TWL 1201: Two Dark Tales / Lamont A. Turner, T. M. Morgan

Episode Transcript
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(00:04):
Nine Story Studios giving story a voice. This is Addison Peacock and you're listening
to The Wicked Library. Warning.The Wicked Library is a horror fiction podcast

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created for immature audience. Our storiescontain graphic descriptions of pain, murder,
violence, blood, betrayal, andinhumanity. Monsters win, people die,
and hope is often shattered. Thereis also beauty, heart, catharsis,
and raw emotion. Fear may bedeeply personal, but we all share.

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If at any time a story takesyou to a place too dark, turn
on the lights, press pause orpress stop, and always remember that,
unlike in the real world, thesenightmares and your participation in them, are
under your control. Welcome back tothe Wicked Library, and welcome to season

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twelve. This is episode number twelveoh one. I'm Daniel Foitech and I
thank you for listening. It's beena while since I've shared a new story
with you. Ninth Story Studios isrecently relocated to the deep dark woods of
Central PA, so I apologize forthe delay in getting fresh Wicked tales out
to you all. But now thatI'm settled into the ancient mound of Appalachia

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where the stars are bright, thewoods are dark, and the voices of
ancient things come on the wind.You can expect more regular content. I'm
thrilled to present two Wicked tales aswe kick off season twelve. Going forward,
all stories will be heard first byPatreon supporters and then later shared with
the full audience. A sincere thankyou to those of you who are supporting

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more. You can support us atPatreon dot com Forward slash Wicked Library.
Now, today we present two darktales told by Graham Rowitt with custom scores
written by Nico vites of We talkof dreams. Now let's get wicked with

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today's first dark and creepy tale onelast performance in GiB Town by lamont a
turner. Whose idea was it togo to Gibsonton, Nicole asked, as

(04:23):
Brandon beat his head against the steeringwheel with exaggerated angst. Let's go see
the freaks. You said it'll befun. You said it would have been
fun, he moaned. If youtold me your dad's car had an oil
leap before we were already a hundredmiles out, you should have told me
you didn't have a car before youasked me out, she shot back,

(04:46):
sounding a lot harsher than she hadintended. Brandon waved his middle finger in
her face, grabbed a viny oldponcho from the back seat and pulled it
over his head before pushing open thecar door. The wind blue rain into
his face as he jumped out andwent around to the front of the car
to raise the hood. Nicole sawplumes of smoke drift back to envelope the

(05:09):
car and imagine the sound of raindrops sizzling on the hot engine. Even
with the windows up, she couldhear Brandon cursing. The hood went back
down, and a moment later Brandonwas back in the driver's seat, reaching
around the seats to retrieve a towel. He rubbed his hands on the towel,
leaving black smudges on the white terrycloth. There's oil all over the

(05:32):
place, he said, from beneaththe green hood. I don't think the
engine is fried, but the alternatorbelt got too slick and came off.
Can't you just put it back,she asked, trying not to sound too
naive. It's all chewed up,he said dejectedly. Besides, the batteries
already dead. Maybe we could geta jump, she said, Hopefully you

(05:57):
see any other cars in the lasthour, snapped, We're out in the
sticks in the middle of the nightduring a thunderstorm. Nobody's stopping for us.
Besides, jump would only get usa few miles before she died again.
We're screwed. Nicole started tapping onher phone while Brandon lit a cigarette.

(06:17):
Where are we, she asked,patting at the smoke. Brandon jabbed
at the button on the door andquietly cursed himself for forgetting the windows had
died with the battery somewhere on OldUS forty one, he told her,
opening the door just far enough totoss his cigarette out. Good luck getting
anybody to come out in this messat this time of night, though,

(06:41):
Can you be more precise? Idon't know. We're probably a few miles
from the main highway. Find uson your GPS. She was still trying
to determine their exact location when yellow, flashing lights appeared behind them. A
minute later, knuckles appeared out ofthe darkness to wrap on Brandon's window.
Brandon and Nicole both jumped. They'dboth been looking in their side mirrors and

(07:05):
had seen no one approach. Brandonopened his door a crack and saw a
giant in gray coveralls staring down athim. Broke down, asked the giant,
seemingly unfazed by the raindrops splattering onhis bald head. Brandon, spellbound
by the man's thick, asymmetrical features, could only nod with his jutting brow

(07:30):
and a chin that disappeared into athick bull like neck. The man would
have looked at home in the PrehistoricMan exhibit at the museum, but for
his lack of hair, lacking eveneyebrows, he seemed somehow unfinished, like
a Halloween mask, just out ofthe mold. You picked a bad night.
There was a tornado touched down justa few miles north of here.

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Go ahead and put her in neutral. The new folks can go sit in
my cab, he said, jerkinga thumb the size of a cucumber at
the flashing lights. Brandon nodded again. He turned the key in the ignition
and shifted the car out of park, before pulling another poncho from the back
seat and dropping it in Nicole's lap. A few minutes later, they were

(08:16):
both in the cab of the Giant'struck, with Nicole sitting on Brandon's lap
in the bucket seat. I thoughtyou said no one would stop to help,
Nicole chided, I'm not sure anyonehuman did. Did you get a
look at that guy, Brandon asked, pulling back her hood so he could
see her face. I could onlysee he was big, she responded.

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He has to be at least sevenfeet tall. I almost tripped over his
boot when I got out of thecar, Brandon said, I could have
got in it and sailed to Chinaif I put a sail on it.
The guy must have a hell ofa time walking upstairs. Despite the rain,
it took the man surprisingly little timeto hook up the chains and get

(09:00):
the car onto the bed of thetruck. Before Brandon and Nicole could decide
if the monkey skull on the dashboardwas real or just a plastic prop,
the man was climbing into the driver'sseat. What's wrong with her, he
asked, wrapping a big hand aroundthe shifter. She talks too much and
bites her nails, Brandon quipped,changing his answer to alternator after getting elbowed

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in the ribs. I know agood mechanic over in Giptown. You won't
be open for a few hours,but there's an old night diner right across
the street, the giant responded,ignoring the joke. Giptown is that far,
Nicole asked, shifting her weight onBrandon's bony lap. That's what the
locals call gibsonton, Brandon told her. Looks like we'll be making it there

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to night, after all. Whatdo you folks want to go there for,
asked the giant, his deep voiceexpressing genuine puzzlement, as though they
had just told him they wanted tospend the night in a public toilet.
I was wondering the same thing,Nicole said, digging her heel into the
side of Brandon's shin. I heardthere's a bar where all the sideshow performers

(10:13):
hang out, Brandon said, givingNicole a jab in the thigh. I
thought I might try to interview themfor an article I'm planning. If you're
looking for freaks, I can takeyou someplace where there's all kinds of em,
said the giant. It's just afew blocks down from where we're taking
your car. Brandon expressed his enthusiasmfor the idea, and then the conversation

(10:37):
died as the driver turned his attentionto the road. The headlights barely made
a dent in the blackness, leavingBrandon with only Nicole's weight on his legs
to distract him from the sound ofthe rain pounding on the roof of the
cab in a constant staccato, likethe tapping of a thousand skeletal fingers.
If he had been in his ownvehicle, he would have had the radio

(11:00):
at full volume and a cigarette betweenhis lips, but he was merely a
passenger, and the Giant didn't seemto mind the noise. He sat hunched
over the wheel, squinting at thedarkness beyond the windshield, while Nicoll's attention
was fixed on him. She studiedthe man, mesmerized by his ugliness.

(11:22):
The patter on the roof subsided asthey drove out of the storm and passed
the sign identifying the border of gibsonTon. The Giant took a detour off
the highway onto a narrow road strangledby the overarching trees. Branches came to
life in the yellow light, strobingatop the truck and clawed at them as
they passed. Weeds reached up fromcracks and the pavement to rake the bottom

(11:46):
of the truck as they rolled overthem. Brandon wanted that cigarette now more
than ever. What's that up ahead, Nicole asked, drawing Brandon's attention from
the swamps on either side of them. They were coming upon a fence stretched
across the road. As they grewcloser, Brandon saw the road widened and

(12:07):
ended just before an iron gate setin the middle of a fence about eight
feet in height. Did you makea wrong turn? Brandon nasked a giant
as the truck slowed to a stop, out ordered the man, opening his
door and jumping out onto the road. Nicole twisted around to search Brandon's face

(12:28):
for some clue as to how sheshould react, but saw only confusion reflected
in his eyes. Brandon opened hismouth to speak, but was cut off
by Nicole's scream as the passenger doorwas thrown open and she was yanked from
the cab. Out repeated the giant, reaching back in again to pull Brandon

(12:50):
out. He landed hard on hisshoulder, next to Nicole, who was
already scampering to get up and awayfrom the big man. What are you
doing, Brandon shouted, clutching hisarm. You said you wanted to talk
to the freaks, replied the giant. Well, here they are. He
stretched out his long arm toward thegate, guiding Brandon's gaze to the rows

(13:15):
of stones behind the iron bars.Brandon tried to rise, but a huge
hand shot out and wrapped around histhroat, slamming his head against the side
of the truck. Brandon dreamed hewas being stabbed. In the face by
a thousand tiny daggers. Waking,he opened his eyes and immediately raised his

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left arm over his face to blockthe rein. He tried to push himself
up off the ground with his rightbut couldn't get it to move, so
instead he rolled over on his sideto face the road. He was alone.
The wind whistled through the trees,mocking him as he shouted Nicoll's name.

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He shouted it again and again,but Nicole did not answer. Finally
managing to get his knees under him, he tried to stand, but a
sharp pain in his head forced himback down. He lay there, panting,
unable to fend off the rain thatpelted his face, while waiting for
the pain to subside. As itfaded to a dull ache, he rolled

(14:24):
over and crawled to the gates ofthe cemetery. Pulling himself up on the
bars, He noticed a light offin the distance. He hung there,
squinting at the yellow square of lightfloating in a sea of black. It
was coming from the window of afishing camp on the edge of the swamp.
He knew he had to get tothat house, but he would have

(14:46):
to cross the cemetery He slowly letgo of the gate and tested his legs.
They wobbled a bit, but hecould stand, and as long as
he didn't try to move too quickly, the pain in his head was tolerable
enough for him to walk. Hetugged on the gate, and it had
started to creak open when he losthis footing and stumbled back. As he

(15:07):
steadied himself, the wind howled andblew the rain back into his face.
The gate flew open, clanging againstthe fence. Brandon took a deep breath
to clear his head, and thenstaggered into the cemetery. His feet sank
in the soft earth as he wanderedbetween the stones, heading for the light.

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Under other circumstances, he would havebeen eager to investigate such macabre surroundings,
searching for material for one of hisarticles on the arcane and outra,
But now all he could think ofwas finding help. God only knew what
that monster was doing to Nicole.He wondered how long he had been unconscious,
and how far the giant could havegotten. Maybe it was already too

(15:54):
late. The rain slowed, comingin fits now, but the wind was
unrelenting. It pushed back against himstriking out on behalf of those whose graves
he trod upon. His head throbbed, and the pain returned in flashes that
blurred his vision and took away hisbreath. He collapsed on the steps of

(16:15):
a crypt, a few feet froma stone obelisk adorned with bar reliefs of
circus clowns. In the dim lightof the distant camp, they seemed to
move, cavorting around the monument,as though performing one last show for him.
He shook his head and looked away, but when he looked back,

(16:36):
expecting to see a static sculpture,he found none. The clowns had vanished.
He walked over and ran his handdown the surface of the smooth stone.
There were no markings other than aninscription at the base, reading,
in memory of those who lost theirlives in the Midland Fire of nineteen thirty
two, May they find the joyin the next world that they brought to

(17:00):
others in this one Midland fire.He had heard of it somewhere. He
stared at the inscription, trying toremember, yes, he had read about
it while researching an article on circusesand the Depression era. A circus tent
had gone up in flames as thefire spread. Rather than rushing to safety,

(17:22):
the clowns had continued their performance tocalm the children in the audience while
they were led out to safety.By the time the last of the children
were out, it was too late. The tent came down, smothering them
in a blanket of flame. Thefire then spread to the stables and the
trailers inhabited by the side show performers, many of whom were not able to

(17:45):
escape due to their physical limitations.Almost fifty performers, as well as two
lions and several horses, died thatnight. He traced a crack in the
stone with a trembling finger. Thestones around him leaned in the tall weeds,
the inscriptions worn away, along withthe memory of the people lying beneath

(18:07):
them, lives erased by neglect.Nobody had been here in a very long
time. Brandon fell to his kneesand began sobbing like a drunk on his
tenth shot of Bourbon nicole. Thepain in his head and numbness in his
arm, the wind and the rain, it was all too much. He

(18:30):
couldn't go any further. He wasdone. He curled up in the mud
at the base of the monument,the numbness in his arm spreading throughout his
body. Then somebody laughed. Brandonlooked up to see a clown standing on
the steps of the crypt. Agust of wind threw muddy water into Brandon's

(18:53):
face and slammed the cemetery gait shut, but the balloons in the clown's hand
did not waver. The clowns laughtergrew louder, more manic. Other voices
joined the chorus as shadowy figures steppedout of the darkness. Some were clowns.
Others scurried forward on their hands andloped over the stones, dangling extra

(19:18):
limbs. A thing with no limbsat all flopped in the mud, propelled
by the undulations of its torso.Brandon screamed, and the light in the
distance went out. Brandon awoke witha light in his eyes. Looking past
it, he saw the tow truckdriver standing over him. I thought I
killed you, said the giant.Guess your head is harder than I figured.

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He clicked off the flashlight and stuffedit into the pocket of his coveralls.
Then he reached down and grabbed Brandonby the shoulders, lifting him up
to stare into his face. Whatthe hell are you screaming about? You
mu have gotten away if you'd keptyour trap shut, he said, giving
Brandon a shake before casting him backdown. Where did they go? Brandon

(20:10):
muttered, looking about the giant lookedaround too, and, seeing nothing,
let out a long, mirthless chuckle. Guess I must have scrambled your brains,
he said. Don't worry, youwon't have to deal with it much
longer. Brandon watched the giant kickover a tombstone with his oversized boot.

(20:33):
He picked it up and raised itover his head. Brandon covered his face
and waited for the stone to comecrashing down. Something snarled and then roared.
It echoed through the cemetery, rattlingthe gate. A brass urn fell
from a niche in the wall ofthe crypt, and the weeds bent down

(20:53):
and parted. As the roar grewlouder. Brandon lowered his arm to see
the giant, the stone still overhis head, had turned to stare at
something approaching from the direction of theroad. What the hell it ain't possible,
he shouted, before hurling the stone. It obviously had no effect on

(21:15):
whatever was out there. For thebig man turned to run. Brandon leapt
up and ran as well, goingas fast as his trembling legs would allow,
weaving around the gravestones. The gianthad less luck. He stumbled as
his boots collided with the stones hiddenin the tall grass. As Brandon overtook

(21:37):
him, he saw the man godown. The roar was replaced by the
sound of the man's screams as Brandonpassed the last graves and found himself on
a gravel path leading to the camp. As he got closer, he saw
the bed of the tow truck juttingout from behind the cabin and knew he
would find no help there. Hemight, however, find the coal.

(22:02):
Reaching the cabin, he peered inthe window, afraid he might find the
giant had accomplices, but the roomwas empty. A large pot simmered over
the fire in the hearth before along table. In the light of the
flames, he could see straps hangingover the side, dangling above a large
metal tub. Finding the door unlocked, he crept in, still wary of

(22:26):
the possibility of someone lurking. Inthe next room, he saw a set
of knives of various sizes arranged neatlyon a tray beside the table. The
table itself was metal and had agroove along the edge, with a hole
in the corner over the tub.He stared at the dark stains and the
grooves and the scratches on the surface, and swallowed the bile forcing its way

(22:49):
up his throat. He found thecoal tied up on a bed in the
next room, unconscious but alive.The cell phones ill in her pocket had
just enough power left to call thepolice. Brandon watched the workman he had
hired put the new cemetery gate inplace. Behind him, another crew was

(23:14):
replacing the stones in the newly modeyard, straightening them after cleaning them up,
scraping away years of mold to givenames back to those resting below them.
In some cases, records had beenconsulted and new stones were erected.
Brandon's account of his escape from theman the press had dubbed the Cannibal Killer

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had become a best seller, resultingin a fortune in book sales and a
lucrative series of lectures. The peopleburied in the cemetery had saved him,
putting on one last performance in aneffort to spur him on and then saving
him from the certain death at thehands of the giant after their efforts to
revive him had failed. Keeping theirmemory alive was the least he could do.

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As for the giant, all thatwas ever found of him was a
foot still lodged in an oversized boot. Nobody was able to identify for certain
the animal that had gnawed that footoff, but Brandon was certain if the
tooth marks had been properly examined bysomeone with the proper experience, it would
be revealed that the giant had beenkilled by a lion. Up next,

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we dig deep into the darkness withthe quiet ones intent on nurturing the most
delectable soil. By TM Morgan.I leaned back on the grass and watch

(25:03):
them. A few were overalls.One guy walks by wearing a bear skin
smock and nothing else, his whitehairy ass exposed when he passes. Some
carry pails of dark soil, likemy dad. I bet none have ever
been near a farm. I feelthe urge to grab one and shake sense
into them, but they are bedazzled. The mold has turned them into these

(25:29):
strange agrarians. It's obviously a lotmore complicated than that. But the frustration
is hard to stifle, or it'snot frustration at all, but fear.
Near By, a man and woman, each clothed in dirty jeans, t
shirts and green kitchen aprons marked withwhole foods in white letters, tidy a

(25:52):
spot they've dug and filled with pottingsoil. A wheelbarrow rests to their side,
a worn shovel leaned against that.The mound of darker soil bumps up
from the grass. They rest theirweight on their tibia's knees bent and gaze
in reverence at their creation. Isee no seedling. Maybe they've only begun

(26:15):
to carry out their plan. Thewoman is young, pretty dirty, blonde
hair freckles. Hard to say ifshe knew the guy before this, or
if they became enamored of the samespot. On the way back to the
office, I stop at a cornerstore for some smokes. Better'll watch out,
the clerk says in his thick NewEngland accent, handing me the pack.

(26:40):
They say, the molds got intothe tobacco crops. Yeah, thanks,
I say. The thing is,I know the risks just like everyone
else. Not that it will mattermuch soon enough. Besides, cigarettes are
making a comeback outside, leaned againsthis bodega wall, I taste the sweet

(27:03):
relief of the tobacco leaves, lettingthe smoke swirl in my mouth, before
inhaling all the way down. There'ssomething thrilling about that tartness, even more
so than the nicotine. A manstrolls past me with podding soil caked to
his face as if he had beeneating it, and nods as my cloud

(27:25):
of smoke drifts into him. Hishands are heavy with dirt, too,
dark half rings under the finger nailtips, while the nails themselves are nearly
black with the mold under the surface. I take my time walking home.
The weather is perfect, such ablue sky, lots of sun, a

(27:48):
touch of breeze. The sidewalks arefull. Kids ride their bikes and run
play ball. A grown man doessomersaults in the grass at Procter Park.
This is the first stage, whichsome people have remained at with no further
symptoms, not yet anyway. Itincludes a rejuvenation of what people have been

(28:08):
calling loving nature, akin to lovingkindness. If this were the only way
it affected us, we might callit a silver lining. But it is
not, and we do not atmy building. I find the three tailor
brothers there used to be four,passing a basketball to each other in front

(28:32):
of the stoop bounce pass, quickthrow, too high into the street.
An oncoming tesla quickly slows and stops, the driver asleep seth The oldest boy,
johns after the ball, and thecar drives itself off when he's clear.
Hey, mister Dallat, they saynearly in Unison, boys, how's

(28:56):
your mom? Josie Taylor has hadsad eyes whenever I've seen her in the
past week. Irises like black cupsof coffee. She's on the phone,
says, Reggie, your dad again. It's not the sort of assumptive thing
I'd ever say to her mom,But the boys don't notice. Don't know?

(29:18):
He says, she's crying, soprobably. I shrug, hiding the
concern. The boys go back topassing the ball, and I slip up
the steps. The building foyer smellsmusty, not a good sign. I'd
call the landlord about it, buthe never did anything, even in the
best of times. At the thirdfloor hallway, I put an ear to

(29:41):
the tailor door, complete silence.The urge to knock is so strong that
I clench my fist. My intentionsare impure. I'm thinking about taking her
in my arms and kissing her.I head back up the next flight to
my fourth floor apartment. Cable newsis once again dominated by angry talking heads.

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That hasn't changed through this slow movingapocalypse. For some reason, the
primary reaction I have when people discussit is shame. I want to hide
from it, and wherever I turn, it's there. So I fill myself
with the idea that though everything isfucked up, I can make the world
small, as tiny as the crevicein cupped hands. Yes, the threat

(30:29):
is real, an older blond womanshouts, but the crazed reaction of Democrats
is just another of their socialist attackson capitalism. Her eyes bug out so
weirdly that I think she must beon acid. The liberals on the panel
jerked back in full horror. Thisisn't global warming, Lanna, one of

(30:52):
them, a young Latina, saysdrolly, not realizing she's just unintentionally shit
on global warming. And older manis wearing a straw hat and overalls on
otherwise bare shoulders. Maybe they neededa token Moldy, but he looks ridiculous.
A short length of hay even jutsfrom the corner of his mouth.

(31:12):
I change the channel before more shoutingerupts. Discovery has a show about the
meteor and the scientists who first investigatedit, poor bastards. After a commercial
break, they display projections for thefate of humanity. The curved graph bends
sharply upward, its peak, coincidingwith a date within the next two months.

(31:37):
I turn off the TV. Twosnowbirds tweet in the tree next to
my kitchen window. The little kitchenettetable for two pushes against the low frame
a rusted fire escape just beyond.I watched the white breasted song lings hop
from branch to branch and wonder ifbirds have empathy, and decide this is

(31:57):
doubtful. My cell vibrates Mom.I let her go to voicemail. Last
we talked, Dad had taken tosleeping on his dirt pile. I quickly
stream some music. It shuffles tomy classical channel and starts right off with
Debussy's Prelude to the Afternoon of aFawn. It transports me far and deep,

(32:22):
until I imagine I'm looking through theeyes of one of the birds.
The ground glows red with squiggly lines, which I realize are the heat signatures
of worms burrowing through the top soil. Wind currants rustle the leaves. The
scent of pollen is overpowering. Thepiece ends so softly that I linger in

(32:44):
my meditative state. My tea kettle'swhistle alerts me back i'd forgotten. I
turned on the burner, camomile teamade. I grasped the cup with both
hands to feel the warmth. Thebrown spotches or my thumbnails are right in
my face. Sip turned to lookoutside. I need a lemon wage for

(33:07):
this tea. More music and meditation, another cup of tea. After my
heart beat so fast, I can'thelp but focus on its intense pulse.
The birds, I think, andthe wind, the pollen and bees seeds
and those curling sprouts. I putmy tea cup in the sink and drop

(33:30):
the lemon wage into the coffee canon the counter. A peek inside the
growing heap will be a good startto my compost. Mom coughs rather than
cries. It's an involuntary reaction she'salways had through the phone, though it's
hard to tell the difference. James, why can't you come home? I

(33:54):
gulp down whatever. My first thoughtis, no planes are flying, Mom.
I can't drive across the country.It would take me weeks. Gas
stations are closing. It's not likeit used to be. What about a
bus? Sarah Watkins daughter took abus home from Chicago. Do you need
money? I can wire some toyou. Wire some money. I wonder

(34:17):
if banks still do that. Onthe street below, the tailor boys are
screaming, not in a fighting way, but in a pubescent boy adhd way.
Their easy routiness makes me smile,though I'm trying to be distracted.
No money, Mom, Look I'min Boston. The bus would take weeks
too. Any driving would be risky. I wish I could come. I

(34:43):
know you need my help with Dad. Her sigh nearly breaks me. It
points an accusing finger at me.I understand, to be honest, it
won't last another week anyway. Thesilence carries a heavyweight. I want to
talk to dad. No, whatI want is to hold his hand,

(35:05):
look in his eyes, and shakehim. Mom slouches at her kitchen table,
without her even speaking. I canpicture it, Mom, I love
you. I'll try to figure somethingout. She pauses these long silences from
her are unusual. Her overeager nervousnessalways has her mouth moving, filling every

(35:29):
empty space. I taste dirt,James, as soon as I wake up
in the morning, like during thenight, someone has dribbled it into my
mouth. She starts to cry quietly. My own tongue has tasted like it's
slimed with mud for the last fewdays. It's made eating a chore rather

(35:50):
than a pleasure. Have you triedplanting your teeth? What she says incredulously
brushing. I'm to snap back,realizing my slip. Brushing your teeth.
That should help. Another excruciating pause. I wonder if she's blanking out as

(36:10):
well. The two of us graspingin the dark for each other, three
thousand miles apart, and our wordscarried on digital currents. Such a long
break in conversation an emptiness akin tolistening to the wind. Mom, I
love you too. Go on now, I've taken up too much of your

(36:34):
time. Before I can answer,she calls out, Bruce, no,
no, don't lay in it,please, dear come. The line cuts
off. It's like reaching from aboat edge to a drowning person, only
to watch them disappear into the waves. Calling back would do no good.

(36:54):
Mom has carried the curse of empathyher whole life, and she's decided to
let me be, to let eachof us be. Around ten o'clock and
knock rattles my door, not loud, not belligerent, but timid, like
tree limbs brushing against the side ofa house. In the peep hole.

(37:15):
Josie Taylor bites her lip and triesnot to stare directly ahead, and takes
several deep breaths and open the door. She wears a white sleeveless blouse with
a rounded black collar. Tight jeansgrip her legs all the way to the
ankles. Her head bends down sothat her black hair hides her face.

(37:37):
My gut tightens and then releases fastin spasms. James, I swallow hard,
Josie, do you want to comein? She hesitates, though with
obvious agitated energy bustling through her Yes. I let her go first down the

(37:59):
short hallway to the living room.My apartment isn't much. Kitchen opposite the
front door, short all tiny bathroom, living room, bedroom. My furniture
is an accumulation of things inherited andpurchased items made of thin fabric over cheap
wood. She takes the same spoton the couch she did the last time

(38:20):
she was here, and I ploppedbeside her as I did before. Listen,
she says, glancing up with thosefathomless eyes. I've missed you.
I'm sorry I haven't responded. Iunderstand. She shakes her head. No,
you don't, especially with everything goingon. It was cruel of me.

(38:40):
I said things in the heat ofthe moment that I know gave you
a different impression. It's just youdon't need to explain. I take her
hand. Her fingernails show brown streaksunderneath them. I know for a fact
they weren't there the week before whenmy lips kissed her finger tips. It

(39:00):
occurs to me that one of usmight have infected the other, but that
doesn't bother me. The mold isin everything now. One way or another,
it'll get all of us. Icame to ask you something, though
your opinion, sure, anything,I say, Then she immediately begins to

(39:23):
cry. I squeeze her hand sosoft, like a bundle of moss.
I still have him in the apartment. I wanted to know if I should
take him somewhere else outside. Iguess what does Jimmy think? It still
feels awkward to say her husband's nameout loud. Jimmy can't face it.

(39:45):
He won't travel back here. Hesays, it's too difficult, that the
interstates are in bad shape. Isaid, but these are your sons.
I think maybe he doesn't have longhimself. I nod. Don't reveal my
own shame at using the same excuses. That's hard, then, could I

(40:07):
see, Ben? Would you allowthat? A shiver runs down her arm
and transfers to me. It's akinetic shock, like when someone has shuffled
across carpet and pushed out their finger, except this is more a slow wave,
sensual, almost communication of a kind. We both sensed the connection.

(40:29):
Both see the brown spotches under ournails shift and swirl. What's going to
happen to my boys? What?James, I've no one to give them
to. Do you understand? Iwas going to ask you? We embrace?
I would say, I let hersob on my shoulder, but I'm

(40:51):
doing plenty myself. Her neck bendso gracefully, lilting soft. The scent
of lavender wafts from her hair,her body heat flames against my cheek.
We'll figure something out. Let's seewhat we can do about Ben. I
stand and lead her. Rentant weightfights me, but only slightly. It

(41:15):
is less hesitation than weariness. Outmy door, down the stairs, the
landing's bulb of fazing with a tensestrobe, a mouse skittering in its magical
way down what must be giant steps. Thank you, she says when we
are at her door. It isnot so much a thank you as a

(41:35):
sigh of relief. What are theboys doing in bed? Despite appearances?
I manage to be a good mom. I kiss her. There's little passion
in it, more come passion.It soothes both of us, like something
needing to be done and put outof the way. She slides in her

(41:59):
key a gentle click. Where insideher layout mimics mine, but her furnishings
are one economic class higher foe Leathertables that don't wabble, bookshelves that hold
actual books rather than junk. She'sright, she has been a good mom

(42:19):
despite everything. Her apartment is tidyand even inviting the brothers think the youngest
Ben went with their dad to visithis family. Her world is a shambles.
It's them. She's still the bestmom in here, she says.
The one difference in her apartment comparedto mine is a second bedroom to the

(42:42):
left of the living room. Theboys must share a bedroom. I've never
seen her bedroom, and being ledin this way is comfortably intimate. Once
inside that sanctuary, I'm happy tofind it's packed with personality. A thin
bed cover shows a woman in medication, each of her chakra points glowing a
different color. Beads hang on thewall as a substitute to a headboard for

(43:07):
the bed. Three lava lamps bubbleand cycle through different colors. Bookshelves otherwise
fill every wall, crammed with books, incense burners, wooden and bronze sculptures,
smiling cement buddhas as book ends.The smell isnog, chompa and sage.

(43:28):
On the open window's ledge, afoot tall plant grows from a pot,
plain looking with several tendrils of thingreen leaves. It is not any
kind of house plant. That's him, She points at the plant. I
suspect Ben gets a lot of sunlightin this east facing window, and that
he will outgrow that pot quickly tearsfill the edges of my eyes. I

(43:53):
hope the transition wasn't painful. Thenews keeps saying it's not. But how
would the doctors know. The stagesfrom flesh and blubber to cellulose and chloroplasts
don't allow the victim any detailed narration. At that point, a gelatinous cocoon
has wrapped them. I release herhand and walked to the window sill,

(44:15):
putting out a finger to stroke oneof Ben's leaves. Oh no, she
moves quickly to grab my wrist.He's poisoned. Sumac. The image of
her peeling away the layers of theshriveled cocoon to find the sapling inside,
and then fill the pot with soiland gently mounded over his roots. It's

(44:37):
too much to think that she's beenlooking at him as she falls asleep and
then wakes again. Each day weembrace like a couple beside their infant's crib.
Tomorrow it's all I can manage tosay, do you want to sleep
here? A wave of shame again. It's made me at hadn't heard about

(45:01):
that one in all the reports.She grasps my hands again, that current
between us. Just sleep, Letme curl into you. I'm gone before
the boys wait for school. Howand why school still goes on as a
mystery to me, Though I stillgo to work, well, did go

(45:25):
to work starting today. There isn'tmuch sense in it anymore. Josie arrives
at my door with Ben. Oncethey're gone, I make coffee. Ben
sits between us atop my little kitchenette. I can see why she smiles rather
than cries in his presence. It'slike a wave of energy emanates, as

(45:47):
if he's still there somehow. Ipull up the text message my mom sent
early this morning and show it toJosie. She gasps, is that your
dad? I work up half smile. Yes, I'm not sure where mom
got that glass case. It remindsme of the one from Beauty and the

(46:07):
Beast. Josie actually laughs at that, right the cursed rose. She hands
me back the phone. I takeanother look at the picture, A stiff
dandelion head, thick with puffed seeds. I can make out my mother's reflection
in the curved glass phone pushed close. You must have opened in the night

(46:30):
and half buried himself in his moundin the yard. He did her a
favor she says, such innocence inher face. I again picture her pulling
apart Ben's cocoon to plant his seedling. Are you okay? Funny? Since

(46:50):
I saw the text, I'm relievedjust that Mom's alone. Now I feel
like I should be upset about thatus how to take care of herself.
Her tone implies more hope than certainty. We take our time with the coffee,
no rush, another sunny day,blue as an ocean above us,

(47:14):
the song lings dance, and thetree again. Once we decide to leave,
I carry Ben, and once wereach the store, we switch so
that I can carry the shovel andbag of potting soil we've purchased. Her
choice is de Laney Park. Eventhough it's a half hour walk, it
passes by in an instant. Suddenlywe're crossing within the line of trees,

(47:37):
taking careful steps through the undergrowth,and making our way to a little clearing
with ample sun. Do you minddigging? I take the shovel. Soon
we're bent over Ben's spot, eachpatting at the mound. It's so soothing,
that feel of cool soil. Theimportant part is to craft the perfect

(48:00):
shape. When my hands are thickwith wet, black dirt. I wipe
them on my t shirt. Josiechooses her pants. We only used a
third of the bag. We shouldmake another mound, she says, excitedly.
I can only smile because she's right. I dig another round hole.

(48:20):
She pours the soil in carefully.That sun is perfect directly overhead, now
as warm as the womb. Whenshe starts patting down the dome of soil,
I kneel and help our shadows shiftaround us, even though no time
seems to pass. Each time Itouched the dirt, I stopped to admire

(48:42):
the work. Then must touch itagain. A worm wriggles through the grass
near my leg as delicately as possible, with my fingers barely grazing its flesh.
I pinch it up, scoop acubby into the soil, place it
inside, and move over the top. That is so beautiful, James,

(49:05):
Yes, I think it really is. Thank you for listening to episode number

(49:36):
twelve oh one. Today's authors werelamont A Turner with his tale One Last
Performance in GiB Town, and TimMorgan with his tale The Quiet Ones intent
on nurturing the most delectable soil.Today's stories were told by Graham Rowitt.
I'm Daniel Foytek and I've been yourhost today. If you'd like to find

(49:57):
out more about my work, youcan check out ninth Story dot com,
Victoria'slift dot com, or follow meon Twitter at Defoytech. Our resident composer
and executive producer is Nicovites of WeTalk of Dreams. Artwork for today's episode
was created by Greg Schaefer. Ourproducers are Meg Williams and Daniel Foytech.
To find out more about The WickedLibrary and our other shows, visit the

(50:19):
Wicked Library dot com and ninth Storydot com. If you'd like to help
us continue to bring you our collectionof dark tales, please consider supporting us
on Patreon at patreon dot com forwardslash Wicked Library. You can also help
us by leaving a five star ratingand short review on Apple Podcasts. These
ratings and reviews help other listeners findthe show, which helps us generate revenue

(50:42):
to enshort. No one contributing toour show works for free. The Wicked
Library is created by Ninth Story StudiosLLLC. All rights reserved.

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