Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 168 - A Bloody Giveaway

Summary

Summary of "Scary Stories and Rain - Ep. 168: A Bloody Giveaway"

Podcast Title: Scary Stories and Rain
Host: Being Scared
Episode Title: Scary Stories For A Rainy Night - Ep. 168 - A Bloody Giveaway
Release Date: June 19, 2025
Description: TRUE scary stories and ambient rain sounds. Download the CHILLING app for more: http://chilling.app.link/chillingall

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Introduction

While the episode begins with a promotional segment about a Nintendo Switch 2 giveaway, this summary will focus solely on the captivating and chilling stories shared, omitting any advertisements, intros, and outros.

1. Night Terrors: A Haunting Personal Journey

Timestamp: [01:06 - 23:20]

The episode delves into an intense personal account of enduring night terrors, narrated in a first-person perspective. The storyteller recounts experiences starting from childhood, detailing vivid and traumatic nightmares involving shadowy figures and ominous entities.

• Early Experiences:
  At three years old, the narrator recalls fractured conversations with strange beings and shadowy figures chanting above him. Despite the terrifying mornings, he gradually accepted these night terrors as part of his life.

  "[03:32] Guest: Own, it was even harder to calm."

• Adolescence to Adulthood:
  Throughout his youth, the nightmares persisted, affecting his social relationships and physical well-being. The intensity of the terrors increased in his twenties, leading to bouts of sickness and heightened fear during and after the episodes.

  "I started keeping a log of the experiences." [03:51]

• Desperation and Isolation:
  As the nightmares became more surreal and distressing, the narrator felt increasingly isolated, struggling to calm himself without reassurance. He describes the tormented experiences in vivid detail, highlighting the psychological and physical toll.

  "The past few months have been an endless cycle of restless sleep and paranoid waking." [10:11]

• Attempts at Relief:
  The narrator experimented with various pain medications to manage physical symptoms but faced severe withdrawal effects when they ran out, exacerbating his condition. His efforts to seek help culminated in reaching out to his estranged grandfather.

  "I called my estranged grandfather and asked him to help me." [31:03]

2. The Glenn Stewart Godwin Case: A Twisted Tale

Timestamp: [23:20 - 31:03]

Transitioning from personal horror, the host narrates the intricate and sinister history of Glenn Stewart Godwin, a criminal whose escape from Folsom Prison bears striking similarities to the fictional escape depicted in Stephen King's The Shawshank Redemption.

• Criminal Background:
  Godwin was imprisoned in 1982 for the brutal murder of a former friend, Kim Robert Lavallee. His criminal activities included multiple murders and escape attempts, both within the United States and abroad.

• Escape Attempts:
  In 1987, Godwin successfully escaped Folsom Prison with the help of his wife and a fellow inmate by exploiting lax security measures. His daring escape involved cutting through fence wires and navigating a 750-foot storm drain, ultimately fleeing to Mexico.

• FBI Pursuit:
  Added to the FBI's 10 Most Wanted list in 1996, Godwin evaded capture for two decades by assuming various aliases and undergoing plastic surgery to alter his appearance. Despite multiple arrests and subsequent escapes, he remained at large until his removal from the list in 2016.

• Notable Points:

  • Godwin’s methodical and repeated escapes highlight his cunning and resourcefulness.
  • His interactions with law enforcement and the community paint a picture of a man driven by extreme vanity and criminal intent.

  "[27:20] Guest: Part of the prison."

3. The Supernatural Curse of Arthur and Delilah

Timestamp: [31:03 - 71:06]

The centerpiece of the episode is a spine-chilling fictional narrative centered around Arthur, a 16-year-old who becomes entangled in a supernatural curse involving a mysterious woman named Delilah.

• Setting and Early Signs:
  Arthur lives in a remote Midwest area where the advent of the Internet coincides with eerie occurrences. On his 16th birthday, he witnesses two men burying what appears to be a human head near his isolated home.

  "[40:10] Guest: Please don't make me do this."

• Introduction of Delilah:
  Delilah, a beautiful yet sinister figure clad in white, begins to haunt Arthur's dreams. She appears under mistletoe, tempting him with seductive promises that bind him spiritually and mentally.

  "She whispered to me that if I just do as it asks, it will let me sleep peacefully." [12:17]

• Descent into Madness:
  As Arthur tries to resist her influence, he experiences debilitating coldness and paralysis, struggling between reality and the haunting allure of Delilah. His attempts to seek help only deepen his isolation, leading him to confront his estranged grandfather for assistance.

  "You're a very lucid dreamer, Robby, to an unprecedented point." [31:03]

• Climactic Confrontations:
  The narrative builds to intense confrontations where Arthur attempts to break free from Delilah's grasp, resulting in tragic and supernatural outcomes. His journey portrays a battle between sanity and the overpowering forces of malevolent spirits.

  "Kiss me neath the mistletoe." [53:09]
  "She whispered, I'll be waiting, love." [64:07]

• Themes and Motifs:
  The story intertwines themes of isolation, supernatural influence, and the struggle for self-preservation against unseen malevolent forces. The recurring symbol of mistletoe serves as both a lure and a curse, emphasizing the inescapable nature of Arthur's plight.

Conclusion

"A Bloody Giveaway" masterfully blends personal horror narratives with true-crime storytelling and intricate fictional tales, all set against the backdrop of ambient rain sounds that enhance the eerie atmosphere. The episode offers listeners a rich tapestry of fear, suspense, and psychological torment, making it a compelling installment for fans of true and fictional scary stories.

Notable Quotes:

• "[03:32] Guest: Own, it was even harder to calm."
• "[53:09] Narrator: Kiss me neath the mistletoe."
• "[64:07] Guest: A cold, bitter end."

These quotes encapsulate pivotal moments of fear, supernatural intervention, and the deepening of the host's and guest's psychological struggles.

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For more chilling tales and to immerse yourself further, download the CHILLING app mentioned in the podcast description.

Transcript

[Host]

Hey, welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. I'm excited to let you all know that I got my hands on a Nintendo Switch 2 the Mario Kart World Bundle, and I'm giving it away to one of my podcast supporters on June 4. I stood in line for about seven hours to ensure that I got one. So I'm pretty excited to tell you that I actually did get one by the skin of my teeth. Honestly, in order to win, all you have to do is sign up for a $2.99 a month membership to support my podcast. Only my podcast members are in this pool. It's a small group. You actually have a shot to win. Keep in mind that all of the ads will go away. You'll be able to listen completely interruption free and you will enter automatically. By doing that, the winner will be announced September 1st. Click the link in the description to join. Now get rid of all of the ads. Enjoy the podcast with absolutely no interruptions and you might just have a Nintendo Switch 2 sent to your doorstep. And with that said, I really hope you enjoy this episode.

[Narrator]

If you've ever suffered a night terror before, you know it always leaves a mark in your mind. Like trauma. Think of a nightmare that your mind makes real. Your wallpaper may start to move in a three dimensional space. You'll see flashes of distorted images and sounds will be rushing through your ears and throbbing in your head. It's like the world's worst roller coaster. Worse still, they always hit their peak around Halloween. Maybe it's just the constant horror paraphernalia around an overactive imagination and reruns of old horror movies, but still. My first was when I was three. I remember dreaming of fractured conversations with strange beings before unceremoniously waking up to shadowy figures standing over me and chanting. I screamed and weird sounds were rushing around me. It took my parents so long to coax me back into bed, but by the time I woke up, I was able to get on with it like nothing happened. A Distant Memory Come the morning sunrise, this pattern would repeat with varying levels of effect over my life. Sometimes the creatures in my dream would talk to me and the whispers would persist when I woke up crying and vomiting. Other times, I'd see them lurking in the shadows of my bedroom. But when I'd tell my mother, she would coldly tell me to ignore it, that nothing was there if I willed it to be. Eventually, as one often does when they get older, I found it easy to just get on with my life and accept the night terrors as just part of my life when they did die down over my adolescence, they were still frequent enough when I hit my 20s to be noticeable to partners. I'd brush it off as just a weird quirk and hope that I didn't embarrass myself in front of them. But thankfully, through a combination of luck and short term flings, I never had one when they stayed over. It was when I started having bouts of sickness after successive terrors that I knew something was wrong. I don't know if there was a trigger per se, and if there was, I wouldn't be able to tell you what it was. But they became far more vivid, more surreal, and the comedown from them seemed to take longer and longer to arrive. Now, as an adult living on my.

[Guest]

Own, it was even harder to calm.

[Narrator]

Myself down without someone to reassure me. What I saw, heard and felt. What a figment of my imagination. Naturally, I did what any rational person with too much time, paranoia and creativity would do. I started keeping a log of the experiences.

[Guest]

I won't bore you all with every.

[Narrator]

Detail, but I will summarize the last four experiences that inevitably led to me wanting to share this experience with you all, hoping for an answer January 30, 2021 entry one birthday night the terror consisted of a conversation with a large emaciated figure dressed in a Victorian widow's outfit. Two tall hooded figures stood motionless on either side of me. They did not react at all during this experience. The entire color scheme was grayscale, the conversation was one sided. They spoke, I listened, and their face was hidden behind a thick black veil. The sound of sharpening utensils snapped through the experience and gave me a fright. When the figure reached out their hand to silence me, I woke up. Headache was a 5 out of 10 on the pain scale and after 30 minutes with some water it died down. February 13, 2021 Entry 2 A night terror on Friday the 13th. How typical. This time I was in my childhood bed and could see the same Victorian widow chained to the wall opposite, but making no attempt to reach me. This time the dream was in sepia. The two hooded figures loomed outside my bedroom window and the Victorian widow put a finger to their lips to silence me. Though I couldn't hear anything save for a long drone, I felt the fear rise in me instinctively as the shadow of the figures passed my bedroom window and when sneezing, the fear that ripped through me coupled with the screeching sounds and bright red flashes sent me tumbling out of my bed in a haze. I smacked my head on the ground and my eyes throbbed in their sockets. Some strong medication and a soft piano playlist settled me after around 45 minutes, but I had to sleep in the guest room to avoid the windows. Something felt dangerous about them. March 30, 2021 Entry 3 the long gap between these two had me letting my guard down. When I woke up, I had full sensory awareness of my surroundings. I was my adult self, and it was my childhood home. I was on the living room coffee table, of all places, but everything felt stale, as if the house hadn't been used in decades. I felt only minimal control of my body as it followed the urge to rush upstairs to my old parlor room and place an ear to the door. Inside, I could hear a conversation between my parents and an unknown woman. She was warning them of a sickness that plagued me that would need containing somehow. My mother sounded resolute and replied, whatever it takes. I was so engrossed in the conversation that when a hand gripped my shoulder and an unfamiliar voice said, I'm getting closer, I felt my body grow cold. Before anything else could happen, I bit my hand and thankfully it woke me up in a sea of pain. One bandage later and a new round of painkillers, I am on the mend. But now I'm feeling that sensation on my shoulder intermittently. October 11, 2021 Entry 4 I forgot why I started making these. It's becoming harder to discern when I'm asleep or awake. The past few months have been an endless cycle of restless sleep and paranoid waking. Every time I feel at ease, I am greeted by the widow threatening to remove her veil if I don't listen. But the disjointed nature of that world makes it so hard to focus on her for more than a few moments. Everything else I can manage, but not her. Like a defense mechanism, I have begun to see her and other things I dare not repeat here, in places they shouldn't be, mirror reflections. When I am not fully looking behind objects, furniture, or landmarks, they sleep into obscurity when I cast my eyes in their direction. When I lay my head down and begin to sleep, they urge me to let myself relax so they can talk to me more. My head now feels like it's splitting open constantly, and no normal painkillers alleviate it. I have some stronger ones coming in the mail tomorrow.

[Guest]

I hope they can do the trick that neatly leads us to the last.

[Narrator]

Experience on the 28th this past Thursday. I haven't slept since then, and in all honesty I do not plan to do so anytime soon. Much to the detriment of my health, as I'm sure you're eager to remind me. Well, that is a small price to pay to keep whatever the hell is in my night terrors away from the waking world. Someone online said that there was a significance to Hallow's Eve, the spirits of the dead and wayward souls looking for vulnerable bodies to inhabit. That it was a mind over matter situation and I simply needed to maintain a strong mental attitude in the face of such horror. Yeah, easier said than done. I took the pain medication in haste when it arrived and for a week.

[Guest]

It did the trick.

[Narrator]

No more headaches, throbbing eyes or joint pain, and it seemed to give me largely uneventful dreams too. But then I ran out and read up on the effects of withdrawal from.

[Guest]

The type of pills I had been.

[Narrator]

Taking, among many stomach related ones. The key listing that stood out made my blood run cold and every part of me want to get on the floor and cry. Side effects may include extreme fatigue and increased sleep.

[Guest]

I could practically feel the boldness of.

[Narrator]

Whatever lives in my dreams grow with every hour. I got more exhausted stepping out of the shadows one toe at a time as I fought off sleep for as long as possible, but eventually we all succumbed to slumber when I was aware again it was from the perspective of someone else. The color scheme was still grayscale and sounds were bouncing up and down like a drunken sound engineer. It was disorienting, but not as much as the perspective which I was seeing from. I was now in the parlor, nestled under the floorboards and keenly listening above me, every fraction of my body compacted and unable to move or see save for a spatter of light through the boards. What can we do about these incidents? Each time he wakes up he's violent, inconsolable, and. And the voice of my mother broke down as. As my father continued. He kept on insisting that there was someone chained to the wall opposite his bed, that it gets stronger the closer.

[Guest]

We get to Hallows Eve.

[Narrator]

But we did what you advised and assured him it wasn't there. My dad finished hurriedly, an older woman's voice to the left assuring him, very good. We can't have him getting distracted and focused on everything he sees, can we? She said with an audible smile, but it didn't seem to alleviate my dad's concerns. And what if. What if he. If he does, you do as we instructed and you inform me as soon as possible. You came to me because you trust me. I ask that you continue that trust, she finished audibly, prompting my parents to agree. Soon I felt the hairs on my neck stand up as what I could only guess was the widow sat behind me, whispering in my ear as the hot stench of rot filled my nostrils, a pair of hands gripping at my neck for a few moments before I shifted again.

[Guest]

It was dark.

[Narrator]

My perspective was jarring. They were situated in the top corner of my childhood bedroom as a much younger me slept peacefully. I must have been about three years old at a glance, clad in Power Rangers pajamas and holding onto a blanket for dear life as I softly breathed. It took a few moments to realize what was wrong with the image I was seeing, like a camera focusing in or a really insidious spot. The difference game, but with your old memories versus the recorded events. Maybe it was because it was dark and my eyes hadn't adjusted, or maybe I didn't want to know. But either side of my bed stood two hooded figures staring down at me without ceasing. Everything in the night terror fell silent as if on cue, and I could hear the two of them speaking. Is this what must be done? The left one asked, concern in their voice. It's what she said to do. I'd have never imagined this to be reality, but the right trailed off, shaking in their robes. Well, we know what this is, and we agreed whatever it takes for our boy. The left one pulling down her robe to reveal my mother's signature blonde hair and beautiful solemn eyes looking at me. My father across from her nodded, his hood staying up as he raised a knife, the vision blurring and my head threatening to split open at the sight. I woke up in a sweat, but when I tried to move, my body wouldn't obey me. I'd experienced this a few times, but it was always as terrifying with each iteration, sleep paralysis. As I lay there, trying desperately to move my eyes for a better view off my back, I saw shapes shifting in the corners of my room, not towards me, but as if they were congregating with one another, many pairs of bulbous eyes staring back at me from sockets I could not make out at this distance. For so long we have been patient. For so long we have bided our time. But now I heard the bedroom door open, the dragging of limbs, the nails digging into the ground as they pulled the body forward, the smell of rot filling my nose as my heart began to race, the seemingly random noises unceasing in their efforts to jostle my body awake. With every flinch at each intonation, she rose up the side of my bed and every set of eyes followed her, mine included. She was taller than I remember, her stomach concave and her frock frayed beyond repair as her veil covered her face but not her malice. You are special. You have always been special. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment, for your maturity to manifest. She leaned over me and sat on my chest, the weight of her frame pushing down on me and constricting my lungs. We will persist when you're awake. You will help us find more just like you or she took her hands out and for a moment I was terrified she was going to wrap them around my neck again, but instead she brought them to her face and began to lift at the veil torturously, slowly, as the sounds reached a cacophony of unspeakable recount. I have never tried harder to scream in my life for it to only come out as a feeble moan. I saw rotted flesh and so, so many weeping wounds on her lower jaw as it continued to reveal horrors to me. She stopped at the halfway point and what remained of her lips pulled into a sickening grin. I woke up a few moments later, the use of my limbs causing me to flail and scream. My apartment down. Same room, same feeling. It's been a few days since then and I can't stop seeing them everywhere I go. I can barely function beyond basic needs. It seems like they're all waiting for something, I just don't know what. It's the worst when I'm brushing my teeth or shaving my face, however, because when I look away from the bathroom mirror for a moment, she will be.

[Guest]

There when I look back, towering over.

[Narrator]

Me, hands pulling at the veil and frozen in place, a scathing grin cutting my fragile mental state to ribbons as I fall back every time I have nobody to talk to. My parents passed away a year ago, and because of my inheritance I have isolated myself to the point where I don't know if anyone would notice for a long time if I were to. Well, you know. I am struggling to stay awake. I have tried caffeine pills, energy drinks, and other substances I'll not mention in case the wrong people are listening, but nothing lasts forever, and I am steadily catching myself nodding off, drifting for a moment into hellscape I cannot see. But here they tell me it's only a matter of time and that my special skills will finally be put to use before drones and screams fill my ears and I am brought back terrified. Which brings me to the present, to sharing this with all of you. Another Hallow's eve is descending and I no longer feel I have the power to contain whatever it is. Back. I hoped in some naive folly, that by sharing this over the airwaves, someone would know what this was and assist me. But I realize now that's all for naught. So I did the next best thing. In an act of desperation, I called my estranged grandfather and asked him to help me. He had always been a very difficult man and in all respects was the worst kind of boomer ignorant, petulant, and unwilling to change his ideals. But he was family. I was despondent. What the hell do you want? After nearly two years not talking, his gruff voice bit through the speaker. Not enough. I lost my daughter and son in law, but I lost my grandson too. This better be good. Exhausted and overcome with emotion, I blurted out what had happened in a flurry and to his credit, he listened without judgment or interruption. When I was done, he sighed. Well, I wish you'd have told me sooner, but here we are. I won't mince words here. You're a very lucid dreamer, Robby, to an unprecedented point. I paused and stared wide eyed as he explained further. You took the phrase make a dream a reality literally. It terrified your family and they were concerned you'd be taken to some government facility to dream up weaponry and doomsday devices, so they enlisted outside help to help you manage what was wrong with you. She was older and she claimed to have met others like you. Seemed to us that it worked. You led a mostly normal life and until now nothing bad happened. In fact, the only two things of any repute were you dreamt up your old family dog, Benson, and He paused, trailing off for a moment as I sat there in abject silence. Say Robbie, what exactly have you seen in your dreams? He asked, choosing his words carefully. Like did you ever see I heard a sh emanate from behind me and I knew who it was coming from. My back locked up and my knees felt weak. No, I usually just see shapes. Why? I felt every fiber of my body screaming to run, but I stayed still. Well, the person that helped them construct it in a ritual of sorts, she said it was good for containing old nightmares, things that had been there long before. But she didn't ever tell us what that meant, beyond a single warning that I suppose was meant for you. One day if things got dire, she said, if your parents kept to it while you were a child, you'd be fine. And to ignore anything they might see or hear. But the more exposed you got to the supernatural and the closer it got to Hallows Eve. Hmm he paused, sadness welling up in his voice. And since they died, I suppose that means whatever they did has lifted it was stepping closer to me, the shushing sound getting louder and more distorted, but I stayed still and asked what I knew would be the answer I never wanted to hear. What was the warning? He hesitated before responding. But the answer has left me scrambling to tell my story to someone, anyone who may know what is wrong with me, to send them a warning of what may befall them if they too suffer with this malady. So here I am, exhausted beyond measure, and it's only a matter of time before I pass out. Whatever the widow is, she's been standing in the corner of my room, every pair of eyes fixated on her as she clasps the veil on her face with both hands, threatening to lift it at any moment. I don't want to see it. I can't see it. If anyone has had a night terror that they never got rid of, please reach out and give me some advice before sleep takes me or something else does. It whispers to me that if I just do as it asks, it will let me sleep peacefully. But I am not so certain because what the phrase my grandfather uttered to me has me scared, witless and terrified. Every moment I see this creature pulling its hands upwards. Don't let it lift the veil.

[Host]

Glenn Stewart Godwin was imprisoned in 1982 for the brutal murder of a former friend and attempted an escape. Transferred to Folsom Prison, Godwin planned another escape with help from the outside. Once free, he fled to Mexico where he was again arrested. While in prison he murdered another inmate and escaped again. In 1996. The FBI added Godwin to the 10 Most Wanted list, only removing him in 2016. His escape from Folsom Prison in 1987 could be considered the inspiration for Stephen King's The Shawshank Redemption. Godwin was living in Palm Springs, California during the late 1970s with his roommate Frank Soto Jr. And had worked in several professions such as being a mechanic, construction worker and a self employed tool salesman. He had never had any criminal convictions nor was he even known to the police until the autumn of 1980. Godwin was known to be very popular with women and was considered vain by his friends. He, together with Soto, planned to rob a former friend of them known as Kim Robert Lavallee. They believed Lavalley would have a significant amount of money on him because he was a drug dealer. They lured Lavalley to the condominium they shared under the pretense of buying drugs from him. When he arrived, they Attacked him, with Soto restraining him while Godwin punched and kicked him. They attempted to strangle him, and when that didn't work, Godwin grabbed a butcher's knife and stabbed him 26 times.

[Narrator]

Times.

[Host]

The two men then loaded Lavalley's body into his truck and drove into the Eagle Mountains. Godwin tried to blow up the remains by strapping homemade explosives to the body, which consisted of fuel oil, nitrogen fertilizer and dynamite, in an attempt to disguise the murder. The explosions damaged the truck but did not sufficiently disguise the knife wounds to lavallee's body. On August 3, 1980, the truck was discovered with the human remains inside, seemingly abandoned in the desert of Riverside County. The police investigation found that Lavallee was last seen with Godwin and Soto at their residence. And during the autopsy, the pathologist found the knife wounds, which he attributed to a serrated edge knife. Both Godwin and Soto were brought in for questioning. Under intense police questioning, they were linked to the murder. Godwin was charged with first degree murder. At the trial in 1982, Soto testified against Godwin for a reduced sentence, calling him the most dangerous man I have ever met. And the prosecution was able to prove that Godwin had been the driving force behind the robbery and murder. Soto was sentenced to 25 years in prison. He was incarcerated at Soledad Prison, where he began a correspondence with Shelly Rose. She started to visit him and they began a relationship. However, in 1983, he was handed a sentence of 26 years to life imprisonment. Despite this, they married in 1985, and several years later he was transferred to Duell Vocational Institute in California, where he struck up a friendship with another inmate, Lawrence Karlic. Godwin attempted to escape in 1987, and because of this, he was transferred to Folsom Prison, a maximum security facility. While at Folsom, Godwin plotted his escape and paid a fellow inmate to tamper with his security designation, which helped him to get assigned to work in another.

[Guest]

Part of the prison.

[Host]

This area was an older section of the prison with looser oversight from the guards. He also requested help from his wife, Shelly, and his former cellmate at Duell, Lawrence Karlic. They smuggled a hacksaw into the prison and on June 5, 1987, he used it to cut a hole through the fence wire and jumped into a storm drain. This drain was 750ft long and emptied into the American River. Reminiscent of Andy Dufresne's escape, the fictional character in the Shawshank Redemption, Godwin crawled through the pitch black drain to freedom. His wife and Karlic had cut the iron bars on the storm drain exit and painted smiley faces on rocks to.

[Guest]

Help with his escape.

[Host]

They also arranged for an inflatable raft to be be left at the drain exit which Godwin used to float across the American River. When the prison authorities realized Godwin was missing, he was already miles away. Police believed either Shelly Godwin, Lawrence Carlick or both had aided his escape and a warrant was issued for Carlick's arrest. In June 1987, Carlick was apprehended in Hesperia, California and convicted for aiding Godwin's escape. Shelly Godwin was also considered a suspect in her husband's escape. An arrest warrant was issued for her in January 1988. She was eventually arrested in Dallas, Texas on February 7, 1990. However, she had recently divorced Godwin and remarried, telling investigators she didn't know where her ex husband was. It was strongly believed that Godwin had escaped to Mexico and was now participating in the illegal drug trade. He was eventually arrested in 1991 in Puerto Vallarta and was convicted for drug trafficking. He had been running drugs in Guadalajara and was sentenced to seven years and six months in Puente Grande prison. American authorities began the extradition process. However, Godwin murdered a Mexican drug trafficker while in prison which delayed the proceedings. He then escaped again on September 26, 1991. It was believed that his escape was aided by members of a Mexican drug cartel after he murdered one of their rivals. After this, nothing more was heard about Godwin, whom American authorities believe had continued his involvement in the illegal drug trade trade in South America. He has used several aliases including Dennis H. McWilliams and Miguel Carrera. Police believe that he has also had plastic surgery to alter and keep his looks because of his well known extreme vanity. On December 7, 1996, Godwin was added to the FBI's 10 Most Wanted list with a reward of up to $20,000 which was later raised to $100,000 for information leading to his capture. He is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous and an obvious flight risk. After 20 years, Godwin was removed from the FBI's 10 Most Wanted list on May 19, 2016, with the agency declaring we think the payoff from the publicity has diminished over time.

[Narrator]

For context and posterity.

[Guest]

The current date is October 7, 2021. I am bringing you back to the year 1999. Over 20 years in the past, back when cellular phones meant nothing, the world thought an imminent Armageddon was coming. On the night of December 31st at midnight, I was 16 years old what I saw one cold October night is as fresh to me then as it is now. Bear with me as I set the stage for you. I grew up in a remote area of the Midwest. My home was on a hill all by its lonesome, surrounded by farmland on three sides and endless acres of woods after the fields of wheat, corn or whatever we planted that season. The woods were dense and foreboding. We would not be out there after dark. A lonely two lane road was the only way in or out of our place. Old County Road 577 it was called an amazing thing happened right around my 16th birthday. The Internet. We had a computer already, maybe for a few years or so. This was huge in my little area of the world. We didn't have much money, but I think my parents could foresee how important a PC would be for me and my brothers. They barely used it, but man, we were off to the races. I guess it must have been a Dell or a Gateway, which were huge back then. Windows 95 was the operating system for anyone born in my generation. Just remember when that Windows brick maze screensaver came on. The nostalgia is strong with that one. To the newer folks in the Gen Z crowd, just having a computer was a thrill. The Internet wasn't a thought quite yet. Not to us normal people at least. We had quite enough fun just playing PC games, typing silly stories and using Ms. Paint. If you had a printer, you could also make those giant banners with a clip art and funny fonts. I remember making a banner that said Broncos because I was rooting for them to win one of the Super Bowls around that time. Every letter took up one page. Those seven letters drained our printer of ink. Different times for sure. I might be getting off topic. Sorry, I was just drowning in late 90s feels. I guess the point I am getting at is that being in that era of owning the tuned up PCs was awesome. These weren't your 1980s computers that ran one program. They were easy to learn and could do many things. The Internet, however, changed everything. Yes, understatement of the century. I know. Another interesting thing is that we grew up without the finely tuned and polished search engines that we use today. You didn't Google anything. You couldn't type in sports, in Yahoo or whatever. Yes, the search engines were very soon to come. The ones you could use were very shoddy and hard to find. Anything not like the complete ease we enjoy today. My dad changed our entire living room around the computer. He built a computer desk with plenty of shelves and perfectly sized cutouts for the Computer monitor, sliding drawer for the keyboard, etc. He also installed a sliding glass door close to where the computer was. So while playing one of the earliest point and click PC games, we could enjoy the vast outdoor landscape and have an easy exit from the home to take a leak. Hey. Our nearest neighbor was over two miles away and there were four of us boys in the home. The first time we tried getting online was painful. The only Internet provider in that time was just as new at this than anyone else. We sat and listened to that now iconic dial up dubstep tone hoping for magic. We got nothing. We tried for weeks to get connected. We didn't know what we were missing. It's not like now if your Internet goes down, you know. But once we got on, man, it was on. The rest is history. Here I was staying up late at night surfing the web, finding websites that was accessing me information from around the world. And here at home in the US back then you might see a commercial on Saturday morning telling you to join them on the world Wide web and provide their address. Like I said, you pretty much had to have the URL correct to find things. If there was a sports show on, they might tell you to go to the Sports Illustrated site for kids and provide that long URL. Now we all know you could just google sikids or something like that and find it in.0001 seconds. Being connected felt great. Where I lived was vast, unforgiving, and kind of lonely. The worst thing that no one talked about was that it was just plain creepy. There was no streetlights after dark where I lived. The long county roads were empty at night. When a car did travel up that road, I usually stayed still in my room. I hated seeing the reflection of their headlights slowly light up the upstairs window. No one should be on that road that late. Maybe besides truck drivers, but even then we were so out of the way of any major city or freeway. There shouldn't even be commercial drivers out there. I know you're probably confused by what the hell all this rambling is getting to. It is all related. The advent of the Internet to my daily life as a young man brought with it a renewed interest in scary stories, movies and the like. I already loved renting horror movies from town about 20 minutes away. When I could, I rented scary books from the library. My friends and I made up our own urban legends for fun. Now I could access horror movie lore, serial killer stories, and anything my little teenage brain could think of.

[Narrator]

Being.

[Guest]

In such a secluded area, this didn't exactly Help my anxiety about my scary surroundings. Sitting at that computer with the giant sliding door to my right, I only saw darkness. We didn't have curtains yet at that time. One night at around 1am If I had to guess, I saw something I think about almost every day of my life. I can't explain it, and I am still terrified of it. I was online by myself. Everyone else was asleep. I was probably playing a flash game or looking up sports stats. I heard the low rumble of a vehicle coming in the distance. That always got me on high alert. As I mentioned, I could get a sense of the vehicle coming and just hoped it would pass by the sliding door without any kind of incident. There was an incident. A small red pickup truck, maybe a Ford Ranger, skidded off the road maybe 100 or so yards from our house. I was looking at the rear of the vehicle. I quickly shut the living room light off and the computer monitor. I just knew this wasn't going to be good. I huddled close to the window, trying to hide as much myself as I could. Realistically, I'm sure no one could see me from that far away. But I could see them. Two men busted out of the truck. The driver was a burly man. He wore a plaid long sleeve and a puffy vest over it. Typical looking northern hillbilly. He quickly moved to the passenger side, yanking the door open. He could have ripped the door off the hinges with the force he used. He grabbed a smaller man out of the truck by his collar and tossed him to the ground. At this point, my little heart was racing. The passenger was clearly the inferior man in the duo. The driver threw the tailgate and grabbed a shovel. He tossed it to the passenger, hitting him in the hands as the shovel fell to the ground. The passenger looked terrified. The driver grabbed what looked like a burlap sack out of the back. He tossed it to the passenger forcefully, but this time the smaller guy caught it. Even from this distance, I could see the look on the inferior man's face. His eyes were wide. He was probably crying with snot coming down from his nose. His expression said please don't do this. He was pleading with exaggerated hand movements. He seemed to plead for some time.

[Narrator]

Please don't make me do this.

[Guest]

Is what he was conveying. The burly man pointed at the ground. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but it seemed like he was saying dig. The passenger reluctantly started digging. After about 5, 10 minutes, the burly man stopped his partner and pointed at the burlap sack that now sat on the ground. He then pointed at the ground. The now defeated digger kicked the sack into the fresh hole in the ground. The sack looked like it could hold a bowling ball or a human head. That's all I could think of. I am watching someone bury a human head on our property. The man with the shovel buried the head or sack, filling up the hole with the dirt he'd just excavated. The driver grabbed the man, pushing him back into the truck. He threw the shovel in the back of the pickup and sped off. After what seemed like an eternity, I took a huge breath, realizing I probably had been holding it in for the entire transaction. Gasping for error, I ran up to my room on the second floor of our house. I was dripping with sweat. I didn't even realize how terrified I was. Did they see me? Why did they choose to stop right there by one of the only houses within miles? I hope I was just overreacting, but what the hell else could these random guys be burying at this time of night? I remember it being cold, probably not winter because the ground would have been frozen, but it was not pleasant out. What drove these guys out here? I didn't want to know. I have only told this story to a few people and they all asked the same question. Did you go to see what it was the next day?

[Narrator]

The answer is simple.

[Guest]

Hell no. I didn't have the stones to look. That curiosity has always stayed with me. I couldn't say for sure who those guys were. Nothing like this happened before or after. I won't say the cliche thing of like it haunts me every single day or anything, but I do think of it often. I think the worst part is a few days after this happened, I saw a dirt covered shovel in our barn. A small amount of what looked like dry blood dotted the tip of the shovel. I never mentioned this, but my dad never allowed us to enter the barn. He said it wasn't safe. I shouldn't have seen what happened and I shouldn't have gone into the barn. I can't question my dad. He died a long time ago. Even worse is that my dad did own a small pickup truck at that time. I never put it together until much later. Maybe it's all a huge coincidence. My dad was a good man. He was a simple farmer. We were able to afford luxuries that most farm folk couldn't though, like expensive computers and Internet access before anyone else. Just a coincidence, right?

[Host]

Look darling, isn't the snow beautiful tonight? She said nothing, simply remaining stiff in the aged wooden chair. He smiled and continued to sip from his mug of hot chocolate. He found her cold, silent demeanor adorable, one of a number of things he had come to find irresistible about her. She just sat there staring with an expression of permanent fright back at him from in front of the window behind.

[Guest]

Her he could see the white specks.

[Host]

As they fell in the slow soothing flurry. He looked up at the ancient grandfather clock. 11:30pm he smiled and whispered to her, not much longer now, my sweet Delilah. He got up and made his way to the blaze in the hearth. He began pouring himself some more of the piping hot cocoa before looking back to the window, meeting gaze once more into her fading baby blue eyes. Why don't you have a mug, my love? Still, only silence served to answer his offer. He softly grunted in amusement before then closing the top of the kettle. He took another sip as he continued to watch her.

[Guest]

God, how she looks so beautiful, Delilah.

[Host]

The sole warmth of his heart. Sitting silent and peaceful on the old chair of antique mahogany, shrouded in the old white gown he had seen on her since first setting his eyes on her.

[Guest]

He always thought it made her look.

[Host]

Akin to the paintings of the Virgin Mary herself. God, if only he were a painter, he would sometimes think think he'd create a masterpiece from this scene alone to rival Dali or da Vinci.

[Guest]

If he were a writer, he would.

[Host]

Craft a tale with more potent emotion than even Poe at his most dreary or bleak. As the snow continued to fall outside, he could feel the air in the small den area become colder even if.

[Guest]

Just ever so slightly.

[Host]

Why don't you come sit with me by the fire?

[Guest]

He said as he started to stoke.

[Host]

The blaze in the furnace until the heat from its dance upon the oak kindling returned. Still, she merely sat in her chair in front of the window.

[Guest]

With a warm smile he sat down his mug of hot chocolate and went.

[Host]

Over to the window.

[Guest]

Here, he said as he began trying.

[Host]

To push the chair from behind over to the hearth. Allow me. About two or three feet from the hearth, Delilah began to slump forward until she had fallen from her chair.

[Narrator]

Oh dear.

[Host]

He exclaimed, chuckling. He shivered again, feeling the unnatural chill.

[Guest]

Pervade the room around.

[Narrator]

Come now, Delilah, there's no need to be upset.

[Host]

It'll all come together soon. Fixing her back upright, he continued to.

[Guest]

Push the chair the rest of the way to the hearth.

[Host]

Now isn't that much better, dear? She was still as silent as ever.

[Guest]

Yet her face could say both everything and nothing at the same time. Her eyes glinted with the reflective glow of the flame's wild dance, which served to also illuminate the rest of her pale, distraught face. Even as it looked now defined in much of its morbid detail by the.

[Host]

Flames, he still felt hopelessly entranced by her face.

[Guest]

He checked the clock again before rummaging.

[Host]

Around in his shirt pocket.

[Guest]

11:40. From his shirt pocket he produced a small wilted mistletoe. He sighed, the grim cloud of reality accentuating itself to him once again. He had come to both look forward to it as well as dread. This night, Christmas Eve. It wasn't quite time yet. Soon it would all be over. But not yet. Attempting to void this cloud from his mind, he stuffed the small mistletoe back into his pocket and walked over to the table beside the window and placed one of the untitled records onto the phonograph and placed the needle onto its third track. It was one of his favorite tunes that began playing, though for his own reasons unknown he could never remember the name of the composition or its composer.

[Narrator]

Would you care to dance to pass the time, my love?

[Guest]

He walked over to the chair and took her soft, cold hand before shifting her to her feet, now standing before him. The cloud of anxiety tightened its grip on him.

[Narrator]

You look beautiful, my dearest Delilah, he.

[Guest]

Said with a shaking voice. He could hear her voice resonate distantly within the back of his mind, sounding as though it were echoing from the peak of a mountain.

[Narrator]

In life or in death, I will always have your heart, Arthur, and my.

[Guest]

Kiss will be the sole warmth of.

[Narrator]

Your body, your heart, and your soul.

[Guest]

Slowly, carefully, he began to shuffle around the room with her limply hanging in his arms. He tried, of course, to keep her braced upright against his chest, to no effect. In spite of this, though, he merely waltzed on with her, still smiling warmly to her. The longer he stared into those two stiff, oceanic hued irises, the more those horrible, maddening memories returned to him. Memories of that first fateful night. He lost himself to the lust of his dearest Delilah, the night that would spell the beginning of his own undoing. He could almost see it now, in every exact detail, looking into her cold, frozen eyes. The long walk down the icy road, the night sky, the gas lighted lamps that stood to sparsely pepper the white blanketed ground with their dim glows. It was deathly cold that night, only just over a month to the day before now, and he was walking alone from another evening toiling at the local market. He had made this very same walk many a night before, but this was different for him. How could he have not then known exactly nevertheless, something had changed in an almost supernatural manner in his mind. That night it had become very late when he saw her for the first time. There by the street lamp, she stood shrouded in a dress as white as the very snow. And oh, those eyes. Those baby blue eyes that immediately seized him and kept him spellbound. He felt a sense of tranquil warmth spread throughout his body with the image of that first shy smile she gave him when she saw him. That smile of fragile innocence and yet of a cunning nature. He saw that she was trying to hang something from the top of the post when he began to approach her. When he drew near, he could see that it was a mistletoe that she was attempting to hang. The very same one he now kept in his pocket as he danced on.

[Narrator]

Hello there.

[Guest]

He greeted.

[Narrator]

Is it not just a tad early for these?

[Guest]

She responded with that same playfully sly.

[Narrator]

Grin and replied, the heart doesn't lie.

[Guest]

And my heart tells me that the time is just right. The time for what? He asked. Confused, she giggled.

[Narrator]

The time for one's heart to be.

[Guest]

Warmed by a lover's kiss. He wasn't quite sure what she meant, but he somehow felt she was right. He could see she was struggling to hang the mistletoe here.

[Narrator]

May I?

[Guest]

She gave him that softly sweet smile and handed him the mistletoe. He then hung it from the top of the gas fueled street lamp.

[Narrator]

There we are.

[Guest]

Hung where you and all others can see it. Her smile widened as she chuckled.

[Narrator]

You know what they say?

[Guest]

She asked him in a balmy, almost seductive tone. He looked to her, intrigued. The mistletoe is deadly if you eat it, but the kiss is even deadlier if you mean it. He laughed before losing himself once again into her eyes. He felt an extreme sense of warmth pass through him. It was as though he were next to a bonfire and he even began to unfasten his winter garbs. Before he could do or say anything, she placed a slim, tender hand upon his chest. Instantly, a cavalcade of emotions ran down in a torrential downpour inside of him. Suddenly all perception of the world around him was lost. He continued to lose more of himself into her eyes. Those lights. Baby blue whirlpools. What's your name? He said nothing. He could only barely perceive the sound of her voice.

[Narrator]

What is your name, sir?

[Guest]

Still transfixed in her stare, he gibbered out.

[Narrator]

Arthur.

[Guest]

She smiled and continued to caress his chest tenderly. Now working her hands up and around his neck, she looked up to the mistletoe and then back to him. Her grin growing.

[Narrator]

Will you kiss me, Arthur?

[Guest]

She cooed.

[Narrator]

Kiss me neath the mistletoe.

[Guest]

His body began to act before his mind would register their actions. Slowly, he began to lean down to her, his eyes feeling heavier and heavier with each inch. Finally, their lips met, and he felt as though he was locked in an angel's embrace. She would break the union first, turning away to leave with no words except.

[Narrator]

To say, I'll be waiting for you, love.

[Guest]

He stood frozen, still spellbound. Eventually, his stupor broke and he found himself stupefied, unaware of where he was or what had happened in that moment.

[Narrator]

Only one thing was certain.

[Guest]

He was extremely cold. Such would remain the case for the remainder of the eve. It was that night, curled under his comforter, that he would see her face again. He would hear her voice again, the ever so seductive sound.

[Narrator]

Kiss me, Arthur. Kiss me neath the mistletoe.

[Guest]

Such feverish infatuation, mixed triflingly with a deathly cold, robbed him utterly of sleep that night and well into the coming morning. And this would carry on for the rest of that week, until eventually he no longer saw her in his dreams. Her face and her voice had faded into little more than an obscure set of features and sounds he never could quite put together. That was until the Sunday evening when he was once again returning home from the market, passing by that very same street lamp. And as if expectantly, she stood again by the street lamp with mistletoe hanging from its top, shrouded in her same white gown, beckoning him to her with those eyes. And there it was again, that warmth that spread through his body, the earth that had felt entirely absent since that night for reasons he could never place. I knew you'd come, she said, bearing that same seductive smile from before. He froze, trapped once again in her stare. Absently, he began to trudge towards her. When he reached her, she once more unfastened his garbs and began caressing his chest. He could only stand and watch her, his mind completely blank.

[Narrator]

My God, Arthur, you're so cold.

[Guest]

Her voice, while still sultry and smooth, took on an almost motherly tone when she spoke. Indeed, he felt like a child again, warmed by her preternatural touch.

[Narrator]

Let me warm you with a kiss.

[Guest]

Again her hands slithered up from his chest and around his neck, and he instinctively lowered himself again to meet her lips. And again did the overpowering heat inside him flare. She would break away again and again. He would be left alone by the street lamp with only a fragmented sense of recollection of what had transpired that night, too, resulted in restlessness. That night, writhing in his bed, Arthur would dream. Dream of snow, of the gas lamp, of her beautiful eyes, her beautiful face. Of the mistletoe.

[Narrator]

The mistletoe.

[Guest]

Deadly if you eat it, deadlier if you mean it. He could take it no more. He had to find this woman, this elusive temptress. Throwing on his heaviest winter garbs, he set out amid the bitter cold night air. The year's snowfall had begun to rain down earlier that afternoon and had by then formed into a thick white blanket upon the ground. Slowly, he staggered through the snow until he came once more upon the street lamp. His legs were unable to hold themselves up any longer, and he fell to his knees in front of it, the mistletoe hanging down, jeering at him. His sight began to blur as with each fleeting, labored breath the winter air had done its damage. And now he would feel its bitter touch slowly pluck the life from him. First, he would lose any feelings he had in nearly every part of his body. Next, he would feel the ice slowly form over his eyes, shutting him out from his sight. Just before the vicious winter would have him, however, he began to see the vague outline of a figure gliding towards him. He, of course, couldn't distinguish any definition from the figure. Outside of the apparently human outline. The approaching figure almost seemed to blend with the surrounding snow. Only the long crimson hair braided around the figure's neck gave him clarity. It was her. Or was it? As the figure approached closer, he began to notice more and more details that differentiated it from the dame he so feverishly sought. This new woman, while very similar in many of her features to the other, had much more pale, almost desiccated skin. Had he stilled a feeling in his body, Arthur would have began sprinting for dear life. He. He could only lie in wait for this gruesome specter to have her way with him. He could feel his heart thunder and quake against his chest. With every inch she gracefully floated across the snow. He wanted desperately to at least close his eyes, sparing himself the sight of whatever horror he would face at her whims. When she finally reached him, she froze before him, staring down to him with eyes that were only a faded resemblance to of the baby blue gems he had been entranced by. The specter knelt down to him and placed its pale, bony index finger on his lips. To his amazement, the specter's finger wasn't cold or frigid as he would have expected from one who looked as gravely as she. Rather, he felt the wave of heat begin to pervade him again. She then seized Cupta's chin in her frail hands and leaned in to kiss him. Instantly, all feeling returned to his limbs. He then stood up as he watched the specter turn to leave.

[Narrator]

Wait.

[Guest]

He exclaimed. She stopped and turned her pale, dead face to him once more.

[Narrator]

Who are you?

[Guest]

She turned slowly before rushing to him in a startlingly fluid motion that was too quick for him to perceive. She was upon him again and, taking him firmly by the throat, whispered into his ear in almost too soft a whisper.

[Narrator]

I am Delilah. I am the warmth of your heart, the blazing fire in your chest that you can never again live without.

[Guest]

With that, she released him, and he watched her vanish far into the horizon before he could even blink. Just as before, he was left alone and bewildered, unable to remember what had just happened or why he had even come. The only thing he was able to remember were fragments of a face, the face of a beautiful woman, as well as the face of a ghastly corpse. Along with this, Arthur could hear a soft, rasping whisper swim through his mind. The voice was, of course, utterly indeterminate, without any sort of identity or definition to its origin.

[Narrator]

A kiss from my lips will now and always be what keeps thy heart warm and beating, lest it submit to.

[Guest]

A cold, bitter end. That night was when his dreams of her first became vivid and clear. He saw her again, standing amid the snow, giving him that same dubious smile indicative of sinful desire. And looking upon this face, he fell helplessly into her whims and slowly walked to her. The snow began to flurry from above, and he could feel the chill begin crippling him again. The temptress extended her hand and curled her finger to beckon him closer.

[Narrator]

Come, will you dance with me, Arthur?

[Guest]

His pace quickened and his heart raced with both excitement and apprehension, until eventually he broke into a sprint to her. To him she seemed so close and at the same time so far away the further he sprinted. At last he reached her and was promptly seized into her embrace. And like he was now in his living room with her, they waltzed about amid the wide expanse. All the while his attention was fixed to her radiant smile, augmented by those baby blue irises.

[Narrator]

Kiss me, Arthur, she crooned to him.

[Guest]

With that angelic voice. He closed his eyes and leaned into her with anticipation. Likewise, she would yield her lips to him, and he felt the intensity of the sun burst within him. Slowly, however, he watched in growing fear as her face slowly devolved into that familiarly haunting necrotic visage that plagued his Subconscious mind aghast, he shoved her away and attempted to flee. Something caught his feet and he fell prostrate into the snow. She was once more upon him, leering down to him with those cold, dead eyes. She knelt down and reached her hand down to him, clutching something small and frail in her withering hand. Shaking, he looked to see that it was a small mistletoe.

[Narrator]

You're so cold, Arthur.

[Guest]

She rasped in a ghoulish hiss.

[Narrator]

Come warm your heart with my lips, love. No, no, go away.

[Guest]

He exclaimed as he felt the crippling chill return once more, causing his blood to begin to freeze solid all throughout his body. He slowly lost all sensations of touch, and his eyes started to freeze over again. Her lips opened once more and she spoke.

[Narrator]

You can't deny me long. Without me, your heart, your soul, will rot in a cold, icy bed.

[Guest]

As darkness would have him, Arthur watched as the ghost, poising the mistletoe high above them, leaned forward to his right.

[Narrator]

Ear and whispered, I'll be waiting, love.

[Guest]

It was in that instant that he awoke, bolt upright with a frightened shriek. For a time, Arthur just sat there, gasping frantically, as though he were a fish being held above the water. Eventually, he was able to regain his composure, yet he still felt wrong. It was more of an empty sensation, like he had had something removed from within him. What, how, or why, however, were questions that continued to elude him. But whatever it was, it would cause him to feel perpetually cold for many days and nights to come. Regardless of what he wore or how close he would sit by the blazing hearth, one thing did slowly mold into at least a minute certainty to him. One way or another, this strange phenomena presently plaguing him was likely due to some sorcerous whim of this beautiful yet mysterious dame that dominated his subconscious mind. Unable to sleep, Arthur pondered how he might be able to rid himself of this apparently strange curse, eventually concluding that no matter how strong his desire for her was, he would not heed her summons. Such proved to not be as easy as he had thought, however. Every day, from rise until fall of the sun, the phantom chills would menace him without end. Constantly he felt as though his blood had been turned to solid ice. Despite at almost all times wearing his heaviest of garbs, Arthur would spend most of each following afternoon over those next three and a half weeks huddled next to his hearth, constantly stoking the kindling to draw more heat from it. He would only eat scalding broth and lightly prepared stews with steaming cups of tea or coffee or cocoa. In Spite of all of this, still he was always so deathly cold, inside and out. Eventually, on the Monday of the week before now, he ran out of these commodities and was forced to venture out against the wrath of the cold. He had very little money by then, having received word early that past weekend that he had lost his job at the market due to his seclusion. Still, he had to find some way to banish the bitter cold that was crippling him. It was as he was trudging through the snowbound streets of the market that amidst the many folks who had likewise gathered at the market that evening, his eyes fell upon her. She was standing at the bakery, her luscious crimson braided hair facing out to him, hanging down to her back. Almost instantly, a nauseating dread flooded through him.

[Narrator]

You need me, Arthur, he could hear.

[Guest]

From deep in the pit of his subconscious.

[Narrator]

You need my lips. I can feel it. Come, Arthur. Come to the mistletoe. Come hold me and kiss me. No. No more.

[Guest]

He screamed. Almost all eyes from the present congregation were now fixed to him. Frightened and bewildered, oblivious to the attention he had garnered, Arthur swiftly bolted to the young woman in front of the bakery. The seductress, the witch. With startling strength and intensity, he seized her by her shoulders and proceeded to violently shake her.

[Narrator]

What have you done with me?

[Guest]

He barked to her frightened face. Her eyes were wide and afraid, welling to the brim with tears. Who.

[Narrator]

Who are you?

[Guest]

Though he could see the fear molded onto the young woman's face, he would not relent. What do you want from me?

[Narrator]

Devil.

[Guest]

She screamed and struggled frantically to free herself.

[Narrator]

To no use.

[Guest]

Arthur was determined to end this madness that was robbing him of his body, mind and his very soul. It would end there and now, even if it meant the death of him.

[Narrator]

Answer me. Why have you plagued me like this? Let the lady go.

[Guest]

Demanded a nearby bystander in a gruff voice. A broad shouldered man attired in thick animal fur garbs indicative of woodland residency. Despite his hysterical frenzy, Arthur recognized the man to be none other than McDowell, the town's lumberjack.

[Narrator]

She's a witch.

[Guest]

Arthur exclaimed to the crowd as McDowell pried him away from the distressed woman and began dragging him out of the market square.

[Narrator]

She's afflicted me with some form of curse. Please, you must believe me. She's trying to rob me of my soul.

[Guest]

The crowd merely looked upon him with disgust and shame, though as he was being forcefully towed away, he thought.

[Narrator]

No.

[Guest]

He swore. He could see the young woman's shocked face twist into one of sinister exultation. His own flailing against McDowell's restraint was feeble at best, not impeding his iron grasp in the least. Finally, Arthur was cast face down into the snow.

[Narrator]

Stay down if you know would be good for you, he heard McDowell demand.

[Guest]

Before turning and making his way back to the market square. Lain in the frigid snow, Arthur's mind was lost in a milestone that bordered on confusion, fear, and pure madness.

[Narrator]

Why is she doing this to me?

[Guest]

What does she want from me?

[Narrator]

Why don't they believe me?

[Guest]

Tried as he might, no answers came to him, pushing him further to the edge of complete collapse. Making the matter worse was that he felt the chill now with more potency than ever. It wasn't long before he'd succumb to the elements yet again, unconsciousness assuming full control over his mind. And the first image to assault his hollow dream was, of course, her, leering over and jeering.

[Narrator]

In life or in death, your heart will always be mine, Arthur.

[Guest]

He desperately tried to rid her presence.

[Narrator]

From his mind to no purpose, regardless.

[Guest]

Of how he would.