TWL 1206: Wicked Campfire Tales, Volume Two

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Welcome to Season 12 episode 1206. Today, as part of a Wicked celebration of Halloween, enjoy the second of three collections of Wicked Campfire Tales.

• “Kindling”, by Christopher Long. Told by David Ault.
• “The Coffin”, by LB Waltz. Told by Daniel Foytik.
• “Slice the Thread”, by Mel. Told by Daniel Foytik.

Warning: The Wicked Library is a horror fiction podcast created for a mature audience. Our stories contain graphic descriptions of pain, murder, violence, blood, betrayal, and inhumanity; monsters win, people die, and hope is often shattered. There is also beauty, heart, catharsis, and raw emotion. Fear may be deeply personal, but we all share it. 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.

Episode Transcript

(00:04):
Bright Story Studios Gain Story a Voice. I'm David Olt and you're listening to
The Wicked Library. Warning. TheWicked Library is a horror fiction podcast creted

(00:39):
for a mature 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 it.

(01:03):
If at any time a story takesyou to a place too dark,
turn on the lights, press pauseor press stop, and always remember that,
unlike in the real world, thesenightmares and your participation in them,
are under your control. Welcome backto the Wicked Library. I'm Daniel Foytek,

(01:40):
and I thank you for listening.Before we get started today, just
a quick thank you to those ofyou who are supporting the show. Without
your support, this show would notbe possible. If you're not yet supporting
the show and you'd like to doso, you can do that at patreon
dot com forward slash Wicked Library.Today we present the second of three special
episodes for Halloween. Today's episode featuresstories by l B Waltz, Christopher Long

(02:06):
and mel Continuing our theme, thesetales are told in the style of sitting
around a campfire and listening to spookytales. So bundle up, gather around
the fire, and sit back withsome hot apple cider or something a little
stronger for volume two of Wicked CampfireTales, and check back tomorrow Halloween for

(02:29):
a volume three, kindling by ChristopherLong. Some folks don't do so well

(03:27):
out here on their own. That'swhat the park ranger had said to me
when he'd seen me pull up.I'd tried telling him this wasn't my first
time, whilst making a point ofshowing him all the kit i'd brought along.
It's not cheap stuff, and I'veused it plenty of times before.
But did that impress the old boy? No, it did not. Not
even my tent over there, andlet me tell you that tent can survive

(03:50):
storms. I guess he wasn't toknow. Camping's in my blood. I
get it from my dad. We'dgo camping together when I was growing up.
It was our little escape. We'dsit around a fire and he'd tell
me stories, stories about things likeyou. Now that I think about it,
we'd get a lot of stupid deathsup in the hills. That Ranger

(04:12):
had said obviously convinced I wasn't listening. Some people must just forget how to
survive the night. He'd made itsound like he'd find some burnt body sprawled
in the ashes of their own fireand have himself a good chuckle. Now
I have to wonder if he everdreamt those people might have encountered something like
you out here. And more importantly, I want to know how many stories

(04:35):
those other hikers told you before theyrealized they were never getting home. Of
course, that Ranger's warnings didn't stopme. I got my gear on and
started walking, telling myself I'd befine once I got moving, But I
was far from fine. I wasjumpy. It didn't help that I never
saw another soul out on the trailto distract me. I even got a

(04:56):
little scared of the sound of myown footsteps. Once I was deep amongst
the trees up here, they echoeverything back at you. That's probably why
I called it a day earlier thani'd planned. You must have seen how
easily I got this fire going.I set it right in the middle of
these old stones where it looks likea few other campers had lit their fires
before me. Ah, maybe that'swhere I went wrong, because I lit

(05:18):
that fire and there you were sittingbeside it, like you'd been waiting for
me. At first, I thoughtyou were just a trick of the light.
I was pretty tired, and youstayed so quiet. You didn't whisper
until you caught me looking at you. You didn't speak until the first time
you knew. I'd seen you clearly, and I swear I did my best
to ignore you. I tried tellingmyself you were just one of my dad's

(05:42):
old stories rattling around my head.Only you started asking me questions, and
even though I knew deep down notto answer you, I also knew I
could only resist for so long.I guess your sort depends on that.
You started demanding your stories from menot long after I told you my name.
That must be how it works.You've been drawing them out of me

(06:03):
ever since. How long has itbeen. I'm sure I've not seen the
sun rise yet, but it can'tbe the same night this all started.
We've been out here for days,haven't we. I know I'm losing my
voice, and I know I'm runningout of stories. I don't want to
think about what's going to happen whenthe fire dies out, or how that

(06:24):
old park ranger is going to findmy body when the sun finally does come
up again. The Coffin by L. B. Waltz. The question came

(07:03):
in that silence between one collision andthe next acts against trunk, trunk against
ground, heart against ribs. Whatare you doing? I yeled, swore
too, though the bow's final groansdid well to mask that. With twigs

(07:24):
shattering like fingers beneath my feet,I spun around, and there was a
child. To say I was alarmedwould be to undermine both how perilously close
this little one was to the yoakand the spontaneity with which they manifested.
A dozen half formed reprimands caught inmy teeth before I managed to hiss.

(07:46):
You might have been crushed, youfull said, full blinked. They had
odd eyes, pale eyes paler thanpale, the color of the ghost that
sprouted from unearthed roots. The gashthat was their mouth wilted into a frown.

(08:07):
What are you doing? They demandedagain. Their voice was youthfully androgynous,
and although I squinted. Neither didtheir form nor their features hint at
a gender. I took a breath, gathered my thoughts, my patience,
and my axe. Are you lost, i asked, I'm exactly where I

(08:31):
should be. The child insisted.With one spindly finger, they traced the
oak's exposed rings. Why did youcut down that tree need of lumber?
I sighed, I've been hired tomake a coffin. A coffin. The
word was repeated slowly, and thatway the forest echoes all manner of hidden

(08:54):
carnage. Crows shrieked in the distance. What is a coffin, Well,
it's a vessel, I explained,thinking the child to be younger than previously
assumed. Coffins house the dead.Only those who are properly buried can find
peace in God's kingdom. The childturned this idea over in the same way

(09:18):
they did a leaf two leafs rustlingthrough the toppled oaks foliage, They mused,
So you murder the living to appeasethe dead and call it justified.
The accusation saw me falter. I'dnever considered my work in such terms before.

(09:43):
Ours is a good Christian village,I told them a touch defensive.
We know that unless a soul receivesthe necessary rights, they're not eligible for
salvation. Many things can be justifiedif resurrection is at stake. I see,
they said, small hands growing still, an acorn lay cradled in their

(10:07):
palms. On that at least weare agreed. And then the child was
there, right there, nose tonose with me. Their fungle eyes,
bright, chin sticky with amber,and cheeks scored with that. There were

(10:30):
thirty thin rings around their white voidpupils answered a question I didn't realize I
had. I was given time toopen my mouth, but not to scream.
The moment my lips parted, afist shoved past them, dirt,
bitter, rough, cold, ramminga lump down my throats. That lump

(10:54):
fell into my belly. Consciousness followed, and that's when you found me alone.
It seems no child, nor anyevidence of one. Nothing but the
trees there was. I fear,never anything but the trees. I shouldn't

(11:18):
fear them, the trees. Imean, if anything, I should fear
how much of the day I wastedcollapsed in the woods, and here in
bed I can't be putting down rootson this mattress. I need to get
up. There are blueprints to finalizelaughs, to saw planks, to shape.

(11:39):
Coffin. Building is a sacred task. I've always treated it as such.
I have no intention of doing otherwise. Now, even with this pressure
in my belly, this rootling squirmdoesn't Matteralvation is what matters. Resurrection is

(12:03):
what matters. That requires a coffin. I will make a beautiful coffin.

(12:39):
Slice the thread by Mel. Iwas never superstitious, but I was always
a good child, no matter howabsurd. You don't question your parents in
a Korean household. Don't wear blackto weddings, don't eat the tips of
chicken wings, cover your thumbs aroundsand mimetaries. Never give a knife as

(13:01):
a gift. One evening, Isat across from my mom and finally asked
her where the knife omen came from. Her body stilled, blade in hand
against a ratish who was peeling itcuts into the flesh as clean as a
butcher, and so shallow. Theskin looked paper thin. Her eyes lifted

(13:22):
and she laughed lightly, as ifthis were tea time and I was being
droll in old custom. She finallyspoke, too ominous to gift a knife
to someone you love, you'll quarrelwith them forevermore. Her eyes tightened at
my laugh. One day, yourdoubt is going to get someone hurt.

(13:46):
My mood soured. Did she haveto take this so seriously? There were
hundreds of American superstitions that she neveradhered to, so why did I need
to follow any I had a friendwho I cooked with weakly, meal prepping
together, our way of still seeingeach other despite their hectic married life.

(14:09):
I told myself I wasn't bitter,that I wasn't angry when I saw the
cuts on their fingers. Their spousetoo cheap to use the household funds to
buy a proper knife. They gota new wound daily when the cheap doll
blades slipped and nicked their finger.They explained, since it's dull, I

(14:30):
never hurt myself too badly. Iwas fed up enough so that as much
as my family superstition clawed at mygut, I ordered a good knife for
their birthday. I bit my lipas I watched for my friend's reaction and
for some ancient god to smite mefor daring to disobey my parents in some

(14:50):
contract. I had signed by beingborn to uphold tradition, but it didn't
happen. My friend was overjoyed.They used it immediately, and the smile
on their face was everything. Thatand the fact that they weren't cutting themselves
raw and doll blades anymore. Ifelt so proud of my choice until it

(15:13):
went wrong. What used to befriendly texts about our interests turned to the
snipes about how I always looked atthings in black and white. Friendly conversations
soured into venting sessions where I eitherhad to listen on and on or join
in and rub my emotions dry.Our weekly sessions became a mockery of camaraderie.

(15:39):
I could do nothing right. Ourmutual aggravation sharpened until I begged them
to stop the snipes and the complaints, but they pressed harder until I had
to look away and finally noticed ita thread hanging loose above My eyes followed

(16:03):
it up, and I saw ared robed figure holding it like a rope
or a noose, watching us.He followed me everywhere I went, and
I thought my mind was searching fora gruesome way out, that my stress
was telling me to end it all. I would end it, but not

(16:23):
that way at home. I grabbedmy butcher's knife. I used it to
hack at the thread in question,keeping grim eye contact with the apparition.
I thought it would take hours.It took one single cleave, like cutting
through air, as if the threadhad been fragile all this time, and

(16:48):
I had just needed to push toslice. The man disappeared, and the
ends fell and sat heavy and wornat my feet. I never heard from
my friend again. Thank you forlistening to episode number twelve oh six.

(17:41):
Today's authors were Christopher Long, lbWaltz, and Mel Today's stories were told
by David Alt and Daniel Foytek.That's me. It's been my pleasure to
be your host today, and wehope you'll join us again tomorrow for part
three. Our resident composer and executiveproducer is Nikovitez at the Inky Pop Print.

(18:02):
Artwork for today's episode was created byGreg Schaefer. Our producers are Meg
Williams and Daniel Foytek. To findout more about The Wicked Library and other
Ninth Story Studio shows, visit theWickedlibrary dot com and Ninth Story dot com,
and if you'd like to hear yourown story on the Wicked Library Submissions
are now open. Check our websiteat the Wickedlibrary dot com for more details

(18:22):
and requirements. To keep this collectionof dark tales coming, please support the
Wickedlibrary at Patreon dot com forward slashWickedlibrary. You can also help us by
leaving a five star rating and shortreview on Apple Podcasts, which helps other
folks find the show. The WickedLibrary is created by Ninth Story Studios LLC.
All rights reserved.