor, in some
ways, to found footage films.
That being said, I thought thisstory by mariska was so

(56:26):
beautiful, again ethereal andotherworldly.
It tells the story of apost-apocalyptic world where my
interpretation is that the water, the beaches, are filled with
trash.
This person is separated fromtheir loved one and writing
these postcards that,heartbreakingly, like partway
into the story, we realizearen't even being sent or

(56:46):
delivered oh, I missed that partyeah that's why I was confused.

Speaker 2 (56:50):
I'm like, okay, so the world sucks, everything's
falling apart, but you got arock solid mail service no, it's
just like being written, I feellike, as a way to like hold out
hope until the very end.
That's cute.

Speaker 1 (57:07):
And also, in a way, I think they say maybe somebody
will discover these later and itwill tell them about this thing
that I've built or the way theworld was right now.
That's just sad.
I found the whole story to bedevastating and heartbreaking,
but incredibly powerful.

Speaker 2 (57:17):
You do become quite emotional over pollution.

Speaker 1 (57:19):
I also thought our friend Sarah Luke, who narrated
this story, did a beautiful joband really brought it to life in
a very moving way, as shealways does.
She always does To me it justfelt very fresh.
You know, I think when youthink of like a post-apocalyptic
world, you aren't usuallythinking about the people who
live along the shore, you know,and I liked that interpretation

(57:40):
of it and I liked kind of theslow foregoing of hope and, you
know, it just felt like a verycalculated and beautiful decline
.

Speaker 2 (57:53):
Yeah, you know.
You just imagine the imagery ofthe waves lapping trash and
every time it gets a littletrashier and you know, that's
just that.
That sucks.

Speaker 1 (58:01):
I don't want to live there yeah, no, I thought yeah,
exactly very haunting I wouldmove yeah, I don't know how long
you'd make it in an apocalypseanyway.
To be honest, what makes yousay that you like to have your
things the way that you needthem?

Speaker 2 (58:14):
no, you're very fussy I've said this many times yeah
if there's a, you know there's agiant cataclysm and you know
there's the whole at night.
You have to stay inside becausewhen you go outside, that's
when all the crazies are.
Yeah, like I'd be outside, yeah, because I'd be the crazy.
Right, you'd be the zombie.

(58:34):
I would not necessarily thezombie, I don't know.
I mean, probably I'd get bit sofast, so fast, uh, but you know
, I, I would like to be, youknow, part of the crazy gang.
You know that's just like out.
You know, spray painting, the,the, the laughing clown on city
hall you, bad boy, you know uh,the ones that are just like
throwing molotov cocktails andyou know, but during during the

(58:58):
day, we're like, okay, well, sowhat are we?
What are we going to do tonight?

Speaker 1 (59:01):
Right, well, that sounds like a very particular
vision, that you've spent a lotof time cultivating.

Speaker 2 (59:07):
No, it's just a fast and loose kind of way.
I don't want to be the guythat's in the bunker, you know,
hunkered down.

Speaker 1 (59:12):
Right, if you're going to live, you want to just
live fully.

Speaker 2 (59:15):
I think so I try to make friends with everybody, and
I don't know how well thatwould go.
Yeah, probably not that well.

Speaker 1 (59:21):
So we have another story for you all.
This story is written byMatthew Gostelow.
Matthew is a dad, husband andauthor living in Birmingham in
the United Kingdom.
Some days he wakes early andwrites strange tales.
If you catch him staring intospace, he is either thinking
about Twin Peaks, which isincredibly relatable, or Cooked
Breakfast, which is my secondfavorite thing.

(59:42):
He is the author of two books,a collection of speculative
stories entitled See my BreathDance Ghostly, and Dandelion in
a Quiet Place.
Again, we'll link everythingbelow, which is a novella and
flash to be released in 2025.
Lost to the Depths is apolitically charged story of
witchcraft, revenge andanti-immigrant rhetoric, which

(01:00:02):
was part of his first shortstory collection.
You can follow Matt on Twitterat M-A-T-G-O-S-T or his website
weirding-wordsblogspotcom.
But without further ado, let'slisten to his story.

(01:00:31):
12 Women Encircle a Woodfire ona Shingle Beach.
They chant in a tongue knownonly to their sisterhood.
They dance in twirling circles.
Slow at first, they build intoa whirling wheeling frenzy.
Their whooping cries escapeinto the night sky.
With the orange sparking embersof the fire, a small girl slips

(01:00:54):
past the barrier.
She has scruffy, dark brownhair, grubby, mismatched clothes
and a smudge of dirt on hercheek.
Raj Kaur, home Office Minister,doesn't see her.
He's smirking with slysatisfaction as he leaves
Parliament.
His proposal is now law.
A decade of inflammatoryheadlines bemoaning the quote

(01:01:15):
flood of illegal migrants, quotepaved the way.
Legal asylum routes are blocked.
The Navy will repel refugeeboats before they enter British
waters.
He paces to the waiting car.
Behind barriers, protesterschant about human rights,
watched by armed police.
A red-faced woman wearing aRefugees Welcome t-shirt spits

(01:01:35):
at Raj.
She doesn't understand.
None of them do.
Resources are finite, systemsstretched.
Tough decisions are required.
Raj sees the girl.
Something about her reminds himof his niece.
She is on course to interceptRaj before he reaches the car,
conscious of press camerasaround the protesters.
He hurries but she closes in onhim, touching his arm without a

(01:01:58):
word.
Raj stops, frozen by thecontact in her piercing amber
stare.
He finds himself lost, hissurroundings transformed Through
a blur of tears.
He sees damaged, crumblingbuildings.
Raj sobs and wails, chestheaving, tasting dust and smoke
in the air.
He is holding the hand ofsomeone twice his size.
It's his mother.

(01:02:18):
He realizes she is pulling himalong in the air.
He is holding the hand ofsomeone twice his size.
It's his mother.
He realizes she is pulling himalong in a panic.
They flee through rubble-strewnstreets littered with twisted
bodies, broken bloody Rajscrambles to keep up until he
stumbles, tumbling, losing hismother's hand.
His fall is broken by the soft,still-warm chest of a dead man,

(01:02:39):
the corpse's side gapes,splintered ribs and organs
spilling out through the flayed,ragged skin.
His eyes are wide open, staringat Raj.
His mouth hangs slack,blood-crusted lips frozen in an
endless silent scream.
A sudden mortar bombs nearby.
The explosion percussiveagainst Raj's eardrums.

(01:03:00):
His mother cries out and runsfor cover head down.
Rapid blasts of gunfire splitthe air.
Mother and son separate interrified confusion.
Raj is left behind With a jolt.
He is back.
The girl is gone and his driveris holding the rear door of the
car expectantly.
Minister Raj climbs inside,looking out through the tinted

(01:03:21):
glass for any trace of the child.
He feels dazed.
His shoulders are tense, thefamiliar throb of a migraine
building behind his eyes.
As the car pulls away, he feelssomething clenched in his fist.
Opening his hand, he finds asmall figure crudely wrought
from knotted string.
The twine is black and rough tothe touch.

(01:03:41):
Thick knots form the head andpelvis.
The hands and feet are smallloops.
Looking closely, raj sees athin tack nail has been driven
into the topmost knot, the head.
He closes his eyes, the pain inhis skull growing more intense.
Faces of the scattered deadflash into his mind.
Growing more intense.

(01:04:03):
Faces of the scattered deadflash into his mind.
His car weaves through windingstreets under a blood orange
sunset.
The fire glows.
The women twirl and weave Fromhand to hand.
They pass a small poppetfashioned from string.
Each of them lifts the effigyto her mouth, whispering,
telling stories.
As they skip and step, theyclench the string, figure tight
to their bony fists and cacklealoud.

(01:04:24):
Raj's phone buzzes, his fathercalling.
He declines.
It's a conversation he can'tface.
His parents will have heard himon the radio this morning, the
interviewer challenging him onwhether his own mother and
father, who arrived from Somaliabefore he was born, would be
granted citizenship today underhis new migrant plan.
Raj proudly responding thatthey would not, that things are

(01:04:46):
different now than they were inthe 1960s, insisting most
migrants making the treacherouschannel crossing today have no
valid claim to asylum.
It is a lie he repeats sofrequently he almost believes it
is true.
His father is bound to befurious about the hostile
legislation Raj created.
His mother hates to hear himspeak about refugees as

(01:05:08):
law-breaking parasites.
At every opportunity, raj'sparents remind him of the
cousins who fled Mogadishu inthe early 1990s, escaping the
sudden war, to make their way tothe safety of Europe.
These are your people, the oneswho you call leeches.
His father chides him.
They don't understand.
This will never be theircountry in the way that it is

(01:05:29):
his.
In his bathroom, raj swallowstwo painkillers and pinches the
bridge of his nose.
To ease the agonizing pulse inhis head, he plunges his face
into a sink full of cold water,recalling a time in Oxford, his
friends pushing him off of apunt as a joke, braying and
laughing Sorry Raj, they nevercalled him Raj, it's just banter

(01:05:50):
, the price of being one of thegang.
As he submerges, raj hears anurgent, shrieking voice that
seems to come from deep below.
He jumps at the sound, gaspingwater into his lungs, coughing
and spluttering.
He straightens up to lookaround.
He is alone.
Eventually the dancing slows,then stops.
They hand the puppet to theirelder, a withered, hunched woman

(01:06:12):
with sunken cheeks and one eyestitched closed over a hollow
socket.
She holds it in the black,spiced-scented smoke above the
fire, muttering and mumbling adark incantation.
Skull-pounding Raj lies in bed,eyes scrunched against the
throbbing ache.
Eventually, sleep swallows him.
He dreams himself knee-deep inicy water, where pebbles bruise

(01:06:37):
the soles of his bare feet.
He huddles with two dozenothers in the cold and dark
Circles of torchlight twitchingacross Shingle as they scramble
into a flimsy dinghy.
Clouds gather in the blue-blacksky.
Voices in the dark around himmutter Tomorrow England,
tomorrow England.
A gruff man tells them to aimfor the lights on the other side

(01:07:00):
of the water, gives the smallboat a shove, then disappears
into the night.
England.
A gruff man tells them to aimfor the lights on the other side
of the water, gives the smallboat a shove, then disappears
into the night.
The waves swell high.
As soon as they leave thegravel beach, the small craft
bucks and rolls.
Raj grips the arm of a womanbeside him, holding her so hard
that she cries out in pain.
His eyes are closed tight,convinced that each new surge
will hurl him out into thechurning water.

(01:07:22):
He vomits more than once,heaving into the bottom of the
dinghy by his feet, afraid tolean over the edge.
Water sloshes into the boatwith every wave, so cold it
takes his breath and leaves histeeth chattering.
Two men with shallow metal pansbail urgently, while a third
struggles to keep a steadycourse with the feeble outboard

(01:07:42):
motor.
The lights across the sea,which never seem to come any
closer, are frequently obscuredby the jagged peaks of towering
waves.
Without warning, a violentswell flips, the dinghy voices
cry out all around and Raj isplunged into the cold depths.
The elder brings her handstogether, fingertips pointing to

(01:08:04):
the black sky, the stringfigure clasped between her palms
.
She raises her hands to herforehead and speaks words in the
old language.
When she pauses, the wise womenanswer as one.
The calls and responsesincrease in speed and volume
until they are angry, screechingshouts.
The youngest among them, asmall girl with fierce amber

(01:08:26):
eyes, brings a large iron pot upfrom the shore, where waves
whisper their approval of thewomen's fury.
The pot is heavy filled withseawater.
The old one closes her eyes andbrings the effigy to her mouth.
She whispers to the figure onceagain, spitting silent curses
into its knotted head.
She closes her eye, purses herlips as though to whistle, and

(01:08:49):
blows a thick black vapor fromdeep inside her.
The smoke she exhales is liquid, night sparkling and starry
glimmers.
For a moment it forms a cloudaround the poppet.
Once more, her sisters dancetheir mad dance, feet seeming to
float above the shingle of thebeach.
Gulls wheeling in ominousconstellations answer their

(01:09:11):
cries from the darkness above.
Finally, gently, the elderplaces the string doll into the
pot of water.
It floats for a moment on thecalm surface, string doll into
the pot of water.
It floats for a moment on thecalm surface before sinking,
lost to the black depths.
Raj wakes, legs jerking a screamin his throat, hair soaked from
sweat.
His breath comes in urgentgasps.

(01:09:37):
The pain in his head has notshifted and he struggles to open
his eyes.
In his hand he feels the smallknotted figure clenched tight,
though he's certain he left itin a pocket of his jacket.
He hears noises downstairsvoices and scraping like moving
furniture.
He reaches for his phone andswears under his breath,
realizing it's on the kitchencounter.
Raj walks to the landing andthe noises cease.

(01:09:58):
Hello, I've called the police.
Raj walks to the landing andthe noises cease.
Hello, I've called the police.
He shouts fear betrayed in hisvoice.
He starts to creep down, feetcold on the bare boards.
The hallway is murky, dark andhe strains his senses to catch
sight or sound of the intruders.
As Raj reaches the bottom stair, icy water laps at his ankles.
One more step and his feetcrunch on painful shingle stones

(01:10:22):
.
He continues to walk, wadingnow through knee-high ink-black
swell, confused and disoriented.
The water reaches his waist,then his chest, and still he is
drawn onwards, powerless to stop.
He looks back and cannot seethe stairs, no walls around him,
just miles of choppy blackwaves in every direction.

(01:10:43):
He is treading water now, feetkicking down in flailing panic,
desperate to feel somethingsolid beneath them.
But there's only water.
Raj feels the weight of hispajamas dragging down as his
limbs thrash to keep him afloat,cold and fatigue sliced to his
core, muscles aching andcramping.
He inhales a harsh mouthful ofsalty water, choking and

(01:11:08):
coughing up stinging bile,creatures, scales, teeth and
claws.
He kicks his feet.
The touch comes again firmer,this time higher up his leg.
And then there are more.
They are fingers, he is sure ofit.

(01:11:28):
Their skin crinkled too longunderwater.
They grasp and flail, fumblingat his feet and legs, struggling
upwards, desperate to reach thesurface.
Hands are gripping him now,climbing him as they fight to
reach the surface.
Hands are gripping him now,climbing him as they fight to
escape the cold black depths.
They drag raj deeper.
He is submerged, eyes blindedby the stinging brine.

(01:11:50):
Chest tight, with dark water,choking icy liquid deep into his
lungs, he feels the sharppressure of depth in his ears as
the grasping hands pull himfurther below, clawing at his
arms, chest, his cheeks.
Their ceremony complete, thesisters sit in a circle around
the fire.
Dawn is breaking in cold pinksand yellows.

(01:12:12):
Far out to sea, they boil akettle in the embers of the fire
and share tea, singing songsand sending prayers to their
families across the world.
The next morning a body isfound face down in the gritty
sand of a beach near Folkestonea naked middle-aged man with
lungs full of salt water anddeep scratches all over his body

(01:12:34):
.
Police assume he's anotherdesperate migrant who died on
the crossing, the 40th corpse towash up on the coast in the
last 12 months.
A few days later the body isidentified as missing home
officer minister raj kor.
Holy fuck.
It's such a well-written andmeaningful and important story.

Speaker 2 (01:12:57):
I'm very, very impressed with this so raj got
whammied by the same people thathe was that he turned his back
on that he I mean, he's a jerkand he got his just desserts
yeah voodoo style?
Well, not voodoo, becausethat's a, that's a very
localized practice, right?

Speaker 1 (01:13:17):
wow, this is cool I think it's such a cool story.
I also think it's obviously avery important timely story, but
I love the use of theparanormal, if you will, and and
these sort of the rituals fromthe before times, right before
everything became as fucked upas it is now.
It just all felt verypurposeful as this reflection of
where we were and where we areand community and the community

(01:13:39):
being broken.

Speaker 2 (01:13:40):
I think that all this discussion about immigration
reform and whatnot would noteven come into play if people
just had magic.
That's something to think about, I suppose I mean sure, just
think about it for two seconds,you know, if you had magic, then
you can teleport Our littlearbitrary barriers between

(01:14:03):
countries are null and void.

Speaker 1 (01:14:04):
But don't you think people would just?
Whoever the most powerfulpeople are, the most powerful
magicians would still dowhatever they wanted to do to
create boundaries around theirterritories?

Speaker 2 (01:14:14):
But do you think that the most powerful wielder of
the dark arts would line up withthe same people that hold the
most generational wealth?
Because I do not.

Speaker 1 (01:14:24):
Why not?

Speaker 2 (01:14:25):
Because I feel like it's like a bloodline thing.
You know it's far more.
I don't know.
Arcane not daddy has a trustfund and now I'm a wizard.
That's just my hot take.

Speaker 1 (01:14:37):
But going back to the story, I think it was really
masterful the way matthew sortof combined telling this really
relevant modern story butweaving in this again this
ritualistic supernatural.
And the the scenes of them onthe boat, the scenes of him
drowning, are quite horrifyingyes, this, this is those one of

(01:14:58):
the scarier stories.

Speaker 2 (01:14:59):
This is prime horror writing.

Speaker 1 (01:15:02):
Absolutely.

Speaker 2 (01:15:04):
And it's hard to do.
It really is.

Speaker 1 (01:15:06):
Yeah.

Speaker 2 (01:15:08):
Because everything was supernatural, but well
within the realm of relatablesituations.

Speaker 1 (01:15:16):
Right.

Speaker 2 (01:15:16):
We've all been in water that's a little too deep,
a little too scary, surroundedby crashing waves.
There's that moment where youthink you're good to take a
breath and you're not.
And then you just have thatchoking moment.
You're sick in a boat and allthese things right, it's just
relatable enough.
And you stack them just oneafter another and you just beat

(01:15:38):
this guy down, all because hemakes bad laws.

Speaker 1 (01:15:42):
Yeah, I totally agree that it's horror writing at its
prime, and when you mix in abigger picture, you know a
relevant point.
I just think that's really likeyou said it's really really
hard to do on its own, andtogether it's excellent.
So thank you again, matthew,for sharing this work with us.

Speaker 2 (01:15:59):
It's also very easy to do voodoo doll stuff and make
it hokey.

Speaker 1 (01:16:03):
Yeah.

Speaker 2 (01:16:04):
Like we've seen that many times in usually either low
budget movies or, I don't know,movies that just don't hold it
with any kind of ethnic gravitas.
You know, it's just like ahthis is a thing.
Let's hit him with the voodoodoll Sure and it gets silly very

(01:16:25):
fast.
This felt scary.

Speaker 1 (01:16:27):
Yeah.

Speaker 2 (01:16:27):
And I loved it.

Speaker 1 (01:16:28):
It felt powerful.

Speaker 2 (01:16:29):
It did, it felt powerful, you felt reverence for
this little thing and for thesewomen and even for this guy
that you're like, you feel badfor.
But I get it, I get everything.

Speaker 1 (01:16:40):
It's like well, I don't know.
It's almost like thesecharacters are not
one-dimensional.
Yeah, yeah, exactly exactly.
We have one final story todayand I wanted to end on a lighter
note because I know we've had alot of heavy loaded stories so
far.
So we're pivoting palettecleanser, incredibly fun,
well-written story to to end usoff for today.

(01:17:00):
How, how does that sound?

Speaker 2 (01:17:01):
Is this the one you wrote about the wave on the
bridge?

Speaker 1 (01:17:04):
No, that's not going to be in this series.

Speaker 2 (01:17:07):
I thought you were just gassing yourself up.

Speaker 1 (01:17:12):
This story comes to us from our friend, alex Gray.
The piece originally appearedin a charity anthology, rampage
on the Reef, which was publishedby Dead Sea Press in January
2022.
Rampage on the Reef, which waspublished by Dead Sea Press in
January 2022.
You can check out Alex's firstspeculative poetry collection
called Last Species.

Speaker 3 (01:17:30):
Let's take a listen.
Revenge of a Vampire Sea Snail.
Written by Alex Gray, read byMichael Groser.

Speaker 5 (01:17:43):
Part 1.
I have dragged myself this far,but I will go no further.
Here I lie on the gritty sandawaiting my fate, at the dubious
mercy of sunrise and the tidesturning.
Are you feeling sorry for me?
Do you imagine that my fate issynonymous with my doom?

(01:18:04):
You humans are so very gullibleand ignorant.
Remember how you walkedbarefoot on the beach this
morning.
Remember how you held yourlover's hand.
You turned to the dawn, itsglory illuminating memories of
your happy childhood andkindling your hopes of a future
together.
You saw me lying on the sandand picked me up.

Speaker 1 (01:18:27):
Can you hear the sea?

Speaker 5 (01:18:29):
you'd asked him, he looked bewildered.
Of course, the sea's rightthere.

Speaker 4 (01:18:35):
No silly.
My mother taught me Hold ashell to your ear and you will
always hear the sea.

Speaker 5 (01:18:43):
He'd taken me from your hands and held me to your
ear.
Can you hear me say I love you?
He'd whispered, yes, you'dreply, dancing away from him.

Speaker 4 (01:18:54):
Whenever I hold this shell, the sea will tell me that
you love me.

Speaker 5 (01:19:02):
Oh you poor, deluded girl.
What you heard was the sound ofmy predatory laughter.
I'll remember this momentforever you said, putting me in
your pocket as a memento.
Dazzled by your lover's smile,you did not notice the scrape of
my tiny rasping teeth againstyour skin.

(01:19:24):
Now it is nearing sunset.
You lie on the sand, shiveringand delirious, as the toxin I
shared with you invades yourmind.
Your lover has gone for help,though I sense that he has
stopped at the bar for a quickdrink.
He thinks you have a touch ofsunstroke.
Nothing serious.
My venom enables us to shareour thoughts.

(01:19:48):
I am pleased that we have sometime to converse Mollusk to
human.
You are very pleasing and Ithink you deserve an explanation
.
Did you really think the worldof the undead was populated only
by humanoids?
How very narrow-minded todiscount the possibility that
the undead have their own richecosystem.

(01:20:10):
But then again, how muchattention do you pay to your own
?
Of course, those humans whoperceive the diversity of the
undead rarely have enough timeto write legends in our name.
I see in your memories that youalways loved a bedtime story.
You had an active imagination,and even now you wonder whether

(01:20:31):
this is all a dream.
I assure you this is quite real.
Nevertheless, shall I tell you astory before you fall asleep?
I am a vampire.
It is so fortunate that youchose me.
I am one of the more subtlepredators.
A zombie mollusk would haveburrowed into your ear and

(01:20:51):
feasted on your brain beforeyou'd taken ten steps.
There are far too many zombiemollusks in my opinion Oysters,
slugs, snails, the list goes on.
But given how many of ourliving counterparts have been
killed by humans, it is hardlysurprising that they will rise.
Wouldn't you want revenge ifyou had been doused in acid and

(01:21:11):
eaten alive?
Then think of how many you havekilled in your own garden.
I admit, those whom you drownedin old beer rarely complained,
but those whom you left writhingin frothy agony under a blanket
of salt, all for the sake ofyour prize Marrows, small wonder
that they seek retribution.
Ah, I can hear your thoughts.

(01:21:35):
If salt kills snails andsunlight kills vampires, how can
you survive on the beach?
I am so glad you asked.
Vampire mollusks are perfectlydesigned.
I have a fine brain whichdirects my strong foot to carry
me to the best hunting grounds.
My precious mucus protects mefrom the brine.
My shell keeps me safe from thesun's rays, though I admit it

(01:21:58):
can tingle if I stay out toolong.
I never stay out too long.
I do not need to.
In common with all vampires, Ihave an allure that humans find
hard to resist.
Do you remember how I shone inthe soft light of the rising sun
?
Do you recall how smooth myshell felt as your fingertips

(01:22:18):
traced my perfect contours?
You were so enchanted you nevereven felt the quiver of my
flesh, as you claimed to me sowillingly.
Indeed.
You took me for your own.
Now I will return the favor.
You think your lover will saveyou.
No doubt he will returntomorrow, but by then you and I
will have spent the nighttogether.

(01:22:39):
He will not want you.
When we are done, you see, Iwill have taken that which
defines your beauty, upbraidingyour skin, mouthful by delicious
mouthful.
They will blame the gratingsand and rolling surf for your
ruination.
They will not think to test formy venom.
The sea will wash away alltraces of my crime.

(01:23:02):
The outgoing tide will carry meto another beach, another
victim.
Oh, I see tears glistening inyour eyes.
You are delectable.
I can wait no longer for ourconsummation.
My foot leaves a shining silvertrail.
As I explore your exquisiteface, I sip the tears from your
blue eyes, glide along thecontours of your pert nose and

(01:23:26):
smooth, fevered cheeks.
I approach your panting mouth,admiring the delicate rose of
your lips.
I sense a flash of disgust, thelast of your resistance before
you submit to my glamour.
Your tongue seeks my vampire'skiss and we share a sublime

(01:23:47):
moment.
You are so lovely, I might evenlet you.
Part 2 I was framed, said theKraken.

(01:24:11):
We shook our heads, notbelieving a word.
His arachnoid strangenessscreamed guilt in our minds.
We chose not to see his wisdomin his ocean-deep eyes.
I'm not a monster, said theKraken.
We shook our heads, recallingthe skinless bodies of our
townsfolk and tourists left onthe shore where salty wavelets

(01:24:33):
caressed their agony.
It wasn't me, said the Kraken.
We shook our heads.
Our elders warned us not totrust the hideous beast, so
unlike us, whose lies would leadus to death in his arms.
Please listen, the kraken,implored.
We erected our defenses.

(01:24:53):
Stout posts prevented the brutefrom reaching the beach,
protecting the innocent from theflaying grasp of his tentacles.
Do not trust the shells, saidthe Kraken.
The shells drew us in.
Their lovely iridescenceawakened our sympathy.
We knew somehow that they wererefugees, driven from the sea by

(01:25:13):
the Kraken.
They are deadly, the Krakencried.
We knew he would come.
The shells were the bait Closer.
He swam, calling his warnings.
We pulled the net tight aroundhis flailing limbs.
Do not touch them, cried theKraken.
We did not heed him, our earsfilled with sea whispers from
the beautiful shells, the stingof their poison.

(01:25:35):
Unnoticed Mercy, begged theKraken.
We made him suffer for each ofthe deaths we believed he had
caused.
The monster who claimed toprotect us.
The sea turned purple with inkand blood.
Give them mercy.
The kraken's last words.

(01:25:55):
We did not understand.
He was calling to them to grantus compassion.
There was none to be had thesun set gold, the shells glowed
as we fell, gleaming feral asthey slithered over our beach,
naked skins, their razor teethrasped, stripped our skins,

(01:26:20):
slowly anchored by toxins.
Immobile, aware, we suffered ashe had betrayed.

Speaker 2 (01:26:51):
Okay, I loved it every time.
You have just like a littlenefarious gremlin little guy and
he's just doing all a bunch ofnefarious gremlin-y things and
he's a snail, come on.
That's great.

Speaker 1 (01:26:57):
You could not have chosen a better voice actor to
do this one I know I read thisand I was like this is a michael
kross story if I've everfreaking read one I can't
believe that michael didn'twrite this himself I know it was
written by alex, who has suchrange.
We've seen so many differentstories from alex and different
tones and moods and it wasreally fun to see something so

(01:27:18):
comical yeah, you have just.

Speaker 2 (01:27:20):
Are snails cephalopods?

Speaker 1 (01:27:23):
I don't even know what that means.

Speaker 2 (01:27:24):
I mean they're invertebrates for sure.
We'll just say an invertebrate.
Anytime you have a smallinvertebrate, that's like I'm
gonna fuck you up yeah then youknow I'm on board that's that's.
You gotta root for the littleguy in life yeah, and especially
when he's a vampire, it's rockand roll and like how's a snail
gonna bite?
You ever thought about that?

Speaker 1 (01:27:42):
snails don't have teeth I used to have a bunch of
snails go on it's actually.
I don't know if I want to talkabout it, it's quite.
It makes me look like a weirdperson oh, this, this.
So this is where you draw theline when I was very young, I
think my sister got snails forlike a school project that she
had to take care of them, andthen I think what happened was

(01:28:04):
later in life, maybe in middleschool.
I went to the beach and tooksome into like this little tin
box and brought them back withme and they died and started to
smell really bad in my room.
I don't know if I should sharethat with the world that's the
opposite of where I thought thestory was going yeah, this is
like I was a bad snail motherthis is like growing up.

Speaker 2 (01:28:23):
I think I was in elementary school no, elementary
school I was in preschool okayand as a birthday gift, someone
gave me a butterfly garden oh sooh no you.
You set up like this littlecardboard enclosure yeah with
windows and everything, and thenyou mail your coupon in.
Your coupon and they send youback eggs and the eggs hatch

(01:28:47):
into caterpillars and they havethe little food and stuff they
just leave out and prettyquickly they eat the food and
they become the chrysalis andthen they hatch into monarch
butterflies.
Pretty cool, right, pretty cool.
And like, the whole thing justtakes a few weeks and then
you're supposed to release them.
Well, we mailed off for thesebutterflies to be in late fall,

(01:29:12):
so by the time that they wereindeed butterflies and they
became butterflies, it was toocold for them to make the
migration, and so now we got aproblem.

Speaker 1 (01:29:21):
Sure.

Speaker 2 (01:29:21):
So, like, what do we do?
We can't just, in goodconscience, let them out into
the frigid air to die.
No they're never going to makeit to Mexico.

Speaker 1 (01:29:29):
No.

Speaker 2 (01:29:29):
So what are we going to do?
Instead, we did our absolutebest, but you know, then the
little caterpillar food runs out.
You know what do you do?
So every day, my mother went tothe florist, got flowers and
then injected them with sugarwater dang and then she put
fresh flowers in their enclosureevery day.

(01:29:50):
These butterflies are supposedto have like a lifespan of only
a few months.
They lasted for seven monthsbecause they were hand-fed by my
mother every day your mother issuch a animal whisperer even
when one got sick, I don't hejust like he couldn't feed
himself anymore yeah she wouldtake, like a, a pencil yeah and
unspool his little long nosething oh and plunk it into the

(01:30:13):
sugar water and then herecovered.
You know she's like she was anexcellent she caregiver,
absolute pinnacle caregiver.
But, yeah, they lasted pasttheir natural lifespan Sure,
which was just absolutelyincredible.

Speaker 1 (01:30:27):
Yeah, well, on that beautiful note, I think this is
a great place to take a break.
We have six more stories foryou guys next episode, and thank
you so much to all of thewriters, to all of the narrators
, to everybody who submitted.
We're thrilled to kind of seethe ecosystem that's being built

(01:30:47):
here.
If you have not already checkedout our new Horror on the High
Seas, merch, head tolunaticsprojectcom and click on
merch, because we are incrediblyproud of it.
It was designed by our friendPilar Kep.
It's just such a spooky andhaunting but perfectly themed
design for this whole megaseries that we're doing.
As always, we hope that you allstay spooky, stay safe and
we'll talk to you soon.

(01:31:08):
Bye.

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Lunatics Library 40 - Ocean Horror Stories: Part 1

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.css-14f5ked{margin:0;word-break:break-word;display:-webkit-box;-webkit-box-orient:vertical;box-orient:vertical;-webkit-line-clamp:2;overflow:hidden;}Lunatics Library 40 - Ocean Horror Stories: Part 1