TWL 1207: Wicked Campfire Tales, Volume Three

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Welcome to Season 12 episode 1207.

Today, as part of a Wicked celebration of Halloween, enjoy the third of three collections of Wicked Campfire Tales.

• “The Spoiler", by Pippa Bailey. Told by Daniel Foytik.
• “The Thinning Veil", by Lee Andrew Forman. Told by Daniel Foytik.
• "From the Water", by Briana Morgan. Told by Daniel Foytik.
• “Observations Concerning the Thing that Most Definitely is Not a Cat”, by Myk Pilgrim. 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):
Nice Story Studios Gain Story a Voice. Hi, this is Graham Rowett.
Are you in the mood for somethingscary? Well, you're in the right
place. This is The Wicked Library. Warning. The Wicked Library is a

(00:37):
horror fiction podcast rereaded 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

(01:36):
Library. I'm Daniel Foytech, andI thank you for listening. A sincere
thank you to those of you whoare supporting the show. Without you,
the show would not be possible.If you're not yet supporting the show and
you'd like to do so, youcan do that at Patreon dot com forward
slash Wicked Library. All of oursupporters get early access to episodes ad free

(01:57):
shows and more. Today we presentthe last of our three special episodes for
Halloween, featuring stories by Pippa Bailey, Lee Andrew Foreman, Brianna Morgan,
and Mike Pilgrim. This year forHalloween, I wanted to recreate that special
experience of sitting around a campfire andlistening to spooky tales. So bundle up,

(02:21):
gather around, and grab a cupof hot apple cider or something a
little stronger. For Volume three ofWicked Campfire Tales sh The Spoiler by Pipper

(03:25):
Bailey. Whether you use a sack, bucket or a pillowcase, make sure
you fill it to the brim,for on Halloween you'll always need to spare
some of your haul, for whenthe Spoiler comes a creeping he might just

(03:46):
ruin it all. The Spoiler anancient creature known by many names in many
forms the world over. Some callhim rots, others decay, black mold,
creeping up damp walls, or maggotsscavenging a corpse, sucking juice from

(04:09):
the most succulent, desiccated eyeballs.You'll hear him on the breeze, whistling
in the winds of winter and theblistering heat of summer. He is the
sweat stains on the pants of ahot dog devouring trucker, and your cousin's
diaper blowout on your aunt's new dress. For now, he is the spoiler.

(04:38):
His spinly oily fingers tug lightly atthe wrappers, making foil warp,
paper burn, and candy a turnall. Gray chocolate begins to weep and
boil beneath his tender touch. Fetidooze once jelly choose in silvery papers turn

(05:03):
to mush, So kiddies, fillthat bucket till it bursts for fear you'll
lose it all, and make sureto leave the spoiler a mound of treats
from your festive hall. Lace itat your doorway, beside your bin or

(05:26):
gate. Keep fresh bars, bitesand morsels hidden out of sight. Every
year the spoiler comes toe tapping aroundyour house thrice. He'll turn and thrice
once more. As quiet as amouse, he knows the scent of sweets

(05:50):
and treats. He can smell themmiles around. With his elongated coiled snow
he SLINKs along the ground. You'llnever spot him coming as he drifts in
on the breeze with spores and dirtand all dead skin and other things that

(06:15):
go unseen on Halloween this very year. Don't forget to spare some of your
haul, for when the spoiler comesa creeping, he might just ruin it
all. The thinning veil by LeeAndrew Foreman. I sit here with you

(07:05):
this hallowey night, and all thatcomes to mind is my poor Lily.
She passed away nearly three years ago. An unkind accident took her from this
world and tucked her broken body neatlybelow the soil. Now it lies unseen
and decay. Time its only companion. But her spirit is something time can't

(07:31):
seem to grasp. She isn't gone, she isn't in heaven or hell.
Lily is right here with me.It isn't some comforting belief I've conjured that
brings me to this conclusion. No, it's the nightly presence of her.
The routine visits every night since herdeath. She's come to me, and

(07:58):
on each of these nights, she'spulled me closer to her and further from
my own body. The first timeI saw her spectral form, tears welled
in my eyes and spilled forth inher honor. I was overjoyed to see
my lily, to know that existencedidn't end with bodily death, that her

(08:22):
essence lived on My lily wasn't gone. But that jovial moment was soon obscured
by the darkness that eventually covers allthings. Her misty form hovered before me,
and discomfort spread over my body.First it was only a tingling sensation.

(08:45):
Then I felt the pull, asif something inside were trying to break
free, as if within me therewere a thousand tiny magnets, each one
tugging my flesh with its desire tojoin whatever force she carried. Just when
the feeling became unbearable, she missedit away, like the smoke from a

(09:09):
stubbed cigarette. I didn't sleep therest of that night, only pondered what
happened. After a day of musing, my heart raced at the thought of
seeing her again. I wondered whethershe would return. I feared that first

(09:30):
visit might have been her last goodbye before taking the journey to wherever the
next place might be. If onlyI were so lucky. She came back
the next night, and like thefirst time, excitement filled my veins with
hot blood. The rush of seeingmy beloved once again elated me to the

(09:54):
point of nearly bursting. She glidedover to me, her smoky eyes stared
into mine, and again I feltthe pull. This time it was harder,
stronger, thought my torso would burstand my soul would escape into her
arms. But again before I succumbedto that mighty drawing power, she left

(10:20):
me alone in the dark with onlymy thoughts. This has happened every night
since her death. Each time it'smore painful. I know she'll come again
tonight, just like she always does, and she'll pull me toward her.
They say the veil is thinnest onHalloween, and it's a full moon.

(10:46):
My will has grown frail, mybody weak. The want to let her
take me grows with each visit Withouther, I feel empty, despite my
fear, I want this. Evenas I tell you this tale, I
wonder if it will be my last. That tonight she may pluck the soul

(11:11):
from my moral body, and I'lljoin her wherever we may go. From

(11:46):
the water by Brianna Morgan, thewater flashes silver. That's how I know
it's time. I pull hard onthe rod, due turning over and over
itself as I draw in my catch. The line squeals and protests. I

(12:07):
don't let up, Daddy, Brettsays, I know. I tell him.
Another few minutes of sweat and strainingmuscles brings the fish on board.
I hold it in my hands,a wet, shiny thing, and marvel
at the effort it took to capturesuch a tiny creature. Brett leans over

(12:30):
my shoulder. He smells like sunscreen. Can I see it? He wants
to hold it, just like alwayslast time. I didn't let him.
A pang of regret eclipses my trainof thought, and I pass the wriggling
fish to him without another word.It falls through his hand and lands with

(12:54):
a smack against the deck. Brettpeers down at the fish. Its mouth
opens and closes, like Brett's didafter I pulled them from the water.
How can a whole year have passed? A lump rises in my throat.

(13:15):
I find the strength to speak aroundit. It's a little guy. We
need to put him back. Iwant to keep him, Daddy, I
know, but you can't. Youhave to. We need to let go.
Brett twists his head towards me.I can see through him, but

(13:39):
his eyes are as piercing as ever. They haunt me. I wish he'd
stop hunting me. Why'd you comeback here? Brett asks, you'll understand
when you're a father. I don'treply. It stings. He'll never be

(14:03):
a father, He'll never learn toshave, never take a girl to prom
never learn to drive. The watertook that away from him, away from
me. I look past Brett tothe glow of the sun peeking on the
horizon. Dawn spreads pink fingers acrossthe sky, washing everything in a warm

(14:30):
hue. I reach out to touchBrett in my hand, goes right through
him, just like the fish.Another wave of guilt rolls over me.
If only I hadn't been drinking thatday, if only I'd put a life

(14:52):
jacket on him. I came backfor you, I say, I'll always
come back for you, buddy.Tears distort my vision. Brett's form fuzzes
at the edges like smeared ink.We're running out of time. I kneel

(15:15):
and scoop the fish into my handagain. It's breathing as shallow. It
doesn't have long Let go, Brettsays, he makes it sound so easy.
I blink hard against another swell oftears. The fish's scales are cool
on my skin. Before I cansecond guess myself, I stand and tip

(15:41):
the fish from my hand into thewater with a splash and another flash of
silver. It's gone like it neverexisted. When I turn, so is
Brett. I won't pull him fromthe water anymore. Observations concerning the Thing

(16:36):
that most definitely is not a catby Mock Pilgrim. The thing is not
a cat, not really, notat all. It may present the feline
shape in the most convincing manner,masterfully mimicking this slinking ambulation, even the
twitching tail, but those elements arenothing but camouflage, exceptionally executed camouflage,

(17:03):
but camouflage. Nevertheless, its tongueis as black as the devil's sphincter,
and if you were to come underthe sway of such a beast, you
wouldn't know what had befallen you,not until it was far too late.
It has no fur, which bycat standards, is not entirely uncommon,

(17:26):
but just uncommon enough to make thecreature notable. They spoilt, a color
not unlike that of raw chicken flesh. They are also always and without exception
male, but that doesn't inconvenience theirreproductive cycle as much as the interested observer

(17:48):
might imagine. And no, theyvery much do not reproduce asexually, which
is not the problem that one mightimagine. The thing doesn't eat cat food,
which also is not an uncommon thingfor the common house cat. Many
normal cat owners are more than comfortablewith spending the minister sum of money they

(18:14):
have left in the world on foodfor their captive psychopath to tip out onto
the floor. Just like regular cats. The thing will shit in a box,
which may sound like a positive attribute, but really it puts them out
in the open to ensure that you, its chosen surrogate, will be more

(18:36):
inclined to do your part. Theyhave but two purposes on this plane.
The first is to shit, thesecond is to breed, and you are
untwined in both of these processes.The rank, black flecked turds are anything
but what they seem to be.They give off for steady aura of intoxicating

(19:02):
hormones, which are specifically designed todraw the attention of the human subconscious.
It won't be long before you awakemid te to discover the previously folded a
box is now entirely bereffed of feces, and the only thing worse than the
rank, oily taste in your mouthis the gritty texture of the brown chunks

(19:29):
stuck in your teeth. Sometime notlong after, often as soon as a
few hours later, the kittens willarrive seemingly from nowhere, but be assured
they haven't. They came slithering upyour gullet out into the world while you

(19:49):
slept, And as with every partof this process, the tiny babies are
designed to be the cutest thing yourwee. The human senses have ever encountered.
Every single thing about them, fromthe tiny little fingers on their jellybean
paws, to the scent that comesoff their bodies to the saccharine peep noise

(20:14):
as they make. Is evolved todraw you in and keep you close.
There is no other current in naturethat triggers such a torrential flood of serotonin
and dopamine in the human brain.Not finding true love, not winning the
World Cup, not even the birthof one's children comes close to this level

(20:37):
of emotional impact. Prompted by thesteady chemical release and supervised by the father
cat, the foster human will birthup to twelve kittens over the next few
days, then spend their every wakingmoment blissfully caring for and protecting the little
parasites from any in all threats.Sometimes, the cognitive dissonance of warring chemicals

(21:03):
within their subconscious forces people towards suicide. This situation is, of course understandable
for the long term, so oncethe kittens have grown large enough to feed
properly, they will devour their carerfighting wildly over the cartilage tips of the
bones. Thank you for listening toepisode number twelve oh seven. Today's authors

(21:52):
were Pippa Bailey, Leandrew Foreman,Brionna Morgan, and Mike Pilgrim. Today's
stories were told by Daniel fuy Tech. That's me and it's been my pleasure
to be your host today. Ourresident composer and executive producer is Nikovites at
the Inky Pop Print. Artwork fortoday's episode was created by Greg Schaefer.
Our producers are Meg Williams and DanielFoytek. To find out more about The

(22:15):
Wicked Library and other Ninth Story Studioshows, visit the Wickedlibrary dot com and
Ninth Story dot com. If you'dlike to hear your own story on the
Wicked Library. Submissions are now open. Check our website for more details and
requirements. To help keep this collectionof dark tales coming, please support the
Wicked Library on Patreon at patreon dotcom forward slash Wicked Library. You can

(22:38):
also help by leaving a five starrating and short review in Apple Podcasts that
helps others find the show. TheWicked Library is created by Ninth Story Studios
LLC. All rights reserved at ATT