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Have you met Allmodern? Allmodern brings you the best of modern furniture and decor all in one place. Save up to 70% during their big sale of the year. Update your space with modern dining tables, chairs and more. All on sale at Allmodern, a Wayfair specialty brand. Plus get fast and free delivery. That's modern made simple. Shop the big sale of the year October 26th through 29th online@allmodern.com.
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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. It welcome to Derry is now streaming Sundays, 9pm on HBO. Max hi listeners, I have a story I want to tell you. There was this doctor over at St. Augury's who would kill his patients. Oh yes, it was madness. Aren't you afraid the light taker might get you? I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. That adrenaline. I want more of it. I snapped. Totally lost it. He had no idea what was on those tapes. It was like a song. Ollie and the Outcast So gather round and listen it. Dear Aunt Anna, it's Sadie. You're probably going to be the first one to find this. I want you to know that I'm sorry for the stress that I've caused you. And I'm sorry I've been lying. But you have to understand, Meadowview Lane was our home. Or it was while mom was here. You never told me why you hated this place, why you never wanted me to go back. But I think I understand. I think it's the same reason why Grandma and Grandpa were so hesitant to sell it. And I think it's why me and mom moved in. When we inherited the house, it was falling apart. Most of the lights had since burned out or their wires were eaten through, leaving the walls to peel like a bad sunburn, bleeding mold and dust all through the darkness. The windows were glazed with dirt and smothered with moth eaten curtains, turning any view of the street outside to smudges of brown light. In some of the rooms the walls were completely torn away, revealing their wooden ribs, support sticks with pipes and metallic cartilage stitched between. My room was one of habitable ones. It was upstairs where the ceiling bends with the roof. Age stains dripped through the white wallpaper all the way down to the hardwood floor. I claimed it as soon as we first moved in, mostly for the huge round window. Through it I could See the entire backyard, from our porch to the old bird bath to the forest further on. The room was a little tight, but I loved it. Renovation was a lot of work, yet mom held fast. Every time I came back from school, there'd be a new set of shelves or cabinets, A fresh coat of paint around one room or another. Box of knickknacks all unpacked. She brought her Bluetooth speaker to whichever room she was working in so that Amy Winehouse and the Beatles could help out. Over time, the musty mansion had started to feel like home, and I looked forward to the days ahead when we weren't just building a house, but living in it. But then, as you already know, mom went missing. I'd woken up in the morning to go to school. Usually, mom didn't start on her projects until after I left. She wasn't there for breakfast, so I grabbed a few granola bars and went out the door. I just assumed she was still sleeping. But when I got back, the house was silent. The afternoon drew on. I tried calling her, but got no response. And as the sun began to set, my heart began to sink. Something was very, very wrong. That's when I called you. You couldn't reach her either. So you picked me up and took me back to your place. I remember you made me pasta for dinner. It was all you had at the time. I tried to eat the flavorless noodles while listening to your calls just ring and ring. I heard it go to voicemail for about the hundredth time. Then you swore and called the police. If I'm being honest, I was reluctant to move in. I was so sure that any day now, mom would show up, explain what happened, and take me home. But time wore on with no answers. The police investigation was stalling in circles, searching for evidence that simply wasn't there, losing steam. Once they'd taken down the crime scene tape. All I wanted was to go back to Meadowview Lane. I know you said I shouldn't. You said it wouldn't be healthy for me. But I was desperate for some semblance of normalcy. I just wanted to go home. And part of me was hoping that there would be something, anything, that might help me understand why my life was upside down. A few weeks ago, I snuck out of your house. I'm sorry for breaking your trust and for stealing your car. But I wasn't content to just sit around and let the police slowly forget my mother's case. I drove nervously through the dark, part of me afraid to return to Meadowview. I still had the key. And even though I was alone, I found myself opening the door slowly, nearly tiptoeing through the hallway. The air was dense with dust and the smell of crumbling wood. Shadows poured out of the cracks and decaying walls, just like it used to be. I wanted nothing more than to call out and tell mom that I was home. I kept the lights off so that the neighbors wouldn't see. And felt my way upstairs. The familiar sound of creaky floorboards lined my way. My room was quiet, lit up by the stars spilling in from the window. I collapsed into my bed, curling around my pillow. I thought maybe if I fell asleep, I'd wake up and everything would be back to normal. But sleep never came. After a few hours, I sat up, frustrated, gazing out of the window into the mess of green and black smudges. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing. And when I did, my entire body went rigid. Out in the backyard, right next to the bird bath, was a dark silhouette. It looked like a statue, naked and strangely smooth, with a human shape and tall, lopsided head. Its skin was inky black, folding into the shadows. It was standing in front of the bird bath, completely frozen, with long fingers holding its face as if it were crying or maybe praying. With horrified fascination, I pressed my eyes to the window, peering closer. Its hands began to move, sliding down to reveal a single white eye. It was as large as my entire face and nearly glowing. The iris was a solid black hole punched through the center, its gaze like a spotlight. Unblinking, it stared straight at me. I staggered back in shock, heart pounding, each breath sharp in my chest. A moment later, I re approached the window. It was gone. The bird bath stood alone. I hesitated, then rushed out of my room, down the stairs, into the front door, certain that the creature was pursuing me. But I didn't see anything on the lawn, on my way to the car, or on the drive home As I laid back down in your guest bed. My heart was still pounding. I didn't tell anyone about the creature. I wasn't even sure if it was real yet. It was creeping in my head, my mind finding its shape in every shadow, my body tensing at every window. But eventually, the urge to go back to Meadowview overtook the fear. I needed closure on what I saw, whatever it had been. I went at night again. This time I sat in the living room, on the sofa, angled to face the back door. I sat for about an hour, staring through the window into the backyard, waiting for something to happen. After a while, I checked my phone to see how late it was, and when I looked back up, the creature had returned with two others. One had its lanky elbows and knees bent at its side, sitting like a spider, while another one was kneeling, its arms flat on the grass. The last creature was standing with long limbs dangling at the hips. All three were looking at me, their white eyes blazing against pitch black bodies. I was frozen, unsure of what to do. What were they? What did they want? There was only one way to find out. Even while my brain screamed at me to stop, I slowly started towards the back door. Every step seemed so loud, and when I turned the handle, the rusted hinges screamed. But the creatures didn't move. I walked onto the grass, maybe 20 yards from the figures. Their inky skin gleamed in the moonlight like wet stone. Their arms tapered down to long fingers, their feet hidden in the shadowy grass. They had no facial features other than that single eye, but as I got closer, I could see their torso shifting whenever they somehow breathed. I called out to them, a quiet, cautious hello. They didn't react. No movement, no noise. No sign that my voice was even heard. Their stares were unnerving, but I tried my best to stay calm as I slowly reached into my pocket and felt for my phone. They broke their silence with a dull hum, barely more than a vibration. It started so gradually at first that I didn't notice. It wasn't until I pulled out my phone that I stopped. It was like pressing your head against a pillow to hear the blood rushing in your ears. A heavy, dark echo from a seashell. I raised the phone again, ready to take a video to capture the sound. But while the creatures didn't move, the humming got louder, faster, more urgent. A threat. They knew what I was doing and were warning me. I brought my phone back down. The noise softened, but didn't stop until I forced it back into my pocket. I whispered an apology, and they stared at me. My gaze rested on the one holding itself closest to the grass, its limbs folded almost under its body, like a cat. It was looking straight into my eyes, almost expectantly. They were like animals. What would animals want? I moved towards the door, not daring to turn my back. As soon as I was inside the house, I made a dash for the kitchen, going through all the cupboards. I kept glancing out the window to make sure that the things hadn't vanished. I had no idea what they were, but I wanted to try and make a peace offering. I found a half box of stale Cheerios, poured out a bowl, and took it back with me. They hadn't moved an inch. I held the bowl out with both hands and, carefully, moving as slowly as I could, I stepped towards them. Part of me expected them to scatter, start humming again, or pounce, but they didn't react. I crossed half the distance between us, crouched down, placed the bowl, and then backed up again, still half bent, like I was bowing. I watched as the eye of one creature left my face while its companions still stared, the middle one focused on the bowl of Cheerios. I couldn't help but hold my breath as it started to move. It lifted its limbs, heavy and graceful yet absolutely silent. The creature crept forward and dipped its shadowy fingers around the bowl. Other than that strange humming, its scooping a handful of Cheerios was the first sound these creatures made. It looked at me and then started to crawl back as another one of the figures took its place. They moved in slow motion, each one taking their turn to grab a handful of cereal and then retreating, holding their share in a closed palm. Then, in perfect synchronization, they were leaving. Keeping their eyes on me, they slowly crept backwards. I stood still until they disappeared behind the trees. I exhaled, letting out all the breath that had been hiding in my lungs. I hadn't gotten a picture, but now I was sure they were real. I had treated them like animals, but they must have been more intelligent than that. They lived in groups. They recognized me as a living thing. They understood that I was feeding them, and they threatened me when I did something they didn't like. I left the house and walked back to the car, glancing around at every dark corner. I wouldn't try to sleep at Meadowview tonight, but I'd be back, and so would they. The next night I snuck out even earlier to make sure I got to Meadowview before the creatures. I'd been to the store earlier that day and picked up box after box of cheap cereal. I knew they were okay with Cheerios, so I decided to branch out from there. When I reached the house, I went straight into the backyard. It was only about 10, and there was no sign of anything watching me. They hadn't tried to conceal themselves, so I didn't waste much time in checking. I scrubbed down the empty bird bath with some cleaner and steel wool, something that mom and I had been meaning to do for months. I wasn't sure if the creatures would care, but I didn't want to take chances. Once the bird bath was looking sanitary, I poured out the cereal, alternating brands until the mound was overflowing. In addition, I laid out a confession perfection of groceries, everything from Bread to ice cream to frozen blueberries I set on the lawn. I wanted to figure out what they liked. Once I was done, I stepped back from the bird bath to survey my work. Then something caught my eye. Half hidden behind a tree was one of them, invisible in the night except for its glow gleaming white eye, which was, as usual, staring at me. I called out a soft greeting, pointing to the food and trying to hide how much my hand was shaking. I wanted these things to like me, but I was too afraid to show any weakness and fear of what they might do. As I expected, it didn't respond to my words. I backed up some more until I was leaning against the house. Then it stepped out from behind its tree, still looking at me as it crept towards the offering. A few others emerged, each eye fixed on me. There were nine in total. The first one crawled over on all fours, holding its eye close to the food the way a dog brings its nose up to something unfamiliar. The others crowded behind it, waiting for their turn like before. They picked through the food, taking what they wanted until they filled their palm, then stepped back. Even more of them appeared, slipping out of the woods as the first group fed. There was more than enough for all of them. They ignored the processed food while the bag of frozen blueberries, bananas, and baby carrots went pretty fast. But what they really liked was the meat. I laid out a few cheap steaks, which were picked up almost immediately, and some packages of raw ground beef. While they wouldn't take a fruit if it was too processed like jelly. That didn't stop them when it came to meat. One filled its hand with beef jerky, while another gently tore a hot dog in half, stared at its insides until it realized what it was, and then grabbed more again. Each took a handful. I studied them as they sifted through the pile, filled their palm, then retreated. Even with only maybe a dozen of them, they somehow managed to pick through the entire Bird Bath's worth of Steel cereal and all the meat. As they started to leave, they kept their eye on me with a gaze that I would like to think was grateful but still made me shiver. Then they ducked behind the trees and vanished. That night I decided to sleep in my old bed again. That was the reason I'd come back to Meadowview in the first place. And while I was afraid of the creatures, they hadn't shown any actual aggression yet. Maybe I'd be safe indoors. I climbed upstairs, set an alarm on my phone for before dawn so that I could sneak back into your place, then laid down as I tried to sleep. The creatures were all I could think about. How long had they been here? I wondered how many times I'd walked through the house at night, around the windows, while one of them was watching me. I drifted off to sleep. Images of the woodland shadows sifted through my dreams until the memory of a song drowned them out. It was light, twinkling with a tangled rhythm, as if instead of walking, the song was staggering, stumbling. The notes were high and discordant, but wrapped around each other in a strangely soothing way. It was something mom used to play, both before we moved into Meadowview and after, once we cleared off the old piano. She knew normal songs, too, but occasionally I'd hear her mess up, hitting a few notes from this tune and then switching over. I'd always found it strange, but never asked her about it. I regret that now. I stirred awake, my eyes slowly opening to the dark impressions of my bunched up sheets. The song was still playing. I sat upright, frowning. The music was light, but definitely there, coming from the hallway downstairs. I left my room, following the sound carefully, I descended the stairs. The gloom disguised each step, forming one smooth tunnel. When I reached the landing, one of the boards groaned underfoot. The piano cut off. I leaned over the railing over the hallway below, the piano sound in the corner. With the bench pushed slightly to the side, I took a few more steps down, still staring at the lonely instrument. Then I heard the rusty back door creak and shut. I ran after the sound, but by the time I caught up to the window, the backyard was vacation vacant. After a stunned few seconds, I made my way back upstairs. I sat awake in silence for the next few hours until my alarm went off and I was forced to leave Meadowview once again. The next day I decided on a name. Watchers. That's what they did. And until they showed another trait, I would call them that, at least to myself. Thinking of them as shadowy silhouettes or creatures made me uneasy. When I arrived at Meadowview that night, the watchers were already there, standing and crouching in a cluster of 15 a few feet from the tree line. They watched as I dragged bags of food out of the back door. I picked some of just about everything, from bread to ice cream to frozen blueberries and, of course, plenty of meat. I started to unload the food into the bird bath. I unwrapped and opened as much as I could, stacking food in the stone bowl and arranging some of it on the ground below. After emptying all the food, I gave the Watchers a thumbs up and retreated to the Wall. The watchers took everything. A procession of shadows came out of the trees, taking turns until nothing was left. They leapt like they always did, staring straight at me as they crept slowly backwards, their food clutched in their hands. I went up to my bedroom. As I laid down, I wondered what my goal was. I wanted to know more about these creatures and maybe earn their trust. But why? The sound of the piano cut through my thoughts. The same song. I considered getting up and going downstairs, but I sensed that would only stop them from playing. So instead I closed my eyes and listened to the warbling, twinkling melody until I fell asleep. In one of my dreams, I was in the back seat of a car, the uncomfortable shape of the child seat pressed into my back. Mom was driving and playing I Spy with me. Whenever it was her turn, she'd say cow. Even though there were none. I couldn't help but laugh. The memory transitioned into our old apartment. I'd just come back from school and was listening to mom talk on the phone. Her voice was loud and insistent, as close to angry as she ever got. Grandma wanted to sell the house on Meadow View Lane, but Mom was urging her otherwise and beg foreboding words. She suggested we move in. For reasons I didn't understand. Grandma was appalled by this and instead said that we should find someplace safer. She eventually agreed. Grandma never sold the house, but when it passed to Mom, I remember the day she told me. She acted so strange, almost uncertain. The dream faded and I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I'd never had a dream so vivid. It must have been the music. It was still playing, floating through the darkness above my head. I sat up, wiping my eyes, and I gazed through the window. The moon was bright, lighting up the lawn like an empty stage. But beneath the glass, leaning off the wall, was a watcher. Its huge pale eyes stared at me, its inky limbs nearly invisible. I made out the shape of its hands and knees. It was sitting in a fetal position, arms wrapped around itself and perpendicular to the house. It sat sideways, so effortlessly, like it was weightless. I noticed it seemed a little smaller than the other ones, almost childlike. I whispered to it softly, asking what it was doing here. It didn't move. The piano music from downstairs twinkled away. It kept watching me, and I wondered for how many hours it had sat there staring. I started talking, my words shaky. I was trying to stay calm, so I didn't bother waiting for a response. I asked questions I already guessed the answers to, like whether it was one of them playing the piano, whether My mom had learned the song from them, whether she knew about them at all, whether that was why she didn't want a stranger living here, whether they had anything to do with where she was now. The little one kept on watching, and eventually my voice trailed off and I laid back down. I didn't fall asleep, but time wore on, and once it hit my alarm, the music cut off. I looked up. The watcher beneath my window was gone. When I entered the living room the next night, I found one waiting at the back door. The watcher was staring with a hand splayed out on the glass. There was a whole host behind them, leaning towards the house. Plastic grocery bags dangled at my sides. I asked them gently to move out of the way so that I could bring their food out onto the lawn, but of course no response. I thought back to the watcher from yesterday. If they came into the house while I was asleep, what was the point in keeping them out? I started to unpack the food. I felt their eyes on me more than ever as I set out packet after packet of raw ground beef, sausages, and chicken breasts. I unwrapped each one, then sprinkled a handful of blueberries over each chunk. It seemed like a meal they'd appreciate. I stepped out of the living room just as the back door slowly opened without a sound. The flood of black shapes entered the room, fanning out along the walls and confined, verging on the meat laden coffee table. I couldn't be sure, but they seemed to move with more excitement. They stared for a moment at some of the unfamiliar meat, but grabbed it all with what might have been enthusiasm. I severely undercounted how many there were, and soon all the food ran out. But they seemed to understand. Some came in, stared at the empty table, and then went back to watching me patiently crouching on the arms of the sofa or nestling behind the TV stand. One clung to the wall like a lizard, its neck arched backward so it could still face me. I heard my mom's song start in the hallway. The others didn't react. They just finished grabbing their food or rubbed their fingers around the edges of an empty meat carton. The tune was still playing when I went to bed. The melody was beautifully complicated, an irregular pattern that gradually spiraled down into a few notes, then bloomed outwards again. It made me sleepy to listen to. As I went upstairs and past the other rooms, I glanced inside each open door. They all had at least one watcher sitting on a piece of decrepit furniture, clinging to the walls or standing out in the open and looking at me like I'd interrupted them. It was weirdly comforting. Even with mom, the house had felt empty, too big for the two of us. It seemed better like this. I opened the door to my room. The watchers were already inside. The one under the window was back, with others huddled behind it. Others leaned against the walls, perched on top of my furniture, and a few even propped up in the corners of the ceiling. Dark hands and ghostly bright eyes peeked out of my closet more than I could count, and I was willing to bet there were dozens crammed underneath my bed, silently waiting. I wasn't afraid. I didn't know why I'd ever been afraid. I forgot about them threatening me, about them sneaking around, about how I could never satiate their hunger no matter how much meat I gave them. Meeting their gaze filled me with a kind of warmth that I had never felt before. I smiled at them and lay back, focusing on the music drifting from downstairs and glad that I would never feel lonely ever again. I closed my eyes and the notes from Mom's song dripped into my head one by one until I was outside with cold air, bare feet, and the taste of salt in my mouth. There weren't many beaches near where we lived, but mom liked them anyway. This one was cold, rocky, and covered in dirty gray sand, and as a seven year old I couldn't imagine anything more fun. We splashed around, pretending that the 4 inch waves were knocking us over until both of us got tired and sat on the beach side by side, bundled in towels. I said something that made her laugh, and hearing that in my dream felt like a punch to the stomach. More memories of her surfaced, hugging her legs as a child, her gentle encouragement as I butchered her favorite songs on the piano, her teaching me how to drive as my dreams went on. She got older, but I was too familiar with her to tell the difference. She never really changed, and now I might never see her again. My eyes snapped open and the dream was torn away. The tears in my eyes blinded me, dripping down the sides of my head, stinging and hot like blood. It took me a moment to realize the music had stopped, but it wasn't dawn yet. I sat up, blinking, trying to find the watchers. They were gone. I rolled out of bed and started into the hallway, calling for them with increasing desperation. I ducked my head into every room, but each one was disappointed. Deserted. The stairs creaked as I ran down, the only noise in the house. The piano was silent, the living room vacant. I pushed my way out onto the porch and I almost cried, relieved. The backyard was full of watchers, more than I'd ever seen. A blinding array of pale white eyes. All turned to look at me. Their feet and shoulders faced the trees. They were leaving like they did every night, but this time they were waiting for something. Me. I murmured for them to hold on and rushed inside, up the stairs into my bedroom. I grabbed a notebook and a pen and started writing. It's taken a while. I can hear them playing Mom's song to remind me to hurry up, but I just need to say goodbye. I know it sounds crazy, but mom knew about these things. I need to find out what happened to her. Maybe this is what happened to her. I know you might not believe me, but I can't be any more honest. Aunt Anna, I'm sorry about all of this. They're leaving and I'm going with them. Whatever happens, I love you. Full Body Chills is an Audio Chuck Production. This episode was written by Elliot Jordan and read by Jamie Lake. The story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original in full on our website. I think Chuck would approve.
- [41:01]
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Have you met Allmodern? Allmodern brings you the best of modern furniture and decor all in one place. Save up to 70% during their big sale of the year. Update your space with modern dining tables, chairs and more. All on sale at Allmodern, a wayfair space specialty brand plus get fast and free delivery. That's modern made simple. Shop the big Sale of the year October 26th through 29th online@allmodern.com.
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Let'S say.
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Your small business has a problem. Like maybe one of your doggy daycare customers had an accident. You might say something like doggone it.
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Hi Chihuahua. Holy schnauzers.
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But if you need someone who can actually help, just say like a good.
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Neighbor, State Farm is there.
- [41:51]
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And get help filing a claim from your local State Farm agent for your small business insurance needs. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.