DSW Advertiser (0:00)

Come to DSW for the shoes. Stay for the fun. Because let's be honest, if shoe shopping isn't fun, are you even doing it right? So go ahead, try something new. Try something different.

Narrator (0:12)

Good different.

DSW Advertiser (0:13)

Try something that feels like you. You know, the real you. And then definitely brag about it later. Because at dsw, you've got unlimited freedom to play. Find the shoes that get you at prices that get your budget at DSW stores or@dsw.com Let us surprise you.

Ashley Flowers (0:31)

You'll float too. From the director of it comes a horrifying news story set in 1960s Derry, Maine, that explores the origins of Pennywise the Clown. Get ready to go back to where it all began. The new HBO original series, welcome to Derry, premieres October 26th at 9pm on HBO Max. Hi listeners. I have a story I want to tell you.

Narrator (1:10)

There was this doctor over at St. Augury's who would kill his patients. Oh yes, it was madness.

Ashley Flowers (1:18)

Aren't you afraid the light take might get you? I'm sorry I didn't listen to you.

Narrator (1:24)

That adrenaline, I want more of it left. Totally lost it. He had no idea what was on those tapes. It was like a song Olie and.

Ashley Flowers (1:36)

The Outcast so gather around, gather round and listen. Listen.

Narrator (1:44)

Close. It's a terrible habit. Doom scrolling. Not something I'd gleefully admit. But in light of all that's happened, I think it's important that I share this. Because that's how I found Ferryman 0. I was a late adopter of TikTok, loyal to an old phone that could barely receive text once it died and I was forced to upgrade, the world changed for me. I became instantly hooked. The snappy train of videos began to occupy my pockets of boredom, those pockets stretching as I dove headfirst into the never ending rabbit holes that existed online. Your experience could be anything you wanted it to be. A comedy reprieve, a learning powwow, a place to vent. And best of all, everything was tailored to you, force fed by this magical algorithm no one understood it, knew you better than you knew yourself. It knew what you liked, what you hated, and it gave you what you wanted. And apparently I wanted tragedy. It didn't start out that way. No. First I tried to leverage the app with a tightened job market and my general lack of employable skills. My parents suggested that I start my own podcast to help fill the void. They even spotted me the equipment. Pops sold his construction company in the early 90s as his mobility began to deteriorate. They had me later in life and both seemed generally happy. Two prime examples of having your shit together. I took them up on the idea with very little passion or direction of my own. I decided to just start doing it. Fake it till you make it, as they say. My content was mainly at home interviews with local artists and entrepreneurs, pop up shops and other small businesses. The goal was to put their brand on notice and mine into the community. It's all about connections, my father used to say. You need to open doors before you can close them. As a prospective business major, it made sense. I clipped the full length videos and uploaded them with carefully curated hashtags. I stitched, duetted and reacted to as many trending startup clips that I could find. Think Gary Vee to Grant Cardone to every viral TikTok sensation peddling their online business course. My early watch history would have consisted solely of business advice, entrepreneurship, sales strategies, and the glamorous side of hustle culture. Dry, a little cringe, but somewhat constructive. And then somewhere along the way, it changed. Tanya and I had called it quits after living on the same block since we were six, dating all the way through junior high up until most of senior year. We were due for college on separate coastlines. And as Tanya helped me to recognize, not everything was meant to work out. Sometimes practicality and a longing for what's out there just bore more weight. Match that. With the dwindling success of the podcast and my father getting sick, and everything I held close began to crumble right before my eyes. I was lonely, to say the least. Late at night, with nothing to do, I spent hours and hours combing through a flurry of videos. News stories, political debates, and conspiracy theories began to take over my feed, all with the general consensus that we were all screwed. Then slowly, I began to gravitate towards stories of people who had suffered great loss. The grieving parents of passengers trapped on a commercial airliner found in pieces, personal testimony from survivors from a school shooting, drone footage from a distant war. It's shameful to admit that such misery could provide me comfort, a shared suffering that I could relate to on some tiny, miniscule scale. Or maybe a distraction, some sad attempt at feeling something real. Tragedy was happening to real people every day, and my life was bad. But it wasn't that bad. And based on the sheer number of comments and likes these videos were generating, I wasn't alone. These sort of disasters, they resonated. And eventually the algorithm led him to me. The unassuming wooden skiff floated through a calm body of water. The first emergence of light bled through the wall of clouds above. A figure nothing more than a shadow. Cloth clasped the oar amongst the fog. The only audio was the calm splash of waves created by the rowing. The caption read, we all travel the river alone. Creepy and seemingly random. The dreary setting and rocky motion had a dreamlike quality. I couldn't tell if it was real or some sort of cryptic AI rendering. The splashing was calm, almost hypnotic. After a couple loops, I Swiped away top 10 worst caving incidents Number 10 the Cops Hill copper mine Another half an hour of scrolling went by before a second one hit my feet. This one was less detailed, but just as strange. The low res camera was zoomed in on a shot of a spinning coin. There was a rhythmic sound of metal as it scratched against the concrete. It circled past a web of cracked pavement, past an outcrop of weeds that crept through the rubble. As the blur of movement faded, you could tell the coin was old. The metal was oxidized along the edges, chipped and brittle around the ornate vines that bordered the stern face of a monarch. It looked like it belonged to another country, another era. The caption was the toll to pay. I was astonished by the video's simplicity and the number of comments. None of my videos had even a fraction of that attention, though they certainly required a lot more effort than spinning a damn coin. Most of the comments seemed lost, like what the hell are we watching? It sparked my interest, and so I did some digging into Ferryman 0's profile. It was the weirdest account I'd ever seen. The videos weren't tragic in any sense, just utterly strange. Eerie, like some bored emo kids art project eagerly released into the wild. None of the videos resembled the one with the small boat, but each had its own underlying mystery that drew you in a blurred flurry of branches and dirt. As the camera bobbed up and down, all that could be heard were the labored breaths of someone running. I saw swiped a pano shot of what looked like a construction site after dark. Swipe. The grainy video of a modest bedroom. The sound of snoring. Swipe. The sounds of the city, streaks of light from the nearby high rises, Pattering rain. Hundreds of people were leaving comments. It all felt like a puzzle waiting to be solved. Viewers speculated about the whereabouts of each scene. Where was he going to pop up next? And of course, the ever elusive why. Others claimed they started to see him floating in the river of their dreams. Some alleged that it was their grandmother, their aunt, their best friend lying in that boat. Claims were being Made from all across the world. It drew me to revisit the first video. There was a brief pause where towards the bow you could make out a vague black shadow, like something was laid along the floor. A few broken pixels along its edge were being interpreted as toes. I soon became immersed in the lore myself, but I couldn't deny that I was a little jealous. With every one of my theory comments, I left two or three more, trashing the video. Potato quality, low effort, Lame. Fake. I even sprinkled in some playful lies to feed the enigma. Fake names, fake locations, fake links to unsolved cold cases. It had become a little game, and all of my friends were sent links. Weeks passed when out of the blue, Ferryman Zero went awall. I caught myself stalking his profile, rewatching his old videos. Then months went by and I finally accepted that the account had gone dead. Maybe the creator had grown bored. Eventually I found work at a local sandwich shop. Then, somewhere within the whirlwind of summer and a part time job, I stumbled across a girl I really liked. Things had been going good and I found myself being more present. I hadn't opened the app in weeks until. Hey, Birdie. Huh? Finally, with a steady paycheck. Yeah, I could justify going out on the weekends with friends. One night on my Uber ride home.