October 29, 2023 • 23 mins
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Support the show on Patreon for as little as $3 / month. Hear stories first for $5 / month.
Welcome to Season 12 episode 1205.Today, as part of a Wicked celebration of Halloween, enjoy the first of three collections of Wicked Campfire Tales.
If at any time a story takes you to a place too dark, turn on the lights, press pause, or press stop. And always remember, that unlike in the real world, these nightmares, and your participation in them, are under your control.
Producers: Daniel Foytik & Meg Williams
Resident Composer & Executive Producer: Nico Vettese, at The Inky Pawprint
Hosted by: Daniel Foytik
Artwork: Greg Shaffer
Score & Incidental Music: Nico Vettese at The Inky Pawprint
Main Theme: “The Library Awakens” Nico Vettese
Final Audio Mix: Daniel Foytik, 9th Story Studios LLC
FX: freesound.org
Get your copy of The Wicked Library Presents: 13 Wicked Tales on Kindle, or in print. Visit thewickedlibrary.com/read to get your copy today.
Get your copy of The Lift, 9 Stories of Transformation Volume One on Kindle, or in print. Visit victoriaslift.com/read to get your copy today.
The Wicked Library is created by 9th Story Studios LLC: www.9thstory.com
Audio program ©2023 – 9th Story Studios LLC. All Rights Reserved.
No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of 9th Story Studios LLC. The copyrights for stories are held by the respective authors.
Support the show on Patreon for as little as $3 / month. Hear stories first for $5 / month.
Welcome to Season 12 episode 1205.Today, as part of a Wicked celebration of Halloween, enjoy the first of three collections of Wicked Campfire Tales.
- “The Devil and Jack”, by Myk Pilgrim. Told by Daniel Foytik.
- “For Love of The Dark Ones”, by Victoria C. Blackthorne. Told by Daniel Foytik.
- “It Has A Way Of Messing With You Too”, by Caitlin Marceau. Told by Daniel Foytik.
If at any time a story takes you to a place too dark, turn on the lights, press pause, or press stop. And always remember, that unlike in the real world, these nightmares, and your participation in them, are under your control.
Producers: Daniel Foytik & Meg Williams
Resident Composer & Executive Producer: Nico Vettese, at The Inky Pawprint
Hosted by: Daniel Foytik
Artwork: Greg Shaffer
Score & Incidental Music: Nico Vettese at The Inky Pawprint
Main Theme: “The Library Awakens” Nico Vettese
Final Audio Mix: Daniel Foytik, 9th Story Studios LLC
FX: freesound.org
Get your copy of The Wicked Library Presents: 13 Wicked Tales on Kindle, or in print. Visit thewickedlibrary.com/read to get your copy today.
Get your copy of The Lift, 9 Stories of Transformation Volume One on Kindle, or in print. Visit victoriaslift.com/read to get your copy today.
The Wicked Library is created by 9th Story Studios LLC: www.9thstory.com
Audio program ©2023 – 9th Story Studios LLC. All Rights Reserved.
No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of 9th Story Studios LLC. The copyrights for stories are held by the respective authors.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:04):
Nine Story Studios, King Story aVoice, Believe nothing you hear, and
only one half that you see.Edgar Allan Poe. This is Jessica macavoy
and you're listening to The Wicked Library. Warning. The Wicked Library is a
(00:39):
horror fiction podcast created for a matureaudience. Our stories contain graphic descriptions of
pain, murder, violence, blood, betrayal, and inhumanity. Monsters win,
people die, and hope is oftenshattered. There is also beauty,
heart, catharsis, and raw emotion. Fear may be deeply personal, but
(01:03):
we all share it. If atany time a story takes you to a
place too dark, turn on thelights, press pause, or press stop,
and always remember that, unlike inthe real world, these nightmares and
your participation in them, are underyour control. Welcome back to The Wicked
(01:37):
Library. I'm Daniel Foytek, andI thank you for listening. A sincere
thank you to those of you whoare supporting the show. Without you,
this show would not be possible.When you support the show, you can
choose between ad free episodes, earlyaccess to the stories, and at higher
levels of support you'll get premiere accessto end Field Detective Agency currently in production.
That's right, Frank is back into your ears soon. You can
(02:00):
support the show at Patreon dot comforward slash Wicked Library. Today we present
the first of three special episodes forHalloween, featuring stories by Mike Pilgrim,
Victoria C. Blackthorne, and CaitlinMarceau. There's something special about spooky tales
told around to campfire, So bundleup, gather around, and grab a
(02:22):
cup of hot apple cider or somethinga little stronger for Volume one of Wicked
Campfire Tales, and check back tomorrowfor volume two. Sh The Devil and
(03:22):
Jack by Mike Pilgrim. Jack wasa bastard, a real bastard, as
the story goes, an irishman ofthe old Country. He liked nothing better
than trickery, drinking, gambling,and all the things that follow trickery,
drinking and gambling, if you catchmy meaning. On the day of Jack's
(03:44):
appointed death, the Devil came tothe bar to collect the soul rightly owed
him. Thinking quickly, Jack askedif he could at least finish his drink
before being dragged off to hell forall eternity. Scratch, being a fellow
of good humor, obliged him foras we all know, forever is a
very very long time. Indeed,they spoke while they drank, until at
(04:11):
last the Irishman began to question thevalidity of the Devil's power. Jack dared
the devil goaded him to prove hismight by transforming into a silver coin Satan,
being a creature of considerable pride andnever one to be belittled by a
mortal, instantly shifted form, Jackwatched the shining devil coin as it spun
(04:35):
on the counter. Then, beforeit even had a chance to fall flat,
he snatched it up in a scarredhand. He smirked at the cross
shaped scar which held the angel lockedwithin his grasp, and then he ordered
another drink as he mocked the devil'sstupidity, then another and another. After
(04:59):
a time, Lucifer agreed to giveJack another year of life in exchange for
his freedom, He would return tocollect Jack's soul the following Halloween. Jack
squandered his year, swearing he wouldrepent his evils only on his deathbed and
outwit the devil one final time.When Lucifer returned, Jack challenged him to
(05:23):
a game of dice. The devil, who has never passed up the opportunity
to play dice very quickly took thegame, even though the dice were of
Jack's own design, But a scratchloomed. To collect his winnings, Jack
threw the dice again. They yieldedtwo threes and landed in such a way
(05:44):
as to make a tea cross onthe table. The Christ sign crippled the
angel for a second time, forcinghim to grant the conniving Irishman yet another
year of life. Cursing and bitterin his defeat, Satan vanished in a
cloud of sulfurous smoke. Jack wasnever the kind of man to waste an
(06:05):
opportunity. He lived hard that year, and gambled harder. He indulged himself
in any vice that would have him, and forced himself on those that would
not. Despite all his trickery,Jack dropped dead without warning in the seeping
blackness of the nether world. Thedevil was nowhere to be seen. Jack
(06:29):
was alone in the dark after aseeming eternity. Navigating his way through the
creeping dark of the Spirit Realm,Jack saw a light and followed it to
the gates of Paradise. No soonerhad he arrived than the angel and attendant
showed him away that chased him backinto the dark, poking at the dead
irishman with a flaming sword, Jackscreamed in pain as he fled back into
(06:56):
the shadows. Every step in theswirling pitch unsettling and yet more blackness.
The creatures that dwelled within the shadesfollowed him, hungry and silent. Jack
heard the weeping and wailing long beforehe saw the infernal gates. Lucifer smiled,
a smile such as Jack had neverseen, as he too, refused
(07:19):
him entry. Jack cried, buthe had no tears. He shrieked,
and he begged, although it didnothing to slow the heavy darkness, which
was fast closing in around him.Hungrily, what will I do? How
can I see? Please, myLord morning Stock, please help me,
(07:41):
please, please please. Bored withall the begging, the dark angel threw
a burning coal at him. Takenby surprise, Jack caught it in both
hands. The ember hissed. Itseared away the flesh of his fingers and
burnt through bone before it crashed ontothe ground. Lucifer laughed as Jack writhed
(08:03):
and cursed him. Things circling inthe dark also issued coughing chuckles, which
echoed like snapping bone. Eventually,Satan tired of the spectacle and withdrew back
to his charge of the circles beyondthe gates. The things in the dark
again drew silent. Jack's eyes couldnot see them scuttling all around him,
(08:28):
but he felt their gaze. Unableto cry, Jack scrambled blindly through the
thick shadows for the longest time.His aching fingers eventually found something round growing
in the dirts. He knew itby smell. Shattering a fingertip, he
(08:48):
used the freshly sheared bone to hallowthe turnipout. Jack carved the holes of
a face into its flesh so hewould not feel so alone that he tipped
the damned coal inside. Jack haswandered the dark space between ever since,
(09:09):
with a throat that cannot drink,a belly that cannot eat, and lips
that cannot kiss, although it hasnever stopped him from trying for love of
(09:39):
the dark ones. By Victorious Blackthorn. On a cold fall night, deep
in the woods of the ancient Appellachians, as the mountains swallowed the sun and
blackness bled through the trees, anold man with tattered clothes and time worn
eyes, stumbled into a camp ofhunters. He told them he was not
(10:01):
from these parts and had become disorientedby how early the sun sets in those
mountains, losing his way back tohis camp. The hunters nodded, understanding,
and invited the stranger to join themby their campfire, and poured him
some coffee and whisky to help wardoff the cold. As he sat sipping
(10:22):
his drink, warming his hands,he thanked them and offered to tell them
a story that would send shivers downtheir spines in exchange for their hospitality.
So the old man, once warmedby the fire the rich coffee and good
whisky, began to weave his eerietail, his voice a raspy whisper that
(10:43):
seemed to echo through the woods.Eons ago, he began these woods,
this very land. It was adifferent place, my friends. Dark force
is ancient and malevolent, lurked justbeyond the veil of reality, waiting for
(11:07):
an opportunity to cross over. Inthose days, this place sat at the
threshold between one reality and another.That other, darker reality was sown from
the fabric of the original dark Cosmos. Before what you see around you had
(11:30):
been fashioned into existence. That olderoriginal reality, being a place of endless
shadows and darkness, can only bleedthrough the veil into this world when the
sun is hidden beyond the ridge ofthose ancient mountains. The hunters exchanged anxious
(11:54):
looks and leaned in closer with anticipation, as the old man's voice cantinued to
carry the tail you see back then, I was not the man you see
before you. I was something else, something quite beyond your comprehension. I
(12:16):
practiced at fashioning things from the darkthreads of the universe. Like any new
craftsman, I faltered and failed moretimes than I succeeded. The things I
wove and wrought from the ether hada great hunger. They were malevolent and
(12:39):
thrilled at creating terror and chaos.Undeterred, I worked on new patterns.
I created many things, marvelous andterrible, but they all hungered, and
nothing I forged from darkness could satetheir terrible desires. Many, many trials
(13:05):
later, I found a way tocrush the darkness to a point so dense
that it created something new. Light. The old Man's eyes glistened in the
firelight as he continued. Reflected flamesdanced unnaturally across their surface. But I
(13:30):
did not create the universe out ofbenevolence. It was a twisted design,
the cosmic experiment, designed to feedthe insatiable hunger of entities that I had
created Before the birth of this universe. My creatures thrived on devouring light,
(13:54):
the essence of life, and Ihad crafted a cruel and endless buffet for
them. As he spoke, thewoods around them seemed to transform, the
moonlight dimming and the air growing heavywith an unnatural chill that the fire couldn't
vanish. Shadows deepened, and theatmosphere became suffused with a palpable sense of
(14:20):
dread. It was as if adark portal had opened to a world beyond,
and the very fabric of reality beganto unravel. The old man's voice
carried on an unsettling mixture of regretsand malevolence. My creation was a perfect
(14:45):
prison. You see, life inall its forms was the offering to these
ancient beings, a never ending feast, and they have feasted on the essence
of life since time immemorial. Thecampfire's glowed dimmed further, and a sinister
presence seemed to loom just beyond thefirelight. The old Man's gaze bore into
(15:09):
the hunters as he revealed the mostchilling truth of all tonight, in these
very woods, you are the offering. With a horrific hiss, the dark
entities emerged from the shadows, theirgrotesque forms twisting the very fabric of our
(15:33):
reality as it strained to contain themwithin our three dimensions. Bony fingers stretched
out, and they descended upon thehunters. The air was filled with the
hunter's anguished cries as their life forceswere extinguished, their souls devoured by the
very forces that the old Man hadcreated. The old Man rose from his
(15:58):
seat and fear finish the last ofhis whisky, a sinister, malevolent grin
on his face. His mission wascomplete, and for a while at least,
this sacrificial offering to his first childrenhad sated their appetite. As the
old Man walked into the luminal spacebetween our reality and the vast darkness,
(16:22):
the creatures followed, retreating to theother side of the portal, leaving no
trace of the hunters behind. Thewoods return to their normal state, as
if nothing had ever happened. Butsometime soon, around another campfire, an
old man will come forth, seekingwarm coffee, good whisky, and bringing
(16:48):
with him a tale of dark thingsthat wait closer to that exceedingly thin veil
than you think. It has away of messing with you too. By
(17:15):
Caitlin Marceau. I remember the endof August in ninety seven like it happened
just yesterday, even though it's beenmore than twenty years since it came and
went. The sun was hot,but the wind was cool, the final
days of summer bleeding into the firstdays of fall. I could feel her
(17:37):
eyes on the back of my headas I dragged my pocket knife across the
top rail of the back porch,severing one of the spider's spindly legs from
its inky black body. As Iwaited for my dad to get home from
the factory. You should leave italone, she told me sternly. When
you mess with nature, it hasa way of messing with you two.
(18:00):
I waved her off with a handand dragged the pen knife back across the
spider's path, slicing off another oneof its legs in the process. I
watched its struggle to get away,its progress slow and unsteady before stabbing the
metal tip of my small weapon throughits body, pinning it to the wooden
(18:21):
banister like a butterfly to a corkboard. I didn't know it at the time,
but I had anchored myself to thatmoment too. The rest of the
night passed uneventfully. My dad camehome from work, We ate dinner as
a family, and I watched rerunsof sitcoms in my pajamas. Once my
eyes started closing on their own volition, my parents sent me to bed,
(18:45):
and I was eager to obey.As I stared up, my eyelids getting
heavy, I saw it scuttle acrossmy ceiling, a spider. I jumped
out of bed and called for mydad to get it, worried that it
was going to decide to jump inmy hair or crawl in my mouth.
He grumbled all the way upstairs andcomplained even louder when, after he turned
(19:10):
the lights on, neither of uscould find the bug. Eventually, he
made his way back down to theliving room, and I tried to fall
asleep, convinced that it had beenmy imagination. As soon as my head
hit the pillow, the spider wasback, only this time the eract and
was hanging several inches above my face. I realized with a start that it
(19:33):
was missing several of its legs.I bellowed for my dad, terrified the
force of my breath would be enoughto knock it off its web and onto
me, but it clung to thethin strip of white as it watched me.
My dad barged in and threw thelights on, not hiding his annoyance
at missing the opening monolog from hisfavorite late night TV host. He loomed
(19:57):
over me, frowning as I whiteknuckled the bed frame. Get it,
I begged, Get what he asked. I gestured to the spider hanging in
front of my face, but hejust shook his head. There's nothing there,
kiddo. Now go to bed.But Dad, it's right if you
see it again, take care ofit yourself. He headed back to my
(20:21):
mother in the living room, turningoff the lights as he left. The
second he was gone, the spidercontinued its descent. I swatted at the
bug, but my hands just passedthrough it as it journeyed towards me.
I could feel its ice cold legson my flushed skin, but I couldn't
(20:42):
touch it. As I screamed andcried, I noticed them, a hundred
black dots crawling across my ceiling.I threw the covers off and slammed on
the light, not understanding how therays of the fluorescent bulb passed through the
translucent bodies of a million tiny spidersthat weren't really there. I stayed awake
(21:07):
all through the night, waiting forthe swarm to go away. But they
never did, not that night,or the one after, or the one
after that. Even now, Ican see them the campfire, casting shadows
on their bodies on the trees aroundme. I can feel them, their
(21:32):
wispy legs against my skin as theywrithe and wiggle under the collar of my
shirt, their bodies crunching underfoot whenI walk, and getting caught between my
teeth when I eat. Not thatanyone ever notices them but me. I
wish i'd listened to my mom.I wish I'd known that when you mess
(21:56):
with nature, it has a wayof messing with you too. Thank you
(22:19):
for listening to episode number twelve ohfive. Today's authors were Mike Pilgrim,
Victoria C. Blackthorne, and CaitlinMarceau. Today's stories We're told by Daniel
Fluytec. That's me and it's beenmy pleasure to be your host today.
Our resident composer and executive producer isNiko Vitees at the Inky Pop Print.
Artwork for today's episode was created byGreg Schaeffer. Our producers are Meg Williams
(22:42):
and Daniel Floytech. To find outmore about The Wicked Library and other Ninth
Story Studio shows, visit the Wickedlibrarydot com and ninth Story dot com.
If you'd like to hear your ownstory on The Wicked Library, submissions are
open. Check out our website formore details on recar requirements. To help
keep this collection of dark tales coming, please support The Wicked Library on Patreon
(23:04):
at Patreon dot com forward slash WickedLibrary. You can also help by leaving
a five star rating and short reviewin Apple Podcasts. The Wicked Library is
created by Ninth Story Studios LLC.All rights reserved.
Nine Story Studios, King Story aVoice, Believe nothing you hear, and
only one half that you see.Edgar Allan Poe. This is Jessica macavoy
and you're listening to The Wicked Library. Warning. The Wicked Library is a
(00:39):
horror fiction podcast created for a matureaudience. Our stories contain graphic descriptions of
pain, murder, violence, blood, betrayal, and inhumanity. Monsters win,
people die, and hope is oftenshattered. There is also beauty,
heart, catharsis, and raw emotion. Fear may be deeply personal, but
(01:03):
we all share it. If atany time a story takes you to a
place too dark, turn on thelights, press pause, or press stop,
and always remember that, unlike inthe real world, these nightmares and
your participation in them, are underyour control. Welcome back to The Wicked
(01:37):
Library. I'm Daniel Foytek, andI thank you for listening. A sincere
thank you to those of you whoare supporting the show. Without you,
this show would not be possible.When you support the show, you can
choose between ad free episodes, earlyaccess to the stories, and at higher
levels of support you'll get premiere accessto end Field Detective Agency currently in production.
That's right, Frank is back into your ears soon. You can
(02:00):
support the show at Patreon dot comforward slash Wicked Library. Today we present
the first of three special episodes forHalloween, featuring stories by Mike Pilgrim,
Victoria C. Blackthorne, and CaitlinMarceau. There's something special about spooky tales
told around to campfire, So bundleup, gather around, and grab a
(02:22):
cup of hot apple cider or somethinga little stronger for Volume one of Wicked
Campfire Tales, and check back tomorrowfor volume two. Sh The Devil and
(03:22):
Jack by Mike Pilgrim. Jack wasa bastard, a real bastard, as
the story goes, an irishman ofthe old Country. He liked nothing better
than trickery, drinking, gambling,and all the things that follow trickery,
drinking and gambling, if you catchmy meaning. On the day of Jack's
(03:44):
appointed death, the Devil came tothe bar to collect the soul rightly owed
him. Thinking quickly, Jack askedif he could at least finish his drink
before being dragged off to hell forall eternity. Scratch, being a fellow
of good humor, obliged him foras we all know, forever is a
very very long time. Indeed,they spoke while they drank, until at
(04:11):
last the Irishman began to question thevalidity of the Devil's power. Jack dared
the devil goaded him to prove hismight by transforming into a silver coin Satan,
being a creature of considerable pride andnever one to be belittled by a
mortal, instantly shifted form, Jackwatched the shining devil coin as it spun
(04:35):
on the counter. Then, beforeit even had a chance to fall flat,
he snatched it up in a scarredhand. He smirked at the cross
shaped scar which held the angel lockedwithin his grasp, and then he ordered
another drink as he mocked the devil'sstupidity, then another and another. After
(04:59):
a time, Lucifer agreed to giveJack another year of life in exchange for
his freedom, He would return tocollect Jack's soul the following Halloween. Jack
squandered his year, swearing he wouldrepent his evils only on his deathbed and
outwit the devil one final time.When Lucifer returned, Jack challenged him to
(05:23):
a game of dice. The devil, who has never passed up the opportunity
to play dice very quickly took thegame, even though the dice were of
Jack's own design, But a scratchloomed. To collect his winnings, Jack
threw the dice again. They yieldedtwo threes and landed in such a way
(05:44):
as to make a tea cross onthe table. The Christ sign crippled the
angel for a second time, forcinghim to grant the conniving Irishman yet another
year of life. Cursing and bitterin his defeat, Satan vanished in a
cloud of sulfurous smoke. Jack wasnever the kind of man to waste an
(06:05):
opportunity. He lived hard that year, and gambled harder. He indulged himself
in any vice that would have him, and forced himself on those that would
not. Despite all his trickery,Jack dropped dead without warning in the seeping
blackness of the nether world. Thedevil was nowhere to be seen. Jack
(06:29):
was alone in the dark after aseeming eternity. Navigating his way through the
creeping dark of the Spirit Realm,Jack saw a light and followed it to
the gates of Paradise. No soonerhad he arrived than the angel and attendant
showed him away that chased him backinto the dark, poking at the dead
irishman with a flaming sword, Jackscreamed in pain as he fled back into
(06:56):
the shadows. Every step in theswirling pitch unsettling and yet more blackness.
The creatures that dwelled within the shadesfollowed him, hungry and silent. Jack
heard the weeping and wailing long beforehe saw the infernal gates. Lucifer smiled,
a smile such as Jack had neverseen, as he too, refused
(07:19):
him entry. Jack cried, buthe had no tears. He shrieked,
and he begged, although it didnothing to slow the heavy darkness, which
was fast closing in around him.Hungrily, what will I do? How
can I see? Please, myLord morning Stock, please help me,
(07:41):
please, please please. Bored withall the begging, the dark angel threw
a burning coal at him. Takenby surprise, Jack caught it in both
hands. The ember hissed. Itseared away the flesh of his fingers and
burnt through bone before it crashed ontothe ground. Lucifer laughed as Jack writhed
(08:03):
and cursed him. Things circling inthe dark also issued coughing chuckles, which
echoed like snapping bone. Eventually,Satan tired of the spectacle and withdrew back
to his charge of the circles beyondthe gates. The things in the dark
again drew silent. Jack's eyes couldnot see them scuttling all around him,
(08:28):
but he felt their gaze. Unableto cry, Jack scrambled blindly through the
thick shadows for the longest time.His aching fingers eventually found something round growing
in the dirts. He knew itby smell. Shattering a fingertip, he
(08:48):
used the freshly sheared bone to hallowthe turnipout. Jack carved the holes of
a face into its flesh so hewould not feel so alone that he tipped
the damned coal inside. Jack haswandered the dark space between ever since,
(09:09):
with a throat that cannot drink,a belly that cannot eat, and lips
that cannot kiss, although it hasnever stopped him from trying for love of
(09:39):
the dark ones. By Victorious Blackthorn. On a cold fall night, deep
in the woods of the ancient Appellachians, as the mountains swallowed the sun and
blackness bled through the trees, anold man with tattered clothes and time worn
eyes, stumbled into a camp ofhunters. He told them he was not
(10:01):
from these parts and had become disorientedby how early the sun sets in those
mountains, losing his way back tohis camp. The hunters nodded, understanding,
and invited the stranger to join themby their campfire, and poured him
some coffee and whisky to help wardoff the cold. As he sat sipping
(10:22):
his drink, warming his hands,he thanked them and offered to tell them
a story that would send shivers downtheir spines in exchange for their hospitality.
So the old man, once warmedby the fire the rich coffee and good
whisky, began to weave his eerietail, his voice a raspy whisper that
(10:43):
seemed to echo through the woods.Eons ago, he began these woods,
this very land. It was adifferent place, my friends. Dark force
is ancient and malevolent, lurked justbeyond the veil of reality, waiting for
(11:07):
an opportunity to cross over. Inthose days, this place sat at the
threshold between one reality and another.That other, darker reality was sown from
the fabric of the original dark Cosmos. Before what you see around you had
(11:30):
been fashioned into existence. That olderoriginal reality, being a place of endless
shadows and darkness, can only bleedthrough the veil into this world when the
sun is hidden beyond the ridge ofthose ancient mountains. The hunters exchanged anxious
(11:54):
looks and leaned in closer with anticipation, as the old man's voice cantinued to
carry the tail you see back then, I was not the man you see
before you. I was something else, something quite beyond your comprehension. I
(12:16):
practiced at fashioning things from the darkthreads of the universe. Like any new
craftsman, I faltered and failed moretimes than I succeeded. The things I
wove and wrought from the ether hada great hunger. They were malevolent and
(12:39):
thrilled at creating terror and chaos.Undeterred, I worked on new patterns.
I created many things, marvelous andterrible, but they all hungered, and
nothing I forged from darkness could satetheir terrible desires. Many, many trials
(13:05):
later, I found a way tocrush the darkness to a point so dense
that it created something new. Light. The old Man's eyes glistened in the
firelight as he continued. Reflected flamesdanced unnaturally across their surface. But I
(13:30):
did not create the universe out ofbenevolence. It was a twisted design,
the cosmic experiment, designed to feedthe insatiable hunger of entities that I had
created Before the birth of this universe. My creatures thrived on devouring light,
(13:54):
the essence of life, and Ihad crafted a cruel and endless buffet for
them. As he spoke, thewoods around them seemed to transform, the
moonlight dimming and the air growing heavywith an unnatural chill that the fire couldn't
vanish. Shadows deepened, and theatmosphere became suffused with a palpable sense of
(14:20):
dread. It was as if adark portal had opened to a world beyond,
and the very fabric of reality beganto unravel. The old man's voice
carried on an unsettling mixture of regretsand malevolence. My creation was a perfect
(14:45):
prison. You see, life inall its forms was the offering to these
ancient beings, a never ending feast, and they have feasted on the essence
of life since time immemorial. Thecampfire's glowed dimmed further, and a sinister
presence seemed to loom just beyond thefirelight. The old Man's gaze bore into
(15:09):
the hunters as he revealed the mostchilling truth of all tonight, in these
very woods, you are the offering. With a horrific hiss, the dark
entities emerged from the shadows, theirgrotesque forms twisting the very fabric of our
(15:33):
reality as it strained to contain themwithin our three dimensions. Bony fingers stretched
out, and they descended upon thehunters. The air was filled with the
hunter's anguished cries as their life forceswere extinguished, their souls devoured by the
very forces that the old Man hadcreated. The old Man rose from his
(15:58):
seat and fear finish the last ofhis whisky, a sinister, malevolent grin
on his face. His mission wascomplete, and for a while at least,
this sacrificial offering to his first childrenhad sated their appetite. As the
old Man walked into the luminal spacebetween our reality and the vast darkness,
(16:22):
the creatures followed, retreating to theother side of the portal, leaving no
trace of the hunters behind. Thewoods return to their normal state, as
if nothing had ever happened. Butsometime soon, around another campfire, an
old man will come forth, seekingwarm coffee, good whisky, and bringing
(16:48):
with him a tale of dark thingsthat wait closer to that exceedingly thin veil
than you think. It has away of messing with you too. By
(17:15):
Caitlin Marceau. I remember the endof August in ninety seven like it happened
just yesterday, even though it's beenmore than twenty years since it came and
went. The sun was hot,but the wind was cool, the final
days of summer bleeding into the firstdays of fall. I could feel her
(17:37):
eyes on the back of my headas I dragged my pocket knife across the
top rail of the back porch,severing one of the spider's spindly legs from
its inky black body. As Iwaited for my dad to get home from
the factory. You should leave italone, she told me sternly. When
you mess with nature, it hasa way of messing with you two.
(18:00):
I waved her off with a handand dragged the pen knife back across the
spider's path, slicing off another oneof its legs in the process. I
watched its struggle to get away,its progress slow and unsteady before stabbing the
metal tip of my small weapon throughits body, pinning it to the wooden
(18:21):
banister like a butterfly to a corkboard. I didn't know it at the time,
but I had anchored myself to thatmoment too. The rest of the
night passed uneventfully. My dad camehome from work, We ate dinner as
a family, and I watched rerunsof sitcoms in my pajamas. Once my
eyes started closing on their own volition, my parents sent me to bed,
(18:45):
and I was eager to obey.As I stared up, my eyelids getting
heavy, I saw it scuttle acrossmy ceiling, a spider. I jumped
out of bed and called for mydad to get it, worried that it
was going to decide to jump inmy hair or crawl in my mouth.
He grumbled all the way upstairs andcomplained even louder when, after he turned
(19:10):
the lights on, neither of uscould find the bug. Eventually, he
made his way back down to theliving room, and I tried to fall
asleep, convinced that it had beenmy imagination. As soon as my head
hit the pillow, the spider wasback, only this time the eract and
was hanging several inches above my face. I realized with a start that it
(19:33):
was missing several of its legs.I bellowed for my dad, terrified the
force of my breath would be enoughto knock it off its web and onto
me, but it clung to thethin strip of white as it watched me.
My dad barged in and threw thelights on, not hiding his annoyance
at missing the opening monolog from hisfavorite late night TV host. He loomed
(19:57):
over me, frowning as I whiteknuckled the bed frame. Get it,
I begged, Get what he asked. I gestured to the spider hanging in
front of my face, but hejust shook his head. There's nothing there,
kiddo. Now go to bed.But Dad, it's right if you
see it again, take care ofit yourself. He headed back to my
(20:21):
mother in the living room, turningoff the lights as he left. The
second he was gone, the spidercontinued its descent. I swatted at the
bug, but my hands just passedthrough it as it journeyed towards me.
I could feel its ice cold legson my flushed skin, but I couldn't
(20:42):
touch it. As I screamed andcried, I noticed them, a hundred
black dots crawling across my ceiling.I threw the covers off and slammed on
the light, not understanding how therays of the fluorescent bulb passed through the
translucent bodies of a million tiny spidersthat weren't really there. I stayed awake
(21:07):
all through the night, waiting forthe swarm to go away. But they
never did, not that night,or the one after, or the one
after that. Even now, Ican see them the campfire, casting shadows
on their bodies on the trees aroundme. I can feel them, their
(21:32):
wispy legs against my skin as theywrithe and wiggle under the collar of my
shirt, their bodies crunching underfoot whenI walk, and getting caught between my
teeth when I eat. Not thatanyone ever notices them but me. I
wish i'd listened to my mom.I wish I'd known that when you mess
(21:56):
with nature, it has a wayof messing with you too. Thank you
(22:19):
for listening to episode number twelve ohfive. Today's authors were Mike Pilgrim,
Victoria C. Blackthorne, and CaitlinMarceau. Today's stories We're told by Daniel
Fluytec. That's me and it's beenmy pleasure to be your host today.
Our resident composer and executive producer isNiko Vitees at the Inky Pop Print.
Artwork for today's episode was created byGreg Schaeffer. Our producers are Meg Williams
(22:42):
and Daniel Floytech. To find outmore about The Wicked Library and other Ninth
Story Studio shows, visit the Wickedlibrarydot com and ninth Story dot com.
If you'd like to hear your ownstory on The Wicked Library, submissions are
open. Check out our website formore details on recar requirements. To help
keep this collection of dark tales coming, please support The Wicked Library on Patreon
(23:04):
at Patreon dot com forward slash WickedLibrary. You can also help by leaving
a five star rating and short reviewin Apple Podcasts. The Wicked Library is
created by Ninth Story Studios LLC.All rights reserved.
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