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- [00:00]
Jevon
Hey, welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. Before we begin, be sure to check out my brand new podcast Scary Stories and Fire. If you would prefer the same great stories but with a super relaxing campfire background, the link is in the description. Also, if you haven't yet, I highly recommend you subscribe to this podcast. If you enjoy listening to Relax or Fall Asleep hundreds of hours of stories and rain for $2.99 a month that will get you access to all episodes with zero ads. Consider subscribing and I hope you enjoy this episode.
- [00:38]
Samsung Galaxy
I can say to my new Samsung Galaxy S25 Ultra hey, find a keto friendly restaurant nearby and text it to Beth and Steve. And it does without me lifting a finger so I can get in more squats anywhere I can 1, 2, 3 will that be cash or credit? Credit. 4 Galaxy S25 Ultra the AI companion.
- [00:59]
Ann
That does the heavy lifting so you can do. You get yours@samsung.com compatible with select apps.
- [01:04]
Samsung Galaxy
Requires Google Gemini account. Results may vary based on input. Check responses for accuracy. Oh sheet Honey chill. It's just laundry. Not that I'm talking about these Arm and Hammer Power sheets. All the power of Arm and Hammer laundry detergent in a convenient tossable sheet. Oh sheet. That's what I'm saying. And Arm and Hammer Power sheets deliver an effective clean at a great price. Think of a all the laundry will do and all the money we'll save. Oh sheet Arm and Hammer. More power to you. I was never really a runner. The way I see running is a gift, especially when you have stage four cancer. I'm Ann. I'm running the Boston Marathon presented by bank of America. I run for Dana Farber Cancer Institute to give people like me a chance to thrive in life even with cancer. Join bank of America and helping Anne's cause. Give if you can@b of a.com supportan what would you like the power to do? References to charitable organizations is not endorsement by bank of America Corporation Copyright 2025.
- [02:10]
Ann
I have had an interest in cryptozoology for many years now. From Bigfoot to the Loch Ness Monster, the subject of Cryptids captured my imagination, and I subsequently dedicated my life to proving their existence. Recently, I went on a trip to Wales in the UK in search of what is known as the Afanc, a lake monster of Welsh mythology. Reported to be a kind of crocodile beaver hybrid. It's said to prey upon anyone foolish enough to fall into or swim in its waters. Bemused, but friendly locals directed me to Lyn Yer Afanc, a lake near the village betwisee coed that was named after the creature. There I stood for over an hour in miserable, damp conditions, but I saw nothing, not a single ripple or bubble on the lake surface to indicate anything larger than a trout calling it home. As a memento, I decided to take a photograph of the lake. Even if I came away empty handed, the approaching autumn gave the scene a distinctly eerie appearance. Skeletal tree limbs and a pervading sense of rot would certainly make an excellent visual for a blog update. But on studying the picture a little more intently, I saw a black shape on the distant lake's edge. It was thin and tall, the figure of a man. When I looked up, the man was still there, standing statue, still on the other side of the water. I raised a hand to wave to him, but he didn't move. He seemed to be wearing thick black clothing, his face obscured by a black woolen scarf. He didn't make a sound when I turned to leave, figuring I had intruded on his favorite fishing spot, he began to crouch. At first it looked like he was slowly kneeling down to pick something up. A fishing rod, perhaps, or, God forbid, a weapon. Instead, I watched in utter confusion as the man seemed to arch his back before using all four limbs to race through the trees behind him. I was awestruck, struggling to comprehend what I had just seen. I immediately took the picture into the nearby village to ask the residents if they had any ideas. The patrons of a local pub laughed when I told them what I had seen, but they didn't laugh when they saw the photographs. They grew quiet before telling me I needed to leave. The entire train ride back to my home city, I couldn't take my mind off of what I had witnessed. Using the train's Wi fi, I posted the pictures to numerous cryptozoology websites and forums, unable to contain my excitement. Once, several users confirmed that they had never seen or heard of anything like it. Another user posted something morbidly fascinating concerning three missing children that had disappeared while playing near the lake, stating that it was possible this newly discovered creature could be responsible. The same user joked that he had hoped the thing didn't see me photographing it, but I didn't find the comment particularly amusing. I spent the remainder of the day researching what I had seen, but I could find nothing. Nowhere was there any mention of a black shape that ran on all fours. I stayed at my computer late into the evening. Long after sunset, my dog began to bark. I could hear her scratching at the front door with her paws, yelping Wild. When I went downstairs, I found she had urinated on the carpet. Something entirely out of character for her. Once I cleaned up after her, she refused to sleep in her doggy bed downstairs, insisting on sleeping at the foot of my bed. Call it a hunch, but I called an anonymous tip to North Wales police telling them to search near Lyn Yerafank for the missing children. If nothing came of it, then fine. But something did come of it. The next morning, I woke up to the news that an anonymous tip. My anonymous tip had led police to a discovery of human remains in the woods near the lake. Police later held a press conference in which the bones were confirmed to be those of a child. That night, my dog began to make those same terrified yelping noises again. She peed on the rug. Something I thought I'd trained out of her years ago. However, it is not unusual for a dog to urinate uncontrollably. When it detects a larger predator in the area. Which would explain what I saw when I opened the door and peered outside into the dark, rainy night. On the doorstep beneath me was a single tuft of thick, spidery black hair. I think I have found a new kind of cryptid. In January 1987, a triple murder occurred in Wichita, Kansas that left the neighborhood at a loss to explain the depravity of those responsible. Someone entered the Fager home and killed husband and father Philip and then his two daughters, Kelly and Sherry, in a vicious and senseless act. The crime was initially believed to have been perpetrated by the infamous BTK Strangler. However, someone claiming to be the killer sent a letter and denied committing the triple murder. Even after a suspect was arrested and later acquitted. At trial, the exact circumstances of the murders were never explained. And the case remains unsolved. The events of the case began when Mary Fager returned home on January 31, 1987, after spending several days away visiting family. As she entered her wichita home at 7015 East 14th street, she found her husband Philip, dead. He had been shot in the back twice. Police believe he had returned home because he was still wearing his coat and and must have surprised an intruder. When police arrived on the scene, they found the bodies of the Fager's daughters in the basement. Sherry Fager was nine years old and her sister Kelly was 16. Both their bodies were found in the basement hot tub. Which had been covered over to conceal the bodies. And the water temperature had been turned up to 90 degrees. Sherry had been bound, and it was assumed she had also been strangled. With the same electrical tape used to bind her. It could not be established if she had been placed in the water after she was bound and strangled, or if she was placed in the hot tub first and drowned. As a result of the strangulation, Kelly had not been bound and there were no apparent injuries on her body. However, investigators did find semen in the hot tub. There were no signs of forced entry and very little resistance was given to the killer by the victims. When the police checked with Mary Fager, they discovered the family car was missing. They also learned that Philip had employed a local handyman who had been contracted to do some work around the family home. The handyman, William Butterworth, was also missing and at first police believed he may have been another victim. Several days later, Butterworth's van was found just seven blocks away, But a search gave up no clues. Almost a year later, on January 3, 1988, William Butterworth was located in Stuart, Florida when he called his wife and a family member reported it to police. When the police arrived, Butterworth was still on the phone to his wife when he was confronted. He did not resist arrest and was not armed. Police found the car keys to the Fager's stolen car, which was nearby, as well as stolen credit cards in his pocket. Butterworth, described as a guy who would do anything he could to help someone, was a father to three children, a three year old and six month old twins. Under questioning, Butterworth told police that when he entered the Fager home, he found the body of Philip Fager by the front entrance. He then heard noises coming from somewhere inside the house and became frightened and fled, taking the family car. He described being in a trance like state and did not regain rational thinking for a few days. Although he had been having some financial issues in the weeks leading up to the murder and had no clear motive for murdering the Fagers, he could offer police no clear reason why he fled to Florida. Butterworth did not have a police record and he was not a match for the semen found in the hot tub or the fingerprints found inside the house. At the request of his defense attorney, Butterworth underwent 20 hypnosis sessions during a four month period to see if he could remember more details. His story remained the same, but the hypnosis did reveal more of a detailed story about the events prior to the murders. Butterworth remembered working on a sunroom he had been hired to build and when he returned from his lunch break, he recalled Kelly Fager was in the basement hot tub with someone else. He had assumed it was her boyfriend, but he never got a good look at the individual because of the condensation from the hot tub covering the glass. He decided to leave the work until later and left the family home. He went and bought some shirts and then met a friend, retired police Captain William Dots. Dots confirmed Butterworth's version and verified the time of their meeting. He recalls that Butterworth did not seem agitated, shaken or nervous when he saw him. Most importantly, the hypnosis revealed what he remembered when he returned to the Fager home. It was around 4:30pm and when he entered the house, the lights were off. He entered the solarium and noticed Sherri Fager face down in the hot tub. He then went upstairs and found the body of Philip Fager by the front door where he had been shot. Then he retrieved Fager's car keys from the floor and then heard a noise, possibly a scream, emanating from the basement. Realizing the murderer was still there and was now attacking Kelly Fager, he became frightened and decided to run. He bolted to his van but realized he was using the Fager car keys instead of his own and so after quickly moving his stuff from his van to the family car, he drove off as fast as he could. If Butterworth's version of events are to be believed, then it would mean Philip Fager was the first to be killed, either shot as he returned home or as he was about to leave. Then Cheri Fager was bound and submerged in the hot tub before Butterworth himself returned to the solarium to continue his work. Lastly, Kelly was murdered while he fled the family home. He later claimed to feel remorse and shame for leaving because he might have been able to save Kelly Fager if he had gone back into the basement. During the 1970s, the then unidentified serial killer known as the BTK Strangler was active in Wichita where he murdered several people and made contact with both the police and media. In January 1988, BTK sent a communication to Mary Fager in the form of a letter. In the letter, BTK did not claim responsibility for murdering the Fagers. However, he did show his appreciation for the real killer. BTK sentence said, I did not kill them, but I admire who did. Along with the letter, BTK also sent a drawing of his imaginary fantasy of Sherry Fager bound and cowering in fear. At the trial in June 1988, Butterworth's lawyer, Richard Ney used several different methods to get his client acquitted. He wished to use the BTK letter sent to Mary Fager as proof that it was the elusive serial killer who had killed the Fagers and not William Butterworth. The judge refused to allow nay to enter the BTK letter as evidence. The judge also refused to allow the evidence of a boyfriend of Kelly Fager to be used in their defense strategy. Despite these setbacks, Butterworth was acquitted of the triple homicide. The police believed they had their man and let him slip through their fingers. But the prosecution never established any motive, had no witnesses, and no murder weapon was ever found. There were inconsistencies in Butterworth's testimony, and his version of events had to be established through the use of hypnosis. On the day of the murders, Butterworth claimed he had jumped the fence out the backyard several times, but there were no shoe imprints in the snow. Police were of the theory that the family had let Bill Butterworth into the home because they knew him and he was responsible for their murders. Lt. Landwehr later claimed that had they had a different jury then, it may have been a different outcome. Upon his arrest for the BTK Strangler murders, Dennis Rader had in his possession the original copy of the 1988 letter he sent to Mary Fager. He denied any involvement in the murders and no evidence was ever found to link him to the crimes. The murder of the Fager family remains unsolved.
- [15:43]
Samsung Galaxy
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- [17:47]
Ann
Three years ago I met who is now my best friend K. Through working in a restaurant, we immediately found that we had similar interests. Oh, you're a girl that likes gaming. Word. Let's hang out. We were about 21 and 22 at the time. Fast forward to our first day hanging outside of work. We go to a brewery downtown because we shared the similar craving for this thing on the menu called crack fries. They are seasoned to absolute perfection and tossed in trouble. Truffle oil would recommend 10 out of 10. We had some beers, talked about school, and eventually decided to check out what events were going on in the Park Circle downtown. While we sobered up, the Park Circle had different events going on throughout the week. Swing dancing on Tuesdays, jazz on Wednesdays. It was Wednesday and I wanted to check if the jazz event was in season. Oh shoot. I glanced out to the Circle to what appeared to be a church event. It's not for another month. The church event was playing this chill and ambient instrumental music. The weather finally crept its way up to 70 degrees and sunny. We decided to stay, pitch up a hammock and enjoy the artsy musical culture that our city holds in the Park Circle. Kay had never hammocked before or seen the events in the circle, so I was pretty stoked to share what would be a new experience for her. We are facing each other, sharing stories from our pasts, tugging at the ropes to rock the hammock back and forth. It's a great first friend date. We are laughing, just two peas in a pod, looking up at the finally blue sky of springtime, watching the sunlight filter through the treetops over our head until the greasy cracked out face of a man hovers into our vision. Looks like fun. Mind if I join you? He uninvitedly plops his backpack against the tree holding our hammock strap. Uh. We exchange an unsettled glance and immediately sat upright to face the man. It's broad daylight and homeless people sometimes meandered towards the circle and sat under the shaded trees to just hang out. Some asked for money but most kept to themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was kind of creeped out by the guy but didn't think much of it because I am used to interactions with homeless people. My mother was homeless so I guess you could say I have a soft spot for having a conversation about their life, not giving them money, maybe offering a cigarette and leaving it at that. King hasn't had that experience so she keeps glancing back at me for some support of what the hell do we do? The guy decides that he's welcome, cracks open a 40 in a crinkled paper bag and takes a few swigs. He extends his can to offer us some. We decline and ask him what he's doing. Just seeing what's going on down there. Noticed a large group down there. He points a dirty stub of a fingernail out to the circle. Xiaoyu shut up and thought this swingy thing looked cool. I already considered saying oh we were just leaving but he watched us set up. Getting up and packing up now after being there only 10:20 minutes would only indicate fear. K raises an eyebrow at me. I am fairly new to the whole hammocking thing so I'm trying to quickly devise how to count casually grab my hammock. What excuse sounds most believable to make an exit and nope right out of there he gives the typical creeper interview questions. Where are you guys from? What are you doing? We give him short replies hoping maybe he'll take a hint and go bother someone else. He only gets closer. What's this? He starts rocking our hammock. K's eyes cut into mine with panic. A hammock? Where do you buy em? Thinkin about getting one of my own. Maybe this guy genuinely wants to buy a hammock and is socially inept, not realizing rocking two girls in a hammock is creepy as hell. I look down to the circle. Everyone's just doing their church thing. I look towards the walking paths that spiral out from the circle. I give passerbys a wide eyed look of please help us. They exchange the same look of well that's creepy. Sucks to be you guys and continue walking. I look to the other side of the road and see a strange construction van pull up, the plate obscured. There was no business information on the side, but then again my uncle drives a similar van for work. I expect to see a construction worker come out, but it's a man dressed in business casual talking on a cell phone. The homeless man nods his head at the businessman who starts slowly and casually making his way towards us while maintaining his conversation. The businessman is speaking in a different language. I assume it's Hindi because I had a friend, Andrea who grew up half Indian with her native speaking grandma and her father. By her family's interactions I could usually tell when something serious was going down. Sometimes I'd pick up small words in their conversations and try to understand what they meant. I was studying French in college at the time and learned that once you study a language it can become pretty universal. You don't understand just that language. You pick up on similar sounding vowels and words which hold a pretty similar meaning. From that you can kind of decipher a translation from the businessman's body language and words. How he kept looking towards us with purgatory eyes. I felt completely hollowed out and then the feeling of a lead weight sank in my chest when I hear him say Du la daque in a Hindi to French to English conversion that my brain puzzled together. DU is similar to Duke's is similar to Duke2LaDakh. The rest of the word cut out was pronounced in a way that reminded me of what Andrea's grandma called us when we were in middle school before she translated to her broken English and said girls. The businessman discreetly motioned towards us. I take out my cell phone and bring up an old text, pretending I just got it. Hey K. Looks like Chris and Jordan are here. They're looking for us right now. I throw my body off the hammock, unclip it from the loop and swiftly pull the hammock straps from the tree. K never took a hammock down before, but learned very quickly. We threw the jumbled heap of hammock and its straps in my backpack and the homeless man calls after where are you going? We swiveled into a crowd of people and when I turn I see the homeless man and businessman spirit speaking, motioning angrily back toward us. We scramble through the crowds of people and down A few side streets until we're out of sight. Later, we tell my aunt and uncle when we get back to my house, by the way, this is my friend K. And here's what happened. My aunt's eyes are cold and she tells us that sex trafficking and abductions of young women had been on the rise in our city. Pulling women into vans from the side of the road or using markers of objects or people to indicate targets. We were a very visible target sitting nearby a street in a highlighter yellow hammock.
- [25:46]
Jevon
I grew up in a small town where everyone knew your business. When I was nine, my dad was arrested for driving under the influence. I found this out the next day from the kids in my class. Two of them were from cop families. I was tormented by them. Afterward, I was told my mom was going to be a single parent because my dad was going to jail. For years and years, I was told the local TV station would be sending a news crew around my house to film the moment when the police turned up and kicked in the door and dragged my dad away. I believed every word and burnt with shame and fear. I hardly slept. I couldn't eat. My parents did not tell me anything until a few weeks after the arrest. They didn't want to say anything to me, but when I broke down and told them what I had heard, they sat me down and explained. In the end, my dad lost his license and was fined. It was bad, but nowhere near as horrible as the tales the bullies had been force feeding me, and I never got over it. When I was 17, I wrote a letter to a girl I was desperately in love with. I had never had a girlfriend and was too shy to speak to her. So I agonized for weeks over what I should write and felt sick with nerves when I finally left it in the mailbox outside her family's home. I don't know who got hold of it, but within days there were photocopies everywhere. They were on lamp posts, on the sides of buildings, the back of bus seats. I'd see groups of people standing around reading them and laughing or making pretend puking gestures. Things I had written in the letter would be shouted at me in the street. I wanted to curl up and die. For everyone else. It was just great entertainment and another swell day in a small town. When I was 21, I left. I caught one of the buses that had been decorated with a copy of my letter and half exposed, expected to see it still there, stuck to the seat. As the bus pulled out, I vowed I would never return. I had fallen out badly with my parents by this stage as well. They couldn't understand why I was so adamant to get the hell away. They told me I was naive and would come crawling back. I did not plan to write to them or phone or email. I had also already deleted my social media accounts. They were pathetic anyway. And I had canceled my mobile phone contract. The past was dead to me. I had to put it out of its misery. And as the bus hit the interstate, I was looking forward to creating a whole new me in a brand new place. The only thing I knew for sure about the city I was heading for was that it was sprawling. Millions of people lived there. I figured there would be Internet cafes or terminals I could use in a public library to help me find a job. I would need to do this pretty damn quick as I only had a couple of hundred dollars in my wallet for temporary accommodation and food. But I was confident and I was buzzing. I had escaped. It was dark by the time the bus pulled up at the terminus. Feeling stiff, stiff and cold, I stepped out into a deserted, graffiti strewn space. The displays on the stands showed no departures till the next morning. A coffee stall was shuttered and the restroom had an out of order sign on it. Not the best introduction to city life, I thought. Then I headed out into the street. I looked around, hoping to spot a neon sign advertising accommodation for the night. All I saw were rows of buildings in darkness. I put my hands in my pockets and began to walk. It was not long before the streets widened out and high rise buildings began to appear. I passed clothes, shops and restaurants, all locked up for the night. Sirens rose and fell in the distance. An occasional person passed by, their head down. I stopped and breathed in the cold air. I had arrived. I raised my arms into the air and called out a triumphant yes just as a woman brushed past me. I hadn't seen her appear and now she was walking away after bumping ever so slightly into me. I swore as I realized my pocket was empty and my wallet was gone. Hey. I yelled. The woman didn't look back, didn't even hesitate. She was off and running down the sidewalk. Police. I called out. I've been robbed. The street was empty and silent apart from me. Cursing as I set off in pursuit, I saw her veering off to the left down a side street that led back in the direction of the bus station. I increased my pace. She was quick, but I was pumped with adrenaline and desperate. Without that money, I had nothing. She turned again. Behind the garage where the buses were parked up and then onto wasteland. Twisted rebars sprouted from concrete. Whatever had once stood here had been demolished, and behind it rows of dark buildings stretched out as far as I could see. Fragments of glass lined empty window frames, and tags were scrawled all over boarded up doorways. I stumbled, almost falling as I caught my foot in a rut in the ground, spat, and carried on. She had 30 seconds on me. No way you're getting away from me, I said under my breath, though of course she did. I had reached the end of the road. I had been sprinting along. It split into two. Both ways were narrow and unsurfaced, and I had no idea which way she had gone down. I chose left. After 20 minutes of heading down more dark roads with no idea where they led, I had almost given up. But then I got lucky. I spotted her. The thief. She was standing in a doorway with a man from his hide and build. They were talking, and then she handed over money. My damn money, and he gave her a small packet in return. Drugs, I thought. Part of me wanted to go charging in there, take what was mine and give them a piece of my mind. The part of me that was still thinking clearly was saying, hold back. What if the dealer was armed? A gun or a knife, it didn't matter. I was the one who would end up hurt. So I stayed put, watched, and waited. A few minutes later she moved off. The dealer lingered, talking into his mobile. Then he slipped away in a different direction. I was free to resume my pursuit. I ran in the direction the woman had gone and just caught sight of her as she went into a building, slipping through a gap on one side of a sheet of plywood nailed against a doorway. Got you, I thought, and followed. I squeezed through the gap and into a vast open space. She was a dozen feet away from me, just standing there, brazen as you like. I was about to lose it, begin screaming at her, when I realized with a start that a man was sitting in a wooden chair by the opening. His face was turned towards me. Where his eyes should have been were dark, empty sockets. I was breathless from the chase, and when I spoke, each word was caught within a gasp. Who are you? Why, I'm the doorman of this fine establishment, he replied without missing a beat. The what? I exclaimed. The person who decides who can stay and who will be asked to leave. As he said this, the woman came closer. Before, I had only made out an outline. I could now see that she was young, around my age. Strands of long hair had escaped from a woolen hat, and her clothes were torn and dirty. She put a hand on the eyeless man's shoulder and said, what do you think? He sounds like he belongs here, the eyeless man replied. I don't, I snapped. I'm not scum. Living rough. What exactly is your home address then, son? The eyeless man asked. I'm. I began. A smile spread across the eyeless man's face. You can stay here tonight. There's a little food we can share, shelter and company. And we won't get offended if you move on in the morning. No, I said. I just want what's mine. If she has spent all my money on drugs, then I'll take those, sell them on to at least get something back. I glared at the woman, the thief. She did not flinch. She looked me in the eye and said, let me show you who the drugs are for first. Then she turned and walked away into the gloom that stretched out all around us. I followed reluctantly as she led me through the space. We passed people sitting huddled together on the floor. There were men and women, young and old and children. All were emaciated and dressed in filthy clothes. I was shocked by this, but when I became aware the thief was looking at me, I glanced away. I did not want her to see how out of my depth I was. I'd never seen anything like this before. Scum. Living rough. I looked up at her words and muttered, what? She answered in a calm voice. That's how you described us, I said. I didn't. For people to live like this. My words trailed off. I didn't know what else to say. She finished for me. They must be pretty desperate. I shrugged. I guess. She kept her eyes fixed on me as we walked by another group. A man lay curled up, sleeping. A woman sat with a baby at her breast. The blanket wrapped around it was smeared with feces. I looked away, disgusted, and immediately hated myself for it. She saw me doing this, then said in a quiet voice, there's no jobs, no benefits, no health care for some people. So they simply fall through the cracks of society and they end up here. Is that what happened to that man? The doorman? Because he has no eyes? I asked. She looked refuel when she replied, he fell a long time ago, while he was still sighted. Twelve months ago he sold his eyes to a clinic operating outside the law for money in his palm. That's horrific, I said. That's economics, she replied. Then she stood next to a pile of rags on the floor. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. She drifts in and out, but when she is conscious the pain is unbearable. This is why I stole from you. This is why I needed the drugs. She knelt by the rags and lifted around the corner. My God. I realized it was a person. A woman's face was revealed. Her skin was lined and stretched taut over protruding bones. Her eyes flickered and a painfully thin hand and wrist appeared out of the folds of the rags and reached slowly for the thief's face, who was blinking back tears. My mother, she said. The cancer is in her bones and she's had no treatment, no care, except for what I can scavenge and steal. She took out the packet she had bought from the dealer, opened it, and placed her forefinger inside. When she withdrew it, her finger was coated with a fine, pale colored powder. Gently, lovingly, she placed her finger in her mother's mouth and began to rub the powder onto her gums. Tears clouded the old woman's eyes and then they closed. She began to snore gently. I'm sorry, I said. How long does she have left? The thief did not look up when she replied. Too long. She was silent then, and I could not think of anything else to say. As I stood there and my eyes continued to adjust to the gloom, I noticed there were others there. They were pressed against the walls, held in the shadows. I could make out no details, only that they were slender shapes clothed in rags. This is hell, I said. It just came out. I didn't mean for it to. It is, she said. But it is our hell. Our home. I'm sorry, I said again. I had nothing else apart from saying, and I'm glad that you pickpocketed me if it helps ease your mother's pain for a few hours. She smiled sadly at this and the silence settled back into place until the crack, the sound of wood splintering rushed towards us. Then a man's voice called out in pain. What's happening? I asked, but she was ignoring me, running towards the noise. I hurried after her. The disturbance was over by the makeshift entrance. As I came alongside her, I was horrified to see that the wood covering the door had been broken and that the doorman lay on the ground. Blood pooled around his head. Standing in a line behind him were six men. They were dressed in expensive looking suits and tan cashmere coats. They were grinning smiles that I remembered the bullies in my hometown wore. Only I could tell these men were worse, much worse. One of them was wiping blood from his knuckles. He finished and looked at us. You seem pretty lively, so perhaps you can explain to your pals what is happening here. This land is ripe for development and my client wishes to purchase it. But first we need to clear the trash. You need to leave and leave now. His speech delivered, he nodded at the other men and they began to advance on us. I turned to the thief. We need to get everyone out of here before anyone else is hurt. She shook her head. Her eyes blazed with anger. No. The world has taken everything else from us. This is ours and we will not give it up. But we. I began to argue, but she reached out and took my hand in hers, then started to back slowly away. I was scared and confused and let her lead me back into the building, into the gloom. The men, sneering, laughing, making obscene remarks about the thief, about what they would like to do to her, kept pace with us. We passed the pathetic, huddled, thick figures. The men spat on them, told them to move it, called them filth and called them dirty whores and junkies. And all the while the thief kept walking. She said nothing. We were coming closer to where her mother lay, to where the edge of the world was a place of shadows inhabited by slender figures clothed in rags. The thief stopped and let go of my hand. Here, she said quietly. This brought a fresh wave of obscenities from the men. What are you going to do, bitch? Fight? Go down on your knees. One of them raised his fist and stepped rapidly towards her. She spoke again and simply said, now. They moved slowly, the things which emerged from the shadows. They moved silently. Their rags were dark, flowing shapes, and inside the rags something inhuman was contained. I blinked, wiped my eyes. I did not understand what I was seeing. The figures in the rags had no skin, no flesh, no eyes. They were bone, finger bones were reaching out and grasping the men. Skeletal hands were clamping around the necks of the men and choking. The men began to scream and thrash around. I stood and watched, paralyzed by fear. What are they? I managed to say. The thief replied. Some people would call them wounds, wraiths, the spirits of those who suffered great injustices while they were alive, but who will take no more now they are dead. Held in the grip of the inhuman things, the man began to collapse and pass out. The thief raised her hand. Enough, she said. The inhuman things let go and slowly made their way back into the shadows. As they did so, some of the men and women who had been huddled together nearby approached. They methodically stripped the men of their fine clothes, watches and wallets. They then dragged them unceremoniously back towards the broken, open door. The thief watched ours, she said again. They will not take it from us. A smile flickered momentarily on her face, and then a harsh, racking cough made her whirl around. Mother. She cried out and ran to her. I joined her and knelt on the ground, asking if there was anything I could do. No, she said. I think it is her time. Her mother's chest was rising and falling in sharp, desperate motions. Each breath was a battle, each moment was clearly an agony. And then she became still. The thief's whole body shook as she wept and stroked her mother's hair and told her that she loved her. A skeletal figure draped in torn, filthy clothes now stood over the thief and her mother's body. A newborn wraith, I thought. One more vengeful creature. As I watched, it retreated into the shadows at the edge of the world and took its place among its ragged kin.
- [46:31]
Samsung Galaxy
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Art
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- [47:02]
Art
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- [47:55]
Jevon
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- [48:24]
Jevon
Hi, this is Jevon, your blinds.com design consultant.
- [48:27]
Samsung Galaxy
Oh wow, a real person.
- [48:29]
Jevon
Yep.
- [48:29]
Ann
I'm here to help with everything from selecting the perfect window treatments to.
- [48:32]
Samsung Galaxy
Well, I've got a complicated project.
- [48:35]
Jevon
No problem.
- [48:36]
Ann
I can even help schedule a professional measuring install. We can also send you samples fast and free. Hmm.
- [48:41]
Samsung Galaxy
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- [48:43]
Jevon
Whatever you need.
- [48:44]
Samsung Galaxy
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- [48:55]
Art
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- [49:25]
Ann
It had been more than a week since Art locked my friend into his artwork and tried to do the same to me too. It was his misguided attempt to bring us all into a better world that he created through his drawings. Luckily, I was able to knock him out and send him into the drawing instead. It unsettled me deeply when my friends decided to use some heavy persuade persuasion techniques to get him to tell them how to get out. Fine. It was torture. Nathan kept pressing a white hot poker into his chest until Art broke. I wasn't there to watch it. I couldn't stomach the sight. But when I took the drawings out again after a day had passed, my friends had obtained the answer. I felt bad making them do the dirty work, but there was nothing I could do from out here. Here and going in would only mean that we were all in the same boat with no one to protect the drawings. We still had no idea what would happen if the drawings were destroyed. When I picked up the drawing of the cottage with the fireplace, Art was passed out and tied up. His chest was a mess of burns and wounds. I felt the bile rise within. My friends were nowhere to be seen in the picture. I pulled out the other pieces of paper. There they were. They were in the other house that Art had drawn, and I could see them huddled together through the windows. I waited patiently for someone to look up and see me. Sean did so first. He perked up, then turned to the others who all turned to look at me. They soon disappeared from the window. After a minute or two, the door and the drawing opened and all three of them came out. Nathan held up a large piece of paper for me to see. The tiny words Scrawled on it read, Art has to draw us in the real world. We touched the drawing to get out. I digested the information that made sense. He had drawn us, figures of us in the town he created. My friends had touched the drawings of themselves and got sucked into his town. It made sense that if he drew them in the real world and they touched the drawings, they'd get sucked back out. I nodded and gave them a thumbs up, hopefully lonely. I wanted nothing more than to have my close friends back in my world. A couple hours later, I watched as my friend scurried from the drawing I was holding out of view. They soon appeared in the drawing with the cottage, the one where Art was. Art was awake. They untied him and brought him art supplies. He seemed weak and in pain. Even from where I stood watching him from outside, I could see the disdain and resentment he harbored. I couldn't blame him. No one could get through being tortured by once friends without growing a grudge. He drew swiftly. I watched as he etched out a picture of a house. One that was familiar to me. It was Nathan's house. He then started on drawing three figures. Those of Nathan, Eddie and Sean. They were drawn to be standing outside of Nathan's house. As he filled in the details, I felt a burst of hope. They were getting out soon. Art picked up his dream drawing and thrust it at Nathan, who took it with trembling hands. With looks of anticipation on their faces, Eddie, Sean and Nathan reached out their hands to touch the figures on the drawing. Eddie and Sean were sucked through into the drawing. Nathan had pulled back at the last second. He stood there staring wide eyed as Eddie and Sean came to life in the drawing. Nathan looked at them and at Art. He seemed to be yelling at Art. He was soon grabbing Art's collar and shaking him. I looked at the piece of paper which floated to the ground. Eddie and Sean were looking out, yelling, terror marking their faces. Then Art kneed Nathan in the balls. Nathan collapsed and landed on his knees, breath caught in his throat. Art, wounds open and bleeding again, again. Landed a solid punch across Nathan's face. Nathan fell back on the floor. Art then picked up the drawing and pressed it into Nathan's hand. Nathan was gone. I nearly dropped the drawing. Just like that, Art had trapped them all. My friends were now in a drawing within a drawing. I couldn't think of how much worse things could get. Art stared up at me from the drawing. I stared back. We were silent. Then he walked out of sight. I scrambled about in my drawers, looking through the various Drawings he had made. Then I spotted him at a pharmacy. That made sense. He was patching himself up. For the next hour I just sat there watching as Art bandaged his wounds. Then he moved to the cottage with the fireplace. He seemed determined to avoid looking at me. He sat by the fireplace, knees drawn to his chest. He was still holding the drawing in which my three friends would be seen crying, yelling, and gesturing wildly. I looked at Art, looking at them for a long while. Then he stood up. With a sense of purpose. He walked toward the fire fireplace, looking up at me. Finally he mouthed, sorry. He held out the piece of paper towards the fire.
- [55:05]
Jevon
Stop.
- [55:06]
Ann
I screamed, though I knew he probably couldn't hear me. Art hesitated as he looked at me. Just wait. I mouthed and held up my hand. Five minutes. Give me five minutes. I mouthed, as clean clearly as I could. He just looked at me for a while as my heart thundered in my chest. Then he nodded and sat back down, back facing me. I knew what I had to do now. I found the piece of paper with me drawn in it. Taking a deep breath, I touched the figure of myself that was drawn to be at the playground. Everything went black for a moment. Then the world looked lit up. The colors were exaggerated, overly bright, and much too saturated. But it was beautiful. Art had created a breathtaking world where the light danced off the cobblestone streets. The air was fresh with a tinge of sweetness, and everywhere I turned, things seemed to sparkle and glow. It was truly a magical world. I shook my head to bring myself back, back to my senses. I was here for a reason. I had a job to do. I ran, searching for the cottage that was now familiar to me. I felt the warmth emanating from it as I ran by. This was the place. I opened the door and walked straight in. There he was. Art looked much like himself, just accentuated. Hey, I said awkwardly. You're here. You came. He said, surprise etched on his face. I'm sorry about everything that's happened, I said. I really didn't know what I was supposed to do. I understand why you refused to get in, why you knocked me out, even. But how could you stand by and let them do what they did to me? We were best friends. Friends. I hung my head for a moment, ashamed. Then anger took over. You kidnapped my friends, trapped them in a drawing, tried to do the same thing to me despite the fact that I clearly said no. What did you expect me to do? Run in here? Try to stop them? Getting myself trapped in a world that I had no say in. Had no wish to be in this time. Art seemed a little bit ashamed. We were quiet for a while. Then I spoke. Now that I've seen your world, I get why you want to be here. Art's eyes lit up. It's beautiful. It's just for us. It's our own world to explore with. No limits, no restrictions. I get it. Art stared at me, hope creeping onto his face. I'll stay here with you, I blurted out before I lost my nerve. I'll live here with you. It's a great place to be. But I want you to let them out. They don't belong here. Art was still for a moment, considering. I held my breath. Okay, I'll let them go. We don't need them here. I nearly wheezed in relief. I watched as he sat down and drew a door in the drawing they were in. All the while they stared out of the drawing at Art and at me, looks of fear and confusion on their faces. He had drawn a trapdoor on the ground. Then we both waited as one by one, with my nod of encouragement, the three of them opened the trapdoor and went down through it. Where did they go? I asked. They're now at the safe room I've created here. It has the same trapdoor. You knew this would happen? I asked in disbelief. No, but I thought someone may somehow make their way here or try to destroy the drawings. It's a safe space I drew for us to get out from. Or others to get out. We need to get there now to pass them a drawing that would get them back to the real world. I followed him out the door and along very various streets before we got to a nondescript house I hadn't paid attention to before. As we stood outside the house, I heard the voices of Nathan, Eddie, and Sean yelling, trying to get out. They banged on the front door. I felt a wave of relief. They did get out of that drawing. Within a drawing, Art paused and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. He knelt on the ground and drew a house. It was my house. He drew my room and drew a separate door to the room, one that didn't exist in my real place. He slid the drawing under the front door of the house. Touch the door. He shouted. You can get out now. The ruckus stopped. Then Nathan's voice piped up, sounding defiant. I don't trust you. Why would I do that? What if this was another trap? Nathan's voice sounded defiant. I don't need you guys here. I have my best friend here now. This is what I promised. I don't break my promises. We could hear the hushed whispering in the room. Then silence. After a few moments, there was a gasp. It works. He's out now. I can see him staring at us through the window. I looked outward. There he was, Eddie, looking like a giant, staring at us from the outside world. He saw me and reached down to touch me. But there was an invisible screen between us. It was like I was in a snow globe and he was outside trying to get to us through the glass. I smiled up at him. Then Sean and Nathan appeared next to him. They looked down at me, concern clouding their their faces. What about you? Nathan mouthed. It was easy to read his giant lips. I'm fine. I shouted, mouthing clearly. I gave them a thumbs up. They continued to talk amongst themselves. Then Art reached out his hand towards the sky and closed his eyes, frowning. Gradually the sky started to glaze over with blue. The view of my three friends slowly faded as the sky became opaque. I could no longer see them. Without them in sight, the world seemed infinitely more real. Now it was just me and him. Now I stood there staring up at the blue sky, wondering what they were doing, if they were still staring at us in the pictures. I waved sadly and turned away. In that moment, a heavy sadness sank in all my hopes, my dreams, all the plans I had, everyone I cared about. I was stranded apart from them in a world one filled with quiet loneliness, with only my captor for company. Art turned to smile at me, his face a picture of contentment. That was good. I guess he didn't know what I was planning.
- [62:25]
Samsung Galaxy
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- [63:03]
Jevon
The sky shed a crimson and flood when upon the earthen plains I mounted, and around me I would see only the remnants of this desiccated earth. For not in the thousands of leagues that the plains around me surrounded was there found any life, merriment or mirth. Truly, without mercy was he, for not even the young were spared. Amidst the ruinous desolation many of their drowned corpses I would see, and more would I See that none, even the innocent better fared. And it was to the ashen red sky I cursed. A horrid fiend thou art. How long has this wrath of thine been rehearsed. Destroy the lives of all thou hast. And only because of the freedom that I aimed to impart not were my curses heeded. Nor was there any lively sound. And longer did I wander amid the quiet ruin, the domain he has now so violently conceded, only for no living spirit to be found. Only the carcasses were found littering the plain, drowned and stripped of life. Yet among the many dead I found that one, a young and beautiful maiden, still drew a labored breath I came upon her lying likewise, the rest in her watery earthed bed. And this she said to me with the last of her strength. Damned be we for accursed were our whoring hearts. Upon the conclusion of the young maid's last testament, prostrate in death her head laid upon me. And I watched in sadness as I saw the last glimmer of light in her beautifully jaded eyes depart. And wept I did, when beside her corpse, my eyes fell upon the lifeless body of her newborn child, frozen and perpetually crying out for its last time, for the comfort of its mother. How could one so small be in his eyes, so reviled? And how am I of gravest evil? And yet he is the cause of this atrocity, fouler than any other. In rage I roared to the scarlet bleached sky with grief, with the slamming of my fist upon the barren earth Cast was a tumultuous tremor, one that shook both the earth and the heavens beyond belief. One that naught could any from the heavens or the earth endure. And with my rage unbound, I, with the most terrifying howls, spread my hellfire abroad. Oh, how great was the sound, the roars that would cause man and beast to in fear applaud. And I felt it when my horns from my head formed my skin. Likewise the sky became bleached a deep and bloody hue. And still I roared and more. By my flames was the earthen plains warmed, my dark wings spread abroad, and into the air I flew. I knew what was now to be done to rebuild the realm of the earth I must. It was with strife that to reform the world of man in a new image I began, just as he had from dust. And it was the ashes of the desolate carnage that would serve me as my mold. From this mold the majesty of life would resume. And whence born again. Never again would any creature fear to live by a Monster's control Instead free they would always be to thrive and bloom with the great mad rushing of the gales. Born was the first of the new generation of man. His skin was milky and pale, not yet having attained its natural tan. His eyes formed as the very same hue of the dirt below. And the first wails of life from his lips burst and more of the life. Upon my newly inherited land I would bestow land that had been previously by his will accursed. Man, woman and beast all were recreated now with my image. Once this achievement concluded, the furious elements ceased. For it was then that once more teeming with life, complete was my earthen visage. And more I saw the fruit of my good works. And joyful I would see that it truly now was. But ever would I see how his might lurks, as more I would see him devastate my righteous cause. From the clouds with a furious sound he from his throne most high dissent. And laid within his burning eyes only disgust and rage was found. Cursed at me thou hast for destroying that which I resent destroying that which I have made perfect and was made unwhole by your hand. And now thou hast forged a new civilization so bent, so abhorrently wrecked. A mere abomination forged from desecrated sand. Yet you prophesied that I am the evil one. You whom hath to taken what I made beautiful and made bent. And to this my tongue spits fire that blazed with the intensity of the enraged sun. It was by your unmerciful, iron bound hand that to hell their souls have now been sent. Thou speaks of thy creation as beautiful, as perfect, yet thou allowest them no will of their own. How then, father? Were they whole, yet so heavily restrict? His eyes gleamed. And I would once more stand the witness to his wrath being shown. It was with the great tremors that I watched the new world I had forged laid low. And more had I seen each life stripped viciously and without mercy. And still did his eye with apathetic hair glow, deeming their lives as unworthy.