CAMPFIRE: The Last House on Adeline Lane

Summary

Podcast Summary: "CAMPFIRE: The Last House on Adeline Lane" – Full Body Chills Season 6

Introduction "Full Body Chills," hosted by audiochuck, delves into eerie and spine-chilling tales designed to send shivers down listeners' spines. In the episode titled "CAMPFIRE: The Last House on Adeline Lane," released on October 21, 2024, Amanda Wisdom crafts a haunting narrative that intertwines family dynamics with supernatural horror, all delivered through immersive audio storytelling.

Plot Overview The story centers on Maya and her younger brother, Clay, who accompany their mother to a new home—the last house on Adeline Lane. Initially, Maya is enamored with nature and the serene woods surrounding their residence. However, the tranquility quickly gives way to unsettling occurrences that suggest the house hides dark secrets.

Setting the Scene Upon arrival, Maya and Clay eagerly explore the house, racing to choose their rooms. Maya opts for a modest room with yellow walls, while Clay claims the turret room, viewing it as an exciting play area. The house itself is depicted as old and somewhat dilapidated, with a "towering turret" and a "pastel blue" facade now "chipped and faded by time" (Shirin Hayter, 07:04).

Introduction of the Haunted Portrait The pivotal moment occurs when Maya discovers a large, life-sized portrait of a woman dressed in a light pink frill dress, appearing both as a dancer and a figurine. The portrait's unsettling presence is emphasized by her passive expression and the eerie feeling that she is "looking right at me" (Shirin Hayter, 07:04). This painting becomes the central element around which the supernatural events revolve.

Supernatural Events Unfold Late at night, Maya experiences sleep disturbances, including the sensation of something dripping on her face despite no apparent source. Clay's fear amplifies when he hears the woman in the portrait "whispering his name" and perceives her head moving unnaturally (Shirin Hayter, 08:17). Maya's attempts to remove the painting are futile, as it appears "glued to the wall." Desperate to protect her brother, Maya drapes a thin bedsheet over the portrait, but the disturbances intensify, culminating in the ominous rolling sound of the woman's head and the chilling revelation that Clay has become part of the painting (Shirin Hayter, 14:01).

Climactic Confrontation The tension reaches its peak when Maya wakes to find herself drenched in a mysterious red substance resembling paint. The supernatural entity, now more menacing, pursues the siblings, leading to a terrifying encounter where Maya witnesses Clay being absorbed into the portrait. Her mother’s realization and futile attempts to remove the painting add to the despair, as the family becomes the subject of a tragic and unresolved mystery (Shirin Hayter, 36:20).

Final Revelation and Resolution Years later, Maya returns to the haunted house armed with determination to rescue Clay. The conclusion leaves listeners with a lingering sense of unresolved horror, as Maya confronts the enduring presence of the doll dancer and the eternal entrapment of her brother within the painting.

Notable Quotes

• Maya's Realization: "The house...had been painted a pastel blue, charming once, I suppose, now paled, chipped and faded by time." (Shirin Hayter, 07:04)
• Supernatural Description: "Something was taking over me. Something else entirely." (Shirin Hayter, 14:51)
• Climactic Fear: "Clay was shaking violently, and I was trying to get a hold of my senses." (Shirin Hayter, 34:22)
• Final Horror: "My little brother was still inside, trapped between colours and canvas, forever frozen on the walls in the last house on Adeline Lane." (Shirin Hayter, 37:01)

Themes and Insights "The Last House on Adeline Lane" explores themes of family bonds, the fear of losing loved ones, and the intrusion of the supernatural into domestic life. It delves into the psychological terror of being unable to protect those closest to us and the lingering impact of unresolved trauma. The haunting imagery and escalating fear effectively create an atmosphere of dread, making listeners question the boundaries between reality and nightmare.

Production and Delivery Amanda Wisdom's storytelling is brought to life by Shirin Hayter's evocative narration, which expertly conveys the emotional and psychological turmoil of the protagonist. The use of immersive audio techniques enhances the eerie ambiance, making listeners feel as though they are part of the unfolding horror. The seamless integration of dialogue and descriptive passages ensures a compelling and engaging listening experience.

Conclusion "CAMPFIRE: The Last House on Adeline Lane" stands out as a masterful blend of family drama and supernatural horror. Through detailed narration and atmospheric audio production, Amanda Wisdom delivers a story that is both haunting and emotionally resonant. Whether you're a seasoned horror enthusiast or new to the genre, this episode of "Full Body Chills" promises to leave a lasting impression, making it a must-listen for fans seeking a spine-chilling tale.

Transcript

[Ashley Flowers]

This show is sponsored by BetterHelp. This month is all about gratitude, so here's a reminder to send some thanks to the people in your life, including yourself. If you're thinking of starting therapy, give better help a try. It's entirely online, designed to be convenient, flexible and suited to your schedule. Just fill out a brief questionnaire to get matched with a licensed therapist and you can switch therapists at any time for no additional charge. Let the gratitude flow with BetterHelp. Visit betterhelp.com fullbodychills today to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHelp. H E L P.com fullbodychills the holidays bring the world together, and learning a new language can help us enhance our new connections. As the most trusted language learning program for over 30 years, Rosetta Stone immerses you with an enriching experience. My husband and I both signed up together and the lessons have been great. Rosetta Stone has been the best teacher. Start learning today with Rosetta Stone's Lifetime Membership Holiday Special. Visit rosettastone.com fullbodychills for unlimited access to 25 language courses for the rest of your life. Available for a Short [e-mail] FullBodyChills this episode was produced with immersive audio. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones.

[Shirin Hayter]

The trees look like people, she thought. Maya loved nature. She loved walking through the woods. She and their inhabitants were at a peaceful agreement, she felt towards the other. Neither held ill will, and the trails and hills, the rivers and trees, were there only as her guide to landmark the coordination of earth with beautiful deformity. A few hours ago, Maya loved nature. But now the sun was gone. Now nature stood at odds, the treeline like cover, but not for her, for whatever could be watching. The trees looked like people, she thought, ow the shoot. Unlike Maya, Matt hated nature.

[Idris Jones]

Stupid sporks.

[Shirin Hayter]

Where he could not force his hand, he was forced to brood. Matt had little command over anything and less of their fire, though he tried to prove otherwise. For the past hour he had been coddling his pet embers, which now and then made unprovoked swipes at his hands. The feral coals had a death wish.

[Kirsten Lee]

Are you ever gonna get a fire going?

[Idris Jones]

I have a fire going. It's just wet.

[Nathan Noakes]

If that's a fire. Is this a torch?

[Shirin Hayter]

Jake flicked the lighter switch and like a Roman candle, the amber tail spat up his grin. If his arms weren't so short, Matt would have snatched the key. But even with its assistance, an hour ago, he could only unlock a few flashing ashes. All four of them were cold. None more than Olive, who let her opinions be known. More than the nicking wind, it was the long bouts of nothing to do which made these yearly camping trips the pinnacle antonym of Olive's life. Possessed her hand felt through their sleeping bag for some distraction, but finding it, she seized control and let go, Remembering again that her phone was dead. Had been since this morning. In the interim of her connected social life, she found she could still drain batteries, scrolling through photos of her college clique, who were likely currently warm, drunk, and with cell service.

[Nathan Noakes]

You dead, Olive?

[Shy Sheree]

Huh?

[Kirsten Lee]

Uh, yeah.

[Nathan Noakes]

You better not pass out in there. The nearest fire station is back in town, and I forgot to pack my jaws of life.

[Shirin Hayter]

Jake made a motion with an invisible pair of garden shears. Olive shrank in her cocoon.

[Kirsten Lee]

I'm not unconscious. I'm cold and bored.

[Idris Jones]

When are you not?

[Kirsten Lee]

Um, when the quote unquote fire is warmer than the current air temperature?

[Nathan Noakes]

Yeah, man, I think it's a lost cause.

[Idris Jones]

If it didn't rain yesterday, it was drizzling, which means the logs are wet.

[Nathan Noakes]

Well, no one can say you didn't try.

[Idris Jones]

What's that supposed to mean?

[Nathan Noakes]

Oh, nothing.

[David Flowers]

So are we supposed to just stay outside in the dark?

[Kirsten Lee]

Sounds super fun.

[Nathan Noakes]

I think you just need to lighten up.

[Idris Jones]

Would you stop with the stupid lighter?

[Nathan Noakes]

Fine. Here.

[Kirsten Lee]

Now what are you up to?

[Nathan Noakes]

You said you were bored, right?

[Shy Sheree]

Ow.

[Kirsten Lee]

Get that out of my face.

[David Flowers]

What's that for?

[Nathan Noakes]

This, my friend, is for scaring off slugs.

[Kirsten Lee]

Stop it.

[Nathan Noakes]

And is for setting the mood.

[Kirsten Lee]

What, like a campfire story? There's no campfire.

[Idris Jones]

There is two. It's just small.

[Nathan Noakes]

Yeah, and besides, you don't need a fire to tell a story. Sometimes a spotlight will do. Well, what do you say?

[Kirsten Lee]

Fine. I'm still cold, but at least it's something.

[Idris Jones]

Yes, and what about you, Maya?

[Shirin Hayter]

Maya's mind was in the woods, surrounded by trees that look like people.

[Idris Jones]

Maya, huh?

[David Flowers]

Yeah, sure.

[Nathan Noakes]

All right. Now who wants to start?

[David Flowers]

What? No, don't look at me.

[Kirsten Lee]

Boo. Oh, did you guys hear about the girl who was found frozen in the ice rink?

[Idris Jones]

Ice girl? Really? If you want to share fairy tales, we can wait till sunrise.

[Kirsten Lee]

What do you mean it's real? I heard they had to cut her out in a cube like Jar jar binks.

[Nathan Noakes]

You mean Han Solo?

[Kirsten Lee]

No, the one with the force sword.

[Nathan Noakes]

What?

[David Flowers]

Wouldn't it make more sense just to dethaw her?

[Kirsten Lee]

She's not a popsicle. You can't just dethaw A human?

[David Flowers]

Why not?

[Idris Jones]

Okay, that's it. I'm telling the story before the peanut gallery puts this whole camping trip on ice.

[David Flowers]

It's not gonna be too scary, is it?

[Kirsten Lee]

Well, if it's one of Matt's stories, I doubt it.

[Idris Jones]

Oh, woe to ye of little faith. Don't worry, Maya. I'll restrain myself.

[David Flowers]

Okay, but could you. I don't know, could you say what it's about? Or can you at least say if anyone dies?

[Idris Jones]

What, and spoil the ending here? I'll say this. This story is. Well, it's the classic spooky story.

[Kirsten Lee]

What's that supposed to mean?

[Nathan Noakes]

Classic? Where there's Dracula, werewolves, leprechauns, none of that.

[Idris Jones]

It's a classic story of a haunted house. Now, it's not the house that makes things haunted. You have to remember. It's the ghosts, the spirits, the evil inside, roaming off the walls. So if you're ready, gather around and listen close.

[Kirsten Lee]

Listen close.

[Idris Jones]

What?

[Kirsten Lee]

You said, listen close.

[Idris Jones]

Yeah, isn't it?

[Kirsten Lee]

Gather round and listen closely.

[David Flowers]

What?

[Idris Jones]

I'm saying, you have to gather round and, like, lean in close.

[Nathan Noakes]

So gather round and listen closer.

[Kirsten Lee]

No, thanks. I'm close enough.

[David Flowers]

Why do we have to get close again?

[Nathan Noakes]

Maybe it's like asmr.

[Idris Jones]

No, it's not. You sit close together because that's what you do during a campfire story. And it's listen close, like sitting close. And that's what I'm sticking with because it's my story. Now can I go on? Thank you. Now, as I was saying, gather around and listen closest.

[Shy Sheree]

It's as if it had been sitting there waiting for us. When mom pulled into the driveway of the last house on Adeline Lane, the first thing I noticed was the towering turret. It crowned the top left corner of the house, hanging like a rotten bird's nest over a withering weeping willow. The house, which had been painted a pastel blue, charming once, I suppose, now paled, chipped and faded by time. I couldn't shake the feeling that this house had been abandoned. As far as first impressions go, I was afraid to leave the car. But then mom said we could pick our own rooms if we were fast enough. And that did the trick. Without a moment's hesitation, Clay and I spilled out of the car and ran up the front steps. Second floor. Mom yelled after us. I beat Clay inside, the foyer and kitchen a blur behind me. Then I reached the foot of the stairs, stopped, and peered up. Made of decades old redwood, the sweeping staircase curled like a claw twisting upwards, its landing point Far out of sight. Timidly, I placed one foot and the floorboard groaned under my weight. At that moment, Clay shoved me out of the way and ascended the stairs two steps at a time. I chased after him and saw him running down the hall to the left. He came to an abrupt stop in the center of the hallway, his eyes growing wide in amazement. Then, without looking away, he yelled, dibs. I caught up to my brother, who had found the room. Inside the turret. Its arched windows offered a panoramic view of the front lawn with the tip of the willow tree brushing beneath the frame. Its unconventional shape provided limited functionality, but I could see the appeal. For Clay, this was the wild excitement of a child's playroom. Dibs. He screamed again. I let him have it, not only because he was happy, but because I wanted a bigger room. I wandered down the hall and found a modest sized one with yellow walls. Nothing special, but it was mine. I placed my bag down and sat on the edge of the bed. It was finally sinking in the reality of moving. Then Clay called out to me and said he wanted to show me something. I went back into the tower room. He was standing before the far right wall, staring at a large painting. How had I not noticed it before? It was huge, Practically life size. As I got closer, I could see it was the portrait of a woman dressed in a light pink frill dress and matching tights. She wore silver slippers meant for dancing, and her head, which was tilted to the left, was adorned with long brown curls. Her arms were stretched far in front of her as if she were reaching towards us. But perhaps the strangest thing of all was she appeared to be suspended in a doll stand. Was she a dancer or a figurine? I couldn't tell. Her thin lips were painted passive, but her eyes, they held something unknowing. I think it was as if she were looking right at me.

[Kirsten Lee]

Uh, wait. You're doing it again.

[Idris Jones]

What, Olive?

[Kirsten Lee]

Uh, another haunted painting. Oh, like the mushroom lady or the sad looking sailor.

[Idris Jones]

You don't know that. I could be setting the scene.

[Kirsten Lee]

Yeah, and if the scene comes alive.

[David Flowers]

I kind of like the painting stories.

[Idris Jones]

Thank you, Maya. Now can I please go? Two minutes without a backseat narrator.

[Kirsten Lee]

Fine, whatever.

[Idris Jones]

Now, where was I?

[Shy Sheree]

How would I not noticed it before? It was huge. Practically life size. Was she a dancer or a figurine? I couldn't tell. Her thin lips were painted passive, but her eyes, they held something unknowing. I think it was as if she were looking right at me. An odd picture for an odd room. We stood and stared at it for some time, and when I finally tore my eyes away, I saw that Clay was nearly crying. The painting was scaring him. It was just a silly picture. But Clay was still little, and some silly things got him upset. He was the same with clowns and with blood. I tried my best to calm him because that's what big sisters do. So I laughed and told him not to worry. The painting was watching over him. That's why it was in his room. His face softened, and I poked him in the stomach. I told him I'd race him to the kitchen. And so down we went. We didn't think about the woman in the portrait again until later that night. I was already awake when it began. It was around 2am and I was finding it difficult to fall asleep. Like many old houses, unexpected sounds dotted the darkness. But I told myself it was perfectly normal. I tossed and I turned until I heard Clay scream out my name. Jumping out of bed, I yanked open my door and ran to my brother. When I entered the tower room, all the lights were on and Clay was sitting upright in his bed, pointing at the portrait. He told me he heard someone laughing, whispering his name. He said it was the woman in the painting. I eyed the painting, then got closer until I was face to face with the doll dancer. I noticed right away that something was off. Her head was angled the wrong way. In fact, it was facing Clay's bed, straight on. I could have sworn it had been tilted differently. No matter what I thought, I knew I couldn't tell Clay. He would be fixated on the painting, and getting him to fall asleep would be nearly impossible. So I decided to take it down. I took two hands around the frame, making sure to hold on tight. And then I pulled. But nothing happened. It didn't move. It wouldn't move. Not in the slightest. It was like this painting was glued to the wall. I tried again with all my strength to get it just to budge, but still no luck. I turned around and saw Clay was starting to cry. I thought of mom and how she had worked so hard to get us this house. I had to fix this. So I walked over to the corner of the room where Clay's unpacked boxes were piled high and pulled out a thin bed sheet. Returning to the painting, I draped it over. The sheet wasn't thick or long enough to cover the whole portrait. I could still make out the doll dancer's silver slippers, her angled silhouette, but it was better than nothing. I told Clay I would find a way to Take the picture off the wall in the morning, and that for tonight I would sleep with him. So I turned off the light, hopped into bed and held him close. We both dozed off eventually. I slept with Clay every single night after that. Clay was in high spirits the next day, and so we didn't talk about the painting. There was so much unpacking that when it came time for bed, we were exhausted. Clay asked me to sleep with him, and I said yes. Truthfully, even I was afraid to sleep alone. Around 2am I woke up to the feeling of something dripping on my nose, then again on my cheek. I patted my face, expecting beads of sweat to be there, but there was nothing. I looked up at the ceiling, wondering if there was a leak, but there wasn't. I must have dreamt it. Clay started to pull on my sleeve, and I elbowed him to stop, but he wouldn't. He didn't speak. He just continued to pull at me and point at the painting across the room. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. When I finally did look, I couldn't believe what I was seeing there from across the room. The sheet I had used to cover the painting had fallen to the floor, and the woman in the portrait was holding her head. I froze, dumbstruck. How could this be real? We had to be dreaming. This had to be a dream. No, a nightmare. I was trying to rationalize what I was seeing when the noises began. At first I couldn't tell what it was or where it was coming from, but it sounded like a string of slow, soft thuds approaching from far away. The noise had a rhythm to it, and it was definitely getting louder and closer. Now it sounded as though it were just down the hallway. And as it grew even louder, I could tell it was by something being rolled. Something heavy, like a bowling ball. Then Clay whispered, look. I knew he was talking about the portrait, and I didn't want to look, but I did. And my first thought was, where was her head? Looking straight at the portrait, it was clear her head was missing. Completely missing. Not just from her shoulders, but from the painting altogether. Her head. Where was her head? Was she losing hers? Or was I losing mine? Chills ran down my spine and my chest began to tighten. I reached for the lamplight with shaking hands. Once I found it, I flicked the switch 2, 3, 10 times. But it wouldn't turn on. And all the while, that maddening low rolling grew louder and louder until I was sure whatever it was was in the room. Her head. Where was her head? I tried to steady my Breathing as the rolling traveled past the door across the room. And then it sounded like it was headed directly underneath us. It was underneath us, underneath our bed. All at once, the rolling sound stopped. I had to look. I had to see what it was. Clay shook his head, begging me not to. And believe me, almost every fiber of my being tried to resist. But something was taking over me. Something else entirely. Call it curiosity or insanity, but I had to look. I had to. By now my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Ever so carefully, I leaned to the right and gripped the side of the bed, preparing to hold the weight of myself as I looked under. I took a deep breath, paused, lowered my head, and nothing. The floors had collected some dust, but other than that, I bolted upright. It was Clay. He was screaming and pointing at the painting again. I turned and saw that the woman in the portrait was gone. Only her doll stand was left. Right. Then high pitched giggling broke out from all corners of the room. I frantically looked from left to right, trying to find the source of the laughter, but it only grew louder and continued to disorient us. And when I couldn't take the madness any longer, I screamed like I never had before in my life. A few seconds later, mom slammed open the door, switched on the lights, and asked what happened. Clay pointed at the picture, and when we all turned, there she was, the doll down sir, back in her place, suspended in her stand. I stammered, trying to put into words what had just happened. Mom sighed, said she expected more from me, then walked over and covered the painting with the sheet again. She told us to really try and give this house a chance, and that maybe we should sleep in my room from now on. She didn't believe us, and how could she? The doll dancer, losing her head, the unexplained sounds. It all was too much. I knew that. But it was real. Oh God, it was real. And so, even though I knew in my gut that we needed to leave the lost house on Adeline Lane immediately, we stayed for another night. The next day, mom tried to take the portrait down. She used the hammer and other tools, but nothing worked. Clay and I knew it wouldn't. Standing in the doorway, we watched her give up and drape a large, thick blanket over the portrait. This sheet completely covered it, and so I felt a little better. That night, Clay and I slept in my room. We locked ourselves in, making sure to keep the lamp on, and we made a promise to each other to stay awake no matter what. We wouldn't let each other out of our sights. The promise was Mostly to reassure Clay, and he fell asleep soon after. His small body was snug against mine. I stayed up to keep watch, but slowly the weight of worry pulled at my eyelids and I began losing the fight to keep them open. Eventually, I fell asleep too. Much later, in the early morning hours, I felt something drip onto my cheek, then again on my forehead. Through my sleepy haze, I wiped my face, expecting nothing to be there. But when I pulled my hand away, my palm was smeared with red. I looked up at the ceiling and saw thick red droplets trickle down one at a time onto the bed. I touched my cheek and felt the same slick stain. I looked down at my T shirt, my pants, and reached up to my hair. I was matted in it, drenched red. All I could see was red. It couldn't be blood, could it? In a panic, I sat upright and pulled the covers back. They made an awful splatting sound as they landed on the mattress. The sound woke up Clay, and when he saw me, he screamed out. Blood. No. No. No. No. I reassured him. It's. It's not blood. It's. It's. My voice faltered as I didn't know what to say. It wasn't blood. I know because it was different. It smelled different. It had a strong scent, almost like. Like paint. Thin. But before I could finish my thought, it started. From somewhere down the hallway, that familiar, horrible rolling began. It's the doll dancer's head, I thought. It's her head rolling down the hallway, coming for us. We could almost track it through the thin and echoey walls. We heard the head roll faster down the hallway, past the Tower Room. And then with a loud thud, it slammed against our door. And then it was quiet. The bedside lamp, which had been on all night, flickered twice, then gave out altogether. We were in complete darkness. And something was outside our door. Clay started to shake, and I pulled him close, whispering empty promises. Everything would be okay. She couldn't get in. She couldn't get us. We had locked the door. Monsters didn't exist, and this was all a bad dream. We would be okay. We had to be okay. I don't know how long it had been standing there since we were so focused on the door. But in the furthest corner of the room, a shadow shape drew close. We spun our heads, catching the figure draped in a white bedsheet. The visage froze, locked in front of us for as long as we stared, horrified and afraid the. The ghost wouldn't move. I can't tell you how much time passed in those moments. Minutes or hours. But eventually the figure began to shift, lifting something round from underneath the sheet and held up high. It looked as if it were placing something on top of its head, or that something was its head. Now the undeniable human form inched forward, step by step, closing the gap before our bed. It made no sound as it moved, like it was gliding across the floor. All I could hear was my own heartbeat pounding, and Clay stifled, crying. The figure came within arm's length of the bed, and I noticed the sheet starting to discolour right around where the head would be. The image of two eyes and a mouth began to bleed through. Its expression was lopsided, curved into a crooked grin, the corners of her lips dripping red rivulets through and down the sheet, paralyzed with fear. We sat there watching as the figure approached our bed, then stopped. Suddenly, we heard something drop right as the bloody sheet lost shape and sank to the floor. I knew from the scratch and scurry that the doll dancer had gotten on all fours and crawled under our bed. Clay was shaking violently, and I was trying to get a hold of my senses. The white sheet was still sitting in a pool of red, and the figure was nowhere to be seen. But I knew where it was. I knew where she was and what she wanted. I had to protect Clay. So I pulled in a shaky breath and prepared to lean over to look under the bed. I didn't have any type of weapon to defend us. I didn't have a plan or any sense of strategy. I only knew that Clay and I were unable to leave this room while that monster sat in waiting, just like the night before. I gripped the side of the bed, held the weight of myself, leaned over, lowered my head, and Clay started screaming. I jolted upright, turned, and only saw the end of it. A white flash, the bedsheet thrown over Clay, and then he was gone. Clay. Where was Clay? At that moment, I heard my brother scream my name. But it wasn't from my bedroom anymore. It was coming from the turret room. Even though I was scared out of my mind, I had to go to him. I had to save my brother. I flew out of bed and ran down the hall straight to the tower room. But the door was locked. I could hear Clay crying and screaming, all smothered by the doll dancer's piercing plastic, giggling. I stormed at the door, pounding my fists hard against the wood until my knuckles bled. I was just about to try kicking it when all of Clay's screams and that hideous laughter stopped. And then the door creaked open. I hesitated, but only for a moment, and entered the room. It was empty and looked as though nothing had been disturbed. I checked under the bed, in the closet, but somehow I knew Clay wouldn't be in any of those places. There was only one place left to look. I walked over to the portrait and saw that something was wrong. The doll dancer was there, suspended in her stand, her head tilted to the left and her arms still reaching out. But now seated before her was an audience. They were all children. Some of them had their hands in red and white striped buckets of popcorn, while others held gobs of coloured cotton candy. Some of the children were laughing, some of them were smiling, but there in the corner, one boy stood out. It was Clay. It was my brother, make no mistake of that. My baby brother was now in this painting and I had no idea how to reach him. Him. He looked at the doll dancer with worry on his face and held hands with a small blonde girl who looked younger than him. Clay, what happened to you? I started to back away from the painting, my breath quickening, the room spinning. I was losing it, that was all. I'd wake up any moment now and Clay would laugh and we'd be. I held my head in my hands and stared at the dancer, hoping against all hope that this was just a nightmare. Then the doll dancer turned her head, offered me a wide grin and winked, and I hit the floor. I woke up with maddening worry. Surrounded with yellow walls, I was in my bed. The red sun, the substance that had soaked my sheets, was completely gone, and I knew even before I stretched out my arm that Clay was not beside me. I ran to my mum, and I suppose the look on my face told her something was terribly wrong. She never believed me when I told her where Clay was. There was only ever a brief moment when I watched her from the doorway of the tower room. But I saw the slightest hint of realization wash over her. She walked up to the portrait, cupped a hand over her mouth and gasped. Right then and there, I knew she knew the truth too, even if she refused to believe it. She shook her head, tears in her eyes, and told me to call 91 1. They never found my brother, but not without effort. For weeks and even months, our family was in the headline of every article and at the center of every search. Over time, the police leads dwindled to a trickle until one day the case ran dry. Police never followed up again, but the town moved on. Local law still goes around, especially around Halloween. The police had their theories, the townies had theirs. But me, I've always known the truth. My little brother was still inside, trapped between colours and canvas, forever frozen on the walls in the last house on Adeline Lane. It's why I've come back so many years later with a hammer and saw I've come to rescue my brother. To tear that painting from the wall or tear it to pieces if I must. The willow whips a broken window while the wind keeps rushing in. The tower room is drenched in shadow, Yet I can still but see her there, standing in the corner. Her portrait is empty. Her laughter fills the room.

[Kirsten Lee]

See, I knew it. Haunted painting.

[Idris Jones]

Yeah, yeah. Great job, Sherlock. I bet you're fun at art galleries.

[Kirsten Lee]

Joke's on you.

[David Flowers]

I don't like art after that story. Me neither. That rolling head makes me want to roll out of my skin.

[Nathan Noakes]

You think she could have joined the pba?

[David Flowers]

The what?

[Nathan Noakes]

The pba. The Professional Bowlers Association. After all, she's always got her head in the game.

[Idris Jones]

Oh, oh, and that's a perfectly good story. Ruined.

[Ashley Flowers]

Full Body Chills is an Audio Chuck production this episode was written by Amanda Wisdom and read by Shirin Hayter. Intro Outro written by David Flowers and read by Ashley Flowers, Idris Jones, Kirsten Lee, Nathan Noakes and Shy Sheree. So what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?

[Amanda Wisdom]

Every day our world gets a little more connected, but a little further apart. But then there are moments that remind us to be more human.

[David Flowers]

Thank you for calling Amica and sharp.

[Idris Jones]

Hey, I was just in an accident.

[David Flowers]

Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of.

[Amanda Wisdom]

At Amika, we understand that looking out for each other isn't new or groundbreaking. It's human. Amica. Empathy is our best policy.

[Unknown]

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