Loading summary
Transcript1 lines
- [00:00]
A
Hey, welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. I really hope you enjoyed this episode. And don't forget you can subscribe to this podcast for just $2.99 a month. You can get rid of all of the irritating ads and be automatically entered to win a Nintendo Switch 2 Mario Kart bundle. Only $2.99 a month. No more ads. I have all the info you need in the description to this episode. And one last thing, thank you so much for being here. I really hope you enjoy on WhatsApp, no one can see or hear your personal messages. Whether it's a voice call message or sending a password to WhatsApp, it's all just this. So whether you're sharing the streaming password in the family chat or trading those late night voice messages that could basically become a podcast, your personal messages stay between you, your friend and your family. No one else, not even us. WhatsApp message privately with everyone Abercrombie's Viral Denim Sale is back and Spotify listeners get an extra 15% off with code Spotify AF. Abercrombie is known for their denim with 30 to 50% off all jeans. Find out how denim should fit. Shop the viral denim sale in the Abercrombie app online or in stores. Valid in stores and online through August 11, 2025 in US and Canada. We excludes clearance price reflects discount code. Valid in US and Canada through August 11, 2025. Exclusions apply. See details online Prime Delivery is fast. How fast are we talking? We're talking puzzle, toys and lick pad. Delivered so fast you can get this puppy under control. Fast pads, goalie mat, peg, hammer. Fast and fast. And those training treats faster than you can say sit. Fast Fast. Free delivery. It's on prime it was at this moment. When have you come to relieve your burden unto the Lord? Asked the elder priest from behind the blind of the confession booth. Silence hung to answer the offer. The elder priest, rather than immediately persist, decided to let him take his time. For in the last 17 and a half years he had been an elder priest of Blackrock Chapel. He had learned that they would feel the compulsion of conscience to confess their unrighteous deeds in the Lord's due time. The youth was shaking. His hands were firmly clasped around his upper arms, leading to his shoulders. As if shivering, the youth was hunching over, rocking back and forth in the wooden chair within the confession booth. His left eye twitched as his face remained chiseled in a state of petrified terror. There's no need to fear, my son, whispered the elder priest, hearing the Distress on the adolescent side of the booth. Christ bids forgiveness to all who trespass against Him. All he asks is for repentance of your sins and to seek reform from Him. The creaking of the youth's wooden chair began to die down. As yet, his breathing began to quiver in place of his body. Forgiveness. The boy whimpered softly, his voice continuing to tremble in a traumatized manner. No. No. Forgiveness. Hearing the youth's remark, the elder priest repeated his assurance of the Lord's mercy to the boy. No salvation, no savior. I have done their bid, Father. I did their bid and I am debased. The elder priest, though unnerved by the youth's pessimism, remained composed. Come now, my son. God has promised salvation to all those who walk astray. All you must do is to confess and repent of your sins. Worry not of the judgment of others, for the confidence of a priest is sacred. The youth offered a dry laugh in response before answering, I care nothing for the judgment of others, for they too are as devoid of any hope of salvation as I. The voice of the adolescent began to deepen to the pitch of a man twice his age and began to take on an air of malign satisfaction at the statement's insinuation. Confused, the elder priest wanted to question the youth as to the meaning of his statement. More than anything, however, the elder priest was perplexed as to the boy's purpose for attendance of the confessional as a whole. Do you not, young man, accept the Lord into your heart? Are you not one of his children? The elder priest asked, unsure as to the state of the youth's soul. No. No, Father. I no longer succumb to the lies of the Church, for I have seen otherwise. The youth's voice shook again, the tone growing even deeper and angrier in timber. My eyes were opened to the truth. Long ago. They showed me the truth. They? The elder priest questioned, curious as to exactly whom the implication belonged to. Yes, they the true messengers of the truth. You see, Father, through them you may see the truth, their prophecy. The elder priest became truly disturbed and at hearing such blatantly sacrilegious claims, remaining calm, he told the blaspheming young man that there existed no truth outside of the Lord. The young man let out a defiant and condescending laugh. Then you really are a blind old fool. You would, despite the offer of being shown the truth, choose to hold on to the lies of the so called holy Gospel. Realizing that the youth had no intention of repentance, the elder priest felt compelled to end the confessional. A light rapping on the outside of the booth found this silent request granted. Just before departing, the youth turned one more time toward the elder priest and with an abysmally baritone voice, said, you'll see the truth, Father. I will show you their prophecy that there is no salvation. Another short succession of knocks prompted the youth to finally take his leave from the confession booth, allowing for the patron outside, an older maiden of 45 years, to enter. Have you come to relieve your burden unto the Lord? The elder priest asked the maiden, still feeling rattled. I. I have come to confess, Father. You see. The maiden began her confession, but the elder priest's mind had become far too entwined in the young man's morbid objection to lend her his attention. Oh, how can I be forgiven, Father? The maiden beckoned, arousing the elder priest from his anxious pondering to find her in tears at having concluded her confession. Though he had not heard her sins, he decided against attempting to ask her to repeat herself. Instead, he merely assured her that she was forgiven in the eyes of the Lord and requested no less than five Hail Marys before the day's end. Upon concluding the maiden's confessional, the elder priest retired to his bedchamber to attempt letting peaceful rest cleanse away anxiety. Slumber would be an uphill conflict for him that night, however, no matter his efforts, the elder priest's mind continued to be ravaged by the youth's words. You will see the truth. There is no salvation. When the sun rose the next morning, the elder priest found himself feeling weak. His head throbbed horribly, and he felt trifle knots in his stomach. The elder priest winced in pain as he attempted to open his eyes, massaging his temples in a feeble attempt to ease a migraine's hold on him. Father Carraway. The elder priest broke from his stupor at the calling of his name. Father Carraway, is everything all right? Asked another of the chapel's elders, a balding man with only stubble for facial hair who stood a good two feet shorter than Father Carraway despite being five years his elder. Yes, Distantly, answered the bedridden elder priest, as if his response was voiced before his mind could comprehend his own train of thought. Regaining his proper composure despite the persistence of his current ailments offered the most welcoming smile on his face he could manage before elaborating. Father Edwards, I didn't hear you come in. Yes, everything is fine. I just appear to be feeling a tad ill this morning. I trust it's nothing serious. Father Carraway attempted to offer a chuckle of ease to the fellow priest. That devolved into a painful cough, prompting him to use the sleeve of his bedrobe to cover his mouth for a moment. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of a small black stain on the sleeve of his snow white bedrobe. Father? Asked Father Edwards, not in the momentary state of anxious apprehension on the face of his peer. Yes, replied Father Carraway, seeing the skepticism on his visitor's face. I told you, it's nothing serious. A minor ailment that I'm sure will pass by morning. Now, what brings you to my bedchamber, Father? Myself and others heard you last night. You kept screaming no salvation. And we heard sounds of thrashing from down the chamber halls, replied Father Edwards, his voice composed of concern for the well being of his fellow priest. No salvation. The words slowly began to flood his mind once more, causing a sharp chill to crawl down his spine. Ignorant of the fellow elder priest's claim, Father Carraway reassured his visitor that he was perfectly sound. His thoughts, however, began struggling once again to void themselves of the memories of the previous night's haunting confessional. Skeptical but overall satisfied as to the elder priest's condition, Father Edwards bade his farewell and exited the chamber bed. Father Carraway laid in his bed all through the morning and into the afternoon, the aches and pains becoming worse. A shrill scream finally roused the ailing Father Carraway from his bed. Though physically ill as well, the elder priest found himself able to bound out of his bed and sprint up the spiral stone stairs to the bell tower of the Blackrock Chapel with the speed and agility of a man much younger than he. When he reached the top of the stone stairs, he found a young maiden, one of the chapel's fledgling nuns, who had not yet sworn her oath of purity. What is it, dear sister? Father Caraway gently but firmly grasped the young maiden's shoulders. She. She. She. She stammered, utterly unable to voice a coherent reply. Who, child? What happened? But the young none to be could only shake her head and continue wailing in response. Unable to voice a coherent response from the young sister, Father Carraway resolved to open the door behind her and enter the bell tower of the chapel and investigate the Malignants himself. No, no, you mustn't go in there. The young sister shrieked, causing the elder priest's heart to skip a beat in his chest. Unclean, unclean. She said as she again buried her face into her palms. Calm down, Sister. I will see what is going on. I want you to stay here. The young sister just sat quivering, burying her petrified face into her palms. Father Carraway's hand trembled as he grasped the knob. Unclean? He wondered, as he willed himself to open the door. The foul odor of death assaulted his sense senses. Immediately upon the door's opening, the elder priest turned his face into the crook of his arm and began to cough, gagged by the offensive scent. With an alarming dread mounting within him as to what lies inside the bell tower, Father Carraway instructed the budding nun to summon help. She bowed her head to him and immediately sprinted down the stone stairs to the monastery to alert the other elders of the Blackrock Chapel. The inside of the bell tower was dark, only illuminated by a single torch mounted to each of the four stone brick walls respectively. Paltry though the light was, the faint glow of the torches still revealed the unholy display within its claustrophobic confines. Adjusting his eyesight to the faint glow of the inside of the bell tower, he saw the corpse of one of the maidens of the village, an Irish Maiden of 45, whom the father recognized as the tender of the nearby tavern, who had attended many confessions for her sins of lust. She was stripped bare and hanging from the tower's rafters by her neck, using the long, thick hemp used to sound the sermon bell. On her breasts were carved a single word in her native tongue. Frauchen. The elder priest retched in disgust and horror at the abysmal display before him. With haste, he escaped the confines of the bell tower and slammed the door behind himself. Our Father. Father Carroway began with a shuddering breath, crossing himself as he spoke. Hallowed be thy name. Our kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Father Carraway. The sound of his name broke him of his petrified stupor. Father Carraway. Father Carraway, are you all right? It was Father Edwards. For a drawn out moment, Father Carraway had no words for his fellow priest, merely offering his current mortified stare as a response. Father Caraway, what in God's name happened? The urgency in Father Edward's voice was accentuated. She. She confessed to me. Tears began to streak Father Carraway's face as he pointed to the door that led into the peak of the bell tower. Determined to spy the source of the hysteria, Father Edwards moved past the scarred Father Carroway and opened the door. Christ above. Sister Meredith, alert the authorities. At once. The fledgling nun stood frozen with her jaw agape. Do as I say, Sister. Make haste. Barked Father Edwards. This snapped young Sister Meredith from her terrified trance, and she ran down the stone steps steps bolting through the chamber halls and exiting through the sanctuary. We must alert the Archbishop Marcus of this atrocity. Father Carroway beckoned. Father Edwards disagreed with the conclusion, thinking it's wiser to handle the situation themselves. Are you a madman? This is an attack against the church. Father Carroway's heart pounded in his chest with startling intensity, prompting him to clutch the left of his chest to try slowing the quakes of his heart. Easy now, Father. There's no need to make a larger problem of this than what is absolutely necessary to explain. Father Carraway, confused and shocked at his fellow priest's hesitation at consulting the head of the Blackrock Chapel, decided to further press for an explanation. Please trust me, old friend. If we are to become bishops ourselves, we must prove that we can handle situations like this ourselves. There's no use in disturbing Archbishop Marcus, when in all likelihood this is nothing more than the act of a disturbed minded individual who found convenience in the concealment of her body in the peak of the chapel's bell tower. A simple crime of passion. Grotesque, but simple nonetheless. Father Carraway nearly saw red. How can you say such things with such lax conviction? You, a priest, a servant of Christ, you expect me to just sit here while a credible threat to God's kingdom is swept idly under the rug? Before his dispute could escalate any further, the elder priest felt something moved across his feet. Perplexion overtaking his former frustration, he looked down to see a mass of inky black serpents surrounding his feet. Terror flooded through his entire body as he saw the serpents converge on him from all directions. Father Carraway, are you all right? Asked Father Edwards. The elder priest only offered a weak gasp of horror in response as he saw the multitude of serpents spawning from the doorway leading into the belltower peak. Father Carraway, what is it? S serpents. Father Carroway stuttered, unable to fully comprehend the events unfolding before him. Serpents? Father Edwards questioned, eyeing the mortified priest with confusion. Can you not see? See them? They're everywhere. He stopped abruptly when he felt one of the serpents sink its fangs into his legs. No sooner than his eyes could widen in shock that the serpent's supernaturally potent venom began to cripple the elder priest's senses. The hallway within Blackrock Chapel's peak began to spin. Dizzying, the Father, Father Carraway close clutched his forehead with his left hand, as if doing so might in some fashion stabilize the dizziness. His right hand desperately grasped the crucifix pendant that hung from his neck his eyelids began to feel heavy as vertigo began to transform into exhaustion. However, just before darkness would overtake him, Father Carraway could see all too clearly despite the venom's assault on his senses. Father Edwards extended his hand as the black serpents then began to slither to him, appearing to answer some malign summonses. The elder priest stumbled back in chilled fright as he witnessed them slither and seemingly begin to fuse into Father Edward's body as if the supposed fellow priest himself were composed of the demoniac serpents. The wriggling mass then appeared to revert back into the form of the priest as Father Carraway's legs began to lose the strength necessary for proper balance. His heart quaked in his fragile chest as with the meager composure he could manage in his damning plight, he staggered backward whilst the knuckles began to whiten on the hand that grasped the crucifix pendant. Our Father, thou art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. His labored breathed words were abruptly silenced as his feet had misstepped, sending him crashing down the stone steps. Unconsciousness finally met the elder priest when his head struck the wall midway down the spiral. The Blackrock chapel horror Part 2 Father Carraway wandered about in the ever extended void of the subconscious, unable to feel or perceive anything anymore. He wondered if he had indeed perished through either the means of the serpent's venom or the trauma of the crash down the spiraling stone stairs. Am I dead? Father Carroway pondered as he continued to survey the void. Is this the entry to the kingdom of heaven? Nay. A monotone voice called to him, answering the father's internal query. Caught by surprise, he spun around to face the speaker. To his horror, the priest stood face to face with the ginger haired Irish barmaiden whom he had seen hanging by the neck in the bell tower. She stood before him in the dark subconscious plane, completely bare, her milky white skin and grassy green hued irises projecting the visage of life. The entrance to heaven is closed to us, as it always was. Father Carraway closed his eyes, trying vainly to assure himself that this wasn't real. This is real, Father. God's forgiveness. Father Caraway struggled to attempt rebuttal to the specter's abrasive claim as utter dread clouded his abilities of reason. God forgives all who repent. The phantom let out a scoffing laugh that echoed throughout the void. The father felt compelled to cover his ears as the chuckling devolved into what he could only perceive as a cacophony of tortured whales that appeared to emanate from all directions in the encroaching purgatory. If that were true, Father, why not repent yourself for your continued heresies? The elder priest found himself confused at the ghost's insinuation. Amidst his immediate sense of shock and dread in the ghoulish, ethereal plain plane he found himself within. What are you talking about? What falsehood have I spoken? As soon as the defiant query left Father Carraway's lips, his blood chilled as two serpents began to take form in the dark void. His jaw went helplessly slack as the serpent's, one, whose scales were as dark as the nightmare plane it birthed from the other, whose scales were the hue of burning embers reminiscent of the depths of Tartarus, slithered their way to the maiden's feet. As the malign creatures coiled themselves to her legs, the phantom spoke again, her vocals taking on a tormented, ethereal echo. If God's forgiveness is divine, how are we so many that are condemned? Before any rebuttal could be offered, Father Carraway's tongue froze and his lips trembled as the depraved vipers journeyed their way up and around the maiden's nude form. His eyes widened at the unholy display enacted before him in petrified disbelief as he began to witness the serpents start to violate her. The phantom maiden began to moan with unrighteous pleasure as the dark scaled serpent inserted itself itself headfirst in between her legs, the crimson serpent coiling around her torso and seeming to fondle her. The moans of sinful pleasure began to devolve into screams of damning agony, as if emanating from the throats of many. As the apparition appeared to hear her climactic release revolted. As the elder priest was at the abhorrent nightmare, he felt as though the clutches of some manner of malign would force him to witness the events to their completion. Come now, Father. Why deprive yourself? I see the way you be watching. You'd like to me, wouldn't you? Father Caraway, now bearing the strength of will over his body, clamped his eyelids tight and clutched his ears as the wrath like voice echoed through his head. When he opened his eyes, now full with tears induced by the abysmal madness, he saw that the phantom maiden's appearance had decayed into the same necrotic image he had seen in the bellchamber at the peak of the Blackrock Chapel, complete with the word Frauchen carved into her bosom. God, give me strength. Father Carraway cried aloud, futilely attempting to free himself from the dread that crippled him. The ghost let out a devious cackle that echoed throughout the black void before, in the same voice she formerly bore in life, she lashed out, listen to you, still thinking Christ cares for you, poor little lamb, for you truly have lost your way. Another ghastly wail of pleasure rang from the phantom maiden's lips as rivulets of dark warm blood ran down from her complexionless legs before crying out in the echoing and apparitional voice of agony. There is no relief in heaven, no damnation in hell, no forgiveness. No damnation. The burning red serpent began to work its way from her mouth as the abomination's vocals became entirely inhuman altogether, his blood now frozen in mortal terror at his seemingly inescapable fate, at the hands of the malign entity before him. Father Carraway lifted a trembling hand to clutch the crucifix around his neck as he again attempted to choke out the Lord's Prayer. The elder priest was cut off before he could even finish the utterance of Hallowed be thy name, when legions of painful screams and perpetual sorrow reached a deafening pitch that echoed from around him as well as within him. Forcing his eyes closed from strain and his hands to reflexively cover his ears through his fright induced tears, the elder priest opened his eyes to witness the torso of the unholy phantom begin wriggling as the bulges of the other human faces began to form themselves into her pale decayed flesh. When the writhing mass of face took form within the phantom maiden's body, they cried out in unison, in wails so deafening, Father Carraway was forced to his knees, eyes clamped tight and his palms covering his ears. No salvation. The tortured, ethereal voices screamed out as one only condemnation awaits us all, for all are debased. The words echoed through the elder priest's shattered mind. No salvation. He tried to hide away the thought as to attempt to keep his psyche from complete collapse. With great strain, Father Carraway opened his eyes to a small squint merely enough to perceive from a rudimentary level the mortifying sight of a multitude of serpents advancing upon him from all directions, just as they had in the bell chamber in the chapel's peak. Stripped of any will to mentally or physically resist, Father Carroway watched helplessly as long, writhing black and red serpents exited the mouths of the tormented screaming faces that were conjoined to the abomination's body. Though I walk through the valley in the shadow of death, thy rod and thy staff, he faintly whispered as he finally resigned himself to whatever damning fate that awaited him at the whims of the abhorrent phantom. Just before the darkness could overtake him, however, the elder priest found himself lying in cold sweat within his bedchamber. His eyes were still ditched, wide open. The first image he perceived was that of a young maiden still in a state of perpetual shock. Father Carraway stared at the maiden before him, attempting to distinguish the presence before him now from that of the wraith that menaced him in his slumber. When his eyes studied the olive complexion of her skin, coupled with the long brunette hair beneath her headrobe, he realized that the maiden standing before him now was none other than the young Sister Meredith. As his vision slowly strained itself into clear composition, he could see the young fledgling's eyes glistening with tears and her face was red. Oh Father, thank God you're awake. I thought you were lost forever. Exclaimed Sister Meredith through tear filled relief. In an exhausted voice, Father Carraway questioned the young fledgling nun as to where he was and what had happened, for in the current moment he could not immediately recollect any of the previous phenomena outside of the demented nightmare he had only narrowly escaped from. It was awful. After I came back with the authorities for the the woman we found in the bell tower. She took in a shuddering breath before continuing, her voice cracking again with frightful tears. We found you sprawled unconscious on the stairs. You kept muttering the Lord's Prayer and something about serpents and poison. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find Father Edwards. The body was missing too. Me and a few of the other other sisters moved you into your bed. You were out for most of the night and into this morning. I only awoke you when you began thrashing about. A tumultuous wave of dread washed over the elder priest's face as all at once the horrors of the previous afternoon came crashing back into his memory like a devastating avalanche. Oh, Father, I'm afraid. Cried the young Sister Meredith. Something unholy is happening in the chapel. What are we going to do? Father Carraway winced and drew a deep breath, once again grasping the right of his forehead and attempting to both ease the throbbing pulses inside as well as regain some semblance of composure to his abilities of reason. His head was drowning in a black whirlpool of insane sanity and cold, crippling, unforgiving dread. What am I going to do? The bitter question crossed Father Carraway's mind, followed by another far more disheartening query. What could I do? Father Carraway began, hopelessly attempting to connect the ghoulish events, to possibly identify the source of the abominable phenomena, and with the aid of the the Divine Combat it. Archbishop Marcus, father Carraway whispered, unconsciously vocalizing his thoughts as his mind traveled back to the encounter in the chapel's peak. What was that, Father? Asked the fledgling nun, unsure yet hopeful that his response to her might be the foundation of a plan to either drive away or flee the evil that presently menaced them. Awakened from his thought induced trance by Sister Meredith's voice, Father Carraway began to rouse himself from his bed. Listen, child, he gestured to the young sister in an exhausted voice that bore the nature of a man far older than he. Fetch my priest's garb and my overcoat. Where are you going, Father? Pressed the young fledgling nun, unsure of the elder priest's intentions. There may be one that could provide us with aid, for he has dealt with many evil in his day. He'll know what to do now. Do as I say, child. Make haste. The young fledgling Sister Meredith, was slightly puzzled, but simply offered a small bow of her head before making her way to the wardrobe. Father Carraway struggled as he slowly moved, his aching body still weak from the serpent's potent venom. When his legs finally found the strength to stand, he slowly trudged over to the vanity mirror that hung to the right of the entrance of the bedchamber. It was an average size mirror that was joined on either side by vanilla scented candles that would provide small tastes of added luminescence to the entirety of the bedchamber. Above the vanity mirror hung a shining silver crucifix bearing a molded image of Christ's executed body fixed upon it. Gazing at his image in the aged mirror, Father Carraway felt a sense of nausea creep upon him. Where in reality he had lived only 45 years, the face that returned his gaze from the mirror had the appearance of one who had lived closer to 3030 years longer. The reflection in the mirror bore thin silver strands of hair, unlike the thick, vibrant brunette hair he bore outside of the mirror. The skin on the doppelganger's face also appeared haunted and concaved, as though the flesh it bore was too excessive for its bones. The wearied elder priest became unnerved at the sight, tugging at the skin on his face to reassure himself through a tactile perception that the image in the mirror was indeed some manner of visual hallucination. It was then that the reflection began to shift within the mirror's confines. The face posed itself as the elder priest began to offer a more sinister grin, while the rest of the room surrounding the being began to take on a scarlet red filter. For a moment, his blood chilled at the sight of his reflection acting outside of his own will. Placing his palms over his eyes, he softly whispered to himself, no, it's not real. God be with me, old fool. Father Carraway looked once again at the doppelganger from his palms and saw the sinister reflection of himself begin to decay, the loose skin hanging, hanging onto his skull now falling away to expose the skeleton underneath. God cannot save us, lashed the vision in the mirror. His jaw fell as he watched the image in the mirror slowly continue to devolve into a more grotesque appearance. More of the false reflection's flesh slowly decayed and peeled away as if it were mere paper to reveal the skull bearing jagged teeth that could rip and crush flesh and bone alike with ease, without worry of dulling. The sockets of the demon were dark and cavernous voids that swallowed all semblance of light, save only for a tiny crimson speck in the middle of either socket, respectively that appeared to serve as its retinas. Let me ask you something, Father, chided the beast in the mirror, voicing the elder priest's title in a tone of mocking reverence. Father Carraway covered his ears to attempt to resist the abomination's lying tongue. Why did your so called loving father in heaven execute his own son? Father Carraway screamed in his head at the abhorrent creature to silence its blasphemies, to no avail. Christ himself was no more than a holy bastard. The words crashed as boulders in an avalanche in Father Carraway's head, motivating him to press his palms tighter to his ears and tightly closing his eyes. His execution achieved nothing more than penance for his birth. As such, the last exclamation rang out in his mind with such ferocity that he could feel his knees attempting to buckle beneath him as he were being weighed down by an unseen force. You know it's true, Father. Just look at me. I am humankind in its purest state. We are the condemned humankind itself, Father, are the very beasts that were sentenced to damnation. Salvation is only the lie you spread. Nearing his wit's end, Father Carraway slammed his fists upon the surface of the vanity and shouted defiantly at the apparition. Enough. The mounted crucifix, shaken from the tremor, fell from its place above the mirror and landed onto the vanity surface in front of him. Hearing the faint clatter of the crucifix's dissenting ascent the elder priest found himself awakened from another trance. He saw that instead of the detestable specter that occupied its confines only moments before, his reflection revealed the middle aged man that existed in reality. Father Carraway again closed his eyes and began drawing in deep breaths to relax once again. Upon opening his eyes, he decided to raise refixed the fallen symbol back to its original purchance above the vanity mirror. As he held it, however, a searing pain shot through the palm of his hand that caused him to drop it again. Letting out a cry of pain. Tightly gripping his right hand with his left reflex, he gazed once again down at the image of Christ's sacrifice as it began to glow a hot burning orange. The oppressive door of brimstone permeated the air within the bedchamber. As the elder priest saw in revitalized terror, small streams of blood began to ooze from the wrists, feet and head of the mold of Christ. Are you alright, Father? Father Carraway spun around and was met with the slightly relieving sight of the young fledgling nun, priest garb and overcoat in hand. Hand I heard shouting. Did something happen? No child, replied the priest, unsure how to explain the unholy phenomena that occurred in her absence. Everything is fine, but there's no more time to lose. Come now. You will accompany me to the Archbishop's home. He may be the only one who could help us. Lowe's knows when you're looking for reliability, the right brand makes all the difference. And now Lowes is the exclusive home improvement retailer for the Whirlpool water treatment line, including their WI Fi softener under sink filtration system and more. With Whirlpool's proven performance and our everyday low prices, better tasting, better quality water is within reach. Shot pro trusted brands like Whirlpool and more in store or online Lowe's we help you save Ryan Reynolds here from Mint Mobile. With the price of just about everything going up, we thought we'd bring our prices down. So to help us we brought in a reverse auctioneer, which is apparently a thing Mint Mobile unlimited premium wireless 30 30. Better get 30. Better get 202020 better get 20 20. Everybody get 151515 15. Just 15 bucks a month. Sold. Give it a try@mintmobile.com Switch upfront payment of $45 for three month plan equivalent to $15 per month required new customer offer for first three months only. Speed slow after 35 gigabytes of networks busy taxes and fees extra. See mintmobile.com this episode is brought to you by LifeLock between two factor authentication, strong passwords, and a VPN. You try to be in control of how your info is protected, but many other places also have it, and they might not be as careful. That's why LifeLock monitors hundreds of millions of data points a second for threats. If your identity is stolen, they'll fix it, guaranteed, or your money back. Save up to 40% your first year. Visit lifelock.com podcast for 40% off terms. Apply the Blackrock Chapel Horror, Part 3 with haste, the pair quietly exited the sanctuary and walked through the town that saw its citizens begin making their way to Blackrock Chapel. Wednesday Mass, Father Carraway muttered silently chastising himself for the lapse in memory. What is it, Father? Queried the young nun, citing the expression of anxiety on the elder priest's face. Father Carraway, still bearing a worried face, shook his head and blank blankly reassured her that all that was important was that they sought the Archbishop as swiftly as possible. Within the span of another 5 minutes of walking, they arrived upon a small cottage built from stone and mortar. Fixed upon the front of the wooden door was a silver crucifix that hung by a string of rosary beads dangling from an outwardly protruding nail. Above the decoration were inscribed three words in Latin in nomine Patris in bright red. Is this the Archbishop's home? Asked Sister Meredith. Indeed, replied Father Carraway. He spotted an air of curious skepticism mold itself on the young fledgling nun's face. Archbishop Marcus always preferred modesty, father Carraway told her, as he had already anticipated her question. As he reached to ring the worn down yet functional bell that was fashioned to the right of the door, the priest briefly recollected a few of his memories of his years under Archbishop Marcus apprenticeship. He gave the small, frail string that hung the bell two light tugs, hearing the six high pitched rings of its frail clapper impacting against its interior in the mere span of a minute after the bell rang its last, the wooden door began to jolt ajar. Who seeks my home? A voice called out from the inside of the cottage. The voice was that of a man far older than Father Carroway. We are seeking counsel and aid against a grave and unknown evil that has plagued God's kingdom of Blackrock Chapel. Father Carraway couldn't help but emphasize the urgency of his request for an audience. The entrance of the cottage was revealed as the wooden door was opened fully. Standing in the doorway was an elderly man clad in a soft velvet robe with a white cross stitched to the left. Despite his aged appearance, the man stood a solid 6ft in height, even dwarfing Father Caraway's mere father, 5ft 6 inches. The man's head bore a clean shave, bearing only an albino mustache and beard that reached down to his collarbone. For a solid moment that felt too stretched. The man in the doorway examined them, evaluating the sincerity in the spoken urgency. Well then, you'd best come inside, said the man in the doorway, finally breaking the ever straining silence and gesturing for them to enter. The pair entered, and the older gentleman promptly closed the door behind them. Inside the cottage, the young Sister Meredith felt a sense of warm comfort. The walls held different varieties of oils and myrrh. Large, thick leather bound volumes were neatly lined atop a shelf perched above the fireplace that housed a ferocious blaze within. Father Carroway became once again lost in his memories of the past. So tell me, what is this vile menace, you beseech my aid for? The question broke the priest from his memories. Wasting not an instant, Father Carraway began regaling the Archbishop of the hauntings of the prior days. As he continued his dreadful account of the horrors that occurred in B.L. blackrock Chapel, the priest saw the face of the Archbishop become grim, somber, as if he bore some grave piece of the macabre enigma. The other didn't. When Father Carraway was finished describing their peril, a long and unsettling silence hung in the air of the cottage. The ground upon which Black Rock Chapel stands wasn't always holy. Archbishop Marcus voice evoked the same forbidding feeling of sorrow and regret that remained reflected on his aged face. The priest himself was hesitant to press the Archbishop for a further explanation, as if the hidden revelation could scar him further than what his psyche could recover. You made mention of one Father Edwards, the priest bearing the serpents? Yes. Father Carraway nodded in response and offered a y yes, Excellency, nervously stumbling over his own words. I might have known this day would come again. As you no doubt have realized, this Father Edwards is no priest, nor is he a man, at least not any longer. As fear's chilling grasp began to slowly take a hold of him once more, the burning question that had been suppressed by hesitation before now embedded itself into the forefront of Father Carraway's mind and erupted from his lips. What do you mean, your Excellency? His heart hanging in a heavy pendulum of sorrowful regret and worry, Archbishop Marcus became began to enlighten the pair of the unfortunate tragedy that molded the infancy era of Blackrock Chapel. Before the land that the chapel's foundation rests upon was first consecrated as hollowed soil, it had served as A sanctuary for a coven of gypsy folk. When I first came upon the land, I was as you were. When I tutored you, I was a pupil under the protection of my predecessor, Archbishop Duncan. It was my first journey abroad for the spread of the Gospel. For a brief moment, Father Carraway's mind with quick accuracy recollected small fragments of his own initial journey abroad before he was commissioned to the status of priest. His recollection of prior ages halted when the Archbishop's voice began again. When we arrived, it was a mere darkened patch of earth that appeared to bear sparse, if any, vegetation. In its center, a massive, dark stone boulder sat in perchance I remember that engraved on its outwardmost surface was the image of some manner of talisman with two words in the dialect of the gypsum terra condemn delor. The Archbishop's face darkened, the aged features of his face beginning to pronounce themselves by shadow. Only long after the grave events that occurred there did I ever learn what those two words meant. For in our tongue these words translate as land of the condemned. The dread incubating within Father Carroway tightened its firm grasp on his mind. We wished at first to establish commerce with them. We thought that through fellowship we may convert some of them to the Lord's Gospel. Archbishop Marcus eyes fell to the ground in a frightened, stoic gaze as a chilled shudder escaped him. We will were wrong. His voice was devoid of any emotion save for petrified trauma. Stare still fixed to the ground beneath, the Archbishop continued in a gravely voice. Two years passed in harmony until strange occurrences began. Morbid curiosity overcame Father Carraway, and he asked Archbishop Bishop Marcus as to the implications of the occurrences he referred to. At first we simply brushed them off as a minute phenomena, events that we wouldn't try to bear real significance to as they occurred few and far between. With the progression of time, however, the phenomenon became more recurrent and amplified in its malignancy. The other pro priests in our congregation awoke every night in terror and foretelling of unrighteous envisionings plaguing their sleep. Storms began to grow fierce and unwavering, night and day. It was one dusk, however, when our paranoia reached an apex and our goal of peaceful fellowship was abandoned. The cracks of the flames dancing upon the oak kindling inside the fireplace arrested the mournful stare of the Archbishop. Voices. It began with the voices that came to me whispering all manner of unrighteous blasphemies to me. Night upon night, the ghastly voices beckoned to me, tempting me to partake of the ungodly acts that would describe to me, though the grace and strength of the Lord willed me to resist them. I began to grow worried, and I recounted my experiences to another apprentice under the former Archbishop's study. The Archbishop met gaze once again with the priest, the man you named as Father Edwards. Father Carraway stared in confusion at what he was told. Just before he could question to himself the plausibility of what Archbishop Marcus implication was, a morbid realization sent a thunderbolt that shook his mind to its innermost foundation. Not a man. Not any longer. The words pierced him like a finely sharpened dagger as he began to slowly piece together the connection. Connection between the malign hauntings that menaced him in the previous days within the chapel's walls and those recounted from the Archbishop's macabre anecdote. Noting the clarity and molding itself to the priest's face, Archbishop Marcus continued. He suspected immediately that the machinations of the gypsies were at fault. He was certain that their foreign customs had in some form wrought evil forces against us. Over time, paranoia became disdain and mistrust until one grave twilight, the night that blind fear drove us to violence. I'll never forget their faces as we came upon them, wielding the instruments that raised their livelihood to ash. Their home, their shops, everything was set ablaze by the hands of our convent. The Archbishop's mouth split into a morbid, dead smile wholly devoid of any authentic joy. Edwards told me what we were doing was an exorcism of the land, that our actions were in righteous merit of the Lord's service. A small tear escaped his lifeless eyes and ran down his cheeks. Father Caraway's blood began losing its warmth as he was witnessing the collapse of his former mentor's psyche. They fled the land that night, but not before letting slip an omen. May you all be spared of Degassi. As if the mention of the word carried a supernatural force, force of its own. The fireplace exploded outward, the flames danced upon the oak, and kindling shifted erratically. If I could have known of the unholy evils we wrought upon ourselves. Archbishop Marcus lips quivered as he continued. We thought that by ridding the land of the Gypsy heretics from the soil that the evil would flee with them. What we were too blinded by arrogance to see at the time was that the ones we were swift to drive away were the same whose practices acted not as a weapon against us, but to spare us from something far worse. De Gassi? Father Carraway asked, more from his instinct than genuine curiosity. A sullen nod of the Archbishop's head, coupled with his chiseled expression of recriminatory despair, served to reply to the question, like with what was inscribed upon the stone, I learned only long after what Degassi was. What is it, Excellency? Is it the name of a demon? Father Carraway asked, attempting to recollect the multitude of malign spirits dwelling from the lake of fire that were catalogued in Le Dictionnaire Infernal, a volume he was required to devote hours of study to in his apprenticeship under Archbishop Marcus, to find one by the name of Degassi. Archbishop Marcus arose from his seated position and went to his bookshelf and pulled out a volume dressed in dirt and dust, dust adorned by cobwebs. Father, you misunderstood. De Gassi is no demon. Blowing away the concealment provided by the dust on the COVID the volume's cover was revealed to be faded yet polished brown hue leather, bound and bearing no title on the front. The Archbishop fixed himself with his reading lenses and opened the worn volume halfway and began turning further pages until he found the specific page bearing the heading of Blestamul Lu Degassi. Father Carraway gazed intently at the fading page before him, unsure exactly of what to make of the foreign runes scribbled upon the page. Archbishop Marcus placed his index finger upon the passage in question, directing Father Carraway's gaze. When they fled the coven of gypsies left behind this book, Archbishop Marcus read the passage that detailed the Blastimo Liu Degassi, the Curse of the Debased. In their tongue, Father Carraway's blood chilled, draining his pale skin as he listened to the Archbishop tell of Degassi being the physical manifestation of mankind's condemnation itself. The memories of the chapel's phenomena abrasively invaded his mind, once again pronouncing emphatically the gratuitous blasphemies the wraiths assaulted him with. The Archbishop further explained that those that fall victim to Degassi do so when they call out to them, seducing them to either embrace whatever sins they had committed that drew the attention of them, or by stripping them of all hope of salvation until their demise, wherein they are to join the ranks of the condemned. As Archbishop Marcus continued reading, the elder priest glanced at the page when he felt his skin begin to crawl at the sight of the illustration on the page's bottom right corner. The illustration depicted the scene of a man that was brought to his knees and and clutching his forehead as long black serpents appeared to swarm over his body. The face of the man was craned back to face the sky above, and it was twisted into an expression of perpetual agony. The detail of the image that disturbed Father Carraway, however, was a large, dark monolithic stone stood erect and protruding from the black stone that looked like a cyclonic whirlwind, formed from many faces that appeared conjoined, all of them twisted in the same expression of abject horror and sorrow. Spotting this, Father Caraway felt a dreg of nausea grasp firmly to him as the recollection of his nightmare forced itself abrasively into the forefront of his thoughts. How has it been taking the form of Father Edwards? Father Carraway asked, using the question to void the malignant event from his mind. The Archbishop fell silent once again, his aged face giving away to its earlier state of mournful despair. As written in the book here, Archbishop Marcus began as he placed his index finger upon the excerpting passage that he meant to reference, his vocals low and forced, forlorn Degassi can assume the avatar of any that are of them to walk the earth above. The chilling words returned to Father Carraway. Not a man, not any longer. Utter despair consuming him, Father Carraway gave in to the compulsion to question Archbishop Marcus of how Father Edward, a servant of the Lord, could have been met with such a fate. We were all lost to righteous arrogance, replied Archbishop Marcus. But Excellency. The priest cried out, interrupting the Archbishop's reply, how could that alone condemn a servant of Christ? His pride affected their attention to him, but it was what he did next that allowed them to consume him. Tears began to run freely down Archbishop Marcus cheeks. With a heavy, shuddering breath, the somber Archbishop recollected the event that wrought damnation upon the arrogant priest that Father Carraway once thought of as a brother in faith. The night of the raid I found him wielding one of the gypsy's own blades against one of the maidens of the coven. She begged for her life in her people's tongue, but his murderous judgment was unbound. I called to him, told him to hold his hand. The Archbishop froze. His stare became distant as a frightened recollection of the gypsy maiden's scream and the sickening squelch of flesh being penetrated molded vividly in his mind. A deadly silence hung within the cottage, contested only by the cracks of the kindling. Beneath the flames that only ever lightly increased in volume. Father Carraway felt himself in a state of fruitless denial at what he was just told, that a fellow servant of the cross was a murderer and had come committed himself to the whims of an unspeakable evil that even now wears his face. It was then that a horrific realization revealed itself to him that almost caused him to faint. Who else but Father Edwards could have called the Mass for sermon tonight? Can it be stopped? Sister Meredith asked with a shaking tone of panic seeping into her voice. The young fledgling nun's voice caused the two men to glance at her with mild surprise, as until that instant, her silence had caused them to forget her presence entirely. Before a reply could be offered, a mass of shrill screams in the distance arrested their attention. The three listened to the sound of many clamoring, stampeding footsteps, accompanied by a collective cacophony of frightened screams. Father Carraway opened the front door of the cottage to reveal that the source of the sounds were of the townsfolk who had gathered for Mass before, now fleeing Blackrock Chapel for their very lives. The full magnitude of the mortifying display caused the priest to fall to his knees in a trance of terror induced shock. Father Carraway. Father Carraway exclaimed. Exclaimed Sister Meredith as she rushed to him with urgency. Archbishop Marcus exited the cottage into the midst of the chaos. What's going on? The Archbishop demanded to a fleeing youth. Farmhand. M Monster in the sanctuary. Cried the farmhand before pushing past the archbishop. Once his stance was regained, Father Carraway waded through the crowd of fleeing congregation until he found Archbishop Marcus once again. It's Degassi. It must be. Tonight was Wednesday Mass. It was a trap. The priest exclaimed with staggering breath. With a cold, icy and stoic glare carved into his aged face, he turned to Father Carraway and said, we must destroy the evil of Blackrock. How? Father Carraway asked, remembering his own encounters with the frightening entity and the lack of effect his holy subjects had with warding them away in a grave tone. Archbishop Marcus answered by fire. This evil was born through fire. So too shall it die. The two continued pushing through the terrified crowd, climbing up the steps and thrusting the chapel's entrance open. Gatorade is the number one proven electrolyte blend designed to hydrate better than water so you can lose more sweat and raise your game. Gatorade is it in you? The Black Rock chapel horror part 4 inside the hallway to the sanctuary, the clutter of overturned mahogany and discarded crucifix trinkets littered the long, crimson hued carpet that lined the main hall. The sight that disturbed the two clergymen was most about the chaos. Displayed before them, however, were the empty garments that lay discarded, as if those that formerly bore them had simply vanished. The elder priest froze the blood flowing through his veins, chilled as he witnessed the forms of long thin serpents extrude their scaly forms from the empty garments. Come now, there's no time to lose. The Archbishop shouted as he went to retrieve the frankincense from the drawer that kept the oils and wine regularly used for the occasion of communion. As he retrieved the oil and dismounted two of the candlesticks, Father Carraway remained in place, the malign phenomena burrowing back into his recollections. Feeling incapable of acknowledging his partner's voice, the elder priest felt the taunts uttered by the wraiths sink slowly and painfully into his heart. If God's forgiveness is divine, how are we to supposed so many that are condemned? No relief in heaven, no damnation in hell, no forgiveness. Salvation is only the lie you spread. They have shown me the truth, Father. There is no salvation. Those last two words, the two words that have haunted him for three days and nights, began to repeat as though they were some manner of a demented mantra screaming inside his mind like a chorus of shrieking maidens in great pain. Father Carraway's trance was broken when he felt an object pushed into his chest. Father, are you ready to begin? Archbishop Marcus asked, pushing one of the candlesticks into the center of Father Carraway's chest. Clarity. Resuming control of his thoughts, the priest replied with a slightly hesitant breath, yes, I'm ready. Then may we exorcise the evil from Christ's temple? Archbishop Marcus declared with the blaze of determination raging in his eyes as they set about dousing the main hall in the frankincense. Crossing each stream they cast upon the surroundings, they each began to recite Sight. In nomine Patris et Fili et Spiritis Sancti. Amen. Until Archbishop Marcus let out a sharp cry of pain that abruptly ended his chanting. Startled, Father Carraway snapped his head in the Archbishop's direction. His jaw slacked numbly as he spotted five of the abhorrent serpents with their fangs fixed firmly within his former mentor's thighs. Archbishop Marcus eyes were fastened tight, his jaw agape as his face portrayed the sheer unutterable pain that coursed within him. At that moment, Father Carraway began to rush to the Archbishop's aid, shock and panic molding into one as he saw his ally forced to his knees in agony. No. Archbishop Marcus screamed out with a strained cry, Stay away. The elder priest halted despite the fright induced adrenaline urging him further. His strength waning, the Archbishop summoned the last of his will to let out a strained cry to Father Carraway it's too late. I'm theirs now. I allowed this evil to birth. Now you must destroy it. Another tortured wail escaped Archbishop Marcus mouth as the serpents swarmed him, biting and coiling themselves up and around his body and into his gaping mouth. As they burrowed into his throat, he began to let out a series of choking gasps. Before the serpents could overtake him, however, Archbishop Marcus Swift sputtered one last command to the petrified priest. You must burn. Burn. Black Rock Chapel. His eyes rolled back as the Breath of life left him. Falling on his back. Father Carraway's legs felt weak as he watched helplessly as the body of Archbishop Martin Carcass became but a mere squirming mass of dark and crimson. The serpents then dispersed from where the Archbishop's body lay. Only the empty velvet robe remained and scurried away collectively, as though they were answering some summonses. His gaze following their flight, Father Carraway saw them slithering back into the sanctuary, giving pursuit. Father Carraway's eyes met with embodiment of the horror that tormented the once hallowed ground he stood upon. The abomination stood at the pulpit, arms outstretched, as if exerting the very force that beckoned the serpents to it. The head of the abysmal creature was the likeness of the man Father Carraway formally knew as Father Edwards. The rest of the beast's form, however, consisted of little more than than a writhing mass of faces that appeared twisted in the same expression of unbridled suffering. Father Carraway stood at the entrance of the sanctuary, pale, struggling to comprehend the full extent of the unholy terror displayed before him. As the multitude of serpents burrowed themselves in the many dark, cavernous mouths of the agonized faces that comprised the abomination's form. The tortured faces began to undulate more rapidly, as if attempting to breach through the flesh, confining them until a new addition began to mold itself into the center of the abomination's chest region. In anguish, Father Carraway cried out, no. When he witnessed the agonized faces of his former mentor take form in the monstrosity's flesh. As he fell to his knees, stripped of his will, he felt as though he were once again in a nightmare, now with no relief of waking from it. Now you see the truth, Brother. Even the pious cannot be forgiven. The voice, though uttered singly by the false likeness of Father Edwards, bore an ethereal quality to it that wholly devoid its resemblance to that of a human. Haunting familiarity struck the priest's ears when the voice of a young man, though still inhuman, chided to him. The truth stands before you. No salvation. He realized this to be the distorted vocals of the young adolescent from the confessional. The eyes of the false priest's likeness rolled back unnaturally into the the skull and distended its jaws, regurgitating a large, squirming legion of black serpents. They slithered in haste to claim the elder priest. Father Carraway, witnessing this physical incarnation of horror, almost resigned himself to his fate when he remembered the candlestick he still wielded. The frankincense. He nearly shouted aloud, holding his tongue, however, to not reveal his plan to the monster. With renewed hope, Father Carraway found himself at his feet. Out of the dark orifices of the mass of twisted faces, more dark serpents came forth, running to the empty velvet robe. Father Carraway retrieved the half empty jar of the holy oil and proceeded to douse the sanctuary, Triumphant. Fervently, he raised the candle aloft, ready to set the room ablaze, when a succession of sharp pains shot through his left leg. He looked down to see that a serpent had fixed its fangs within him. Within less than seconds, Father Carraway once again felt the venom's crippling effects begin to claim him. His head throbbed and his vision began to fail him, nausea finally stripping his legs legs of his ability to stand, forcing him to collapse as the serpents began to overtake him, Father Carraway, with the last of his strength, raised the jar of frankincense and doused himself. In a weakened breath, the elder priest uttered, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. I will fear no. His defiant speech was cut short as two of the serpents forced themselves into his throat. Just before the serpents would take him, Father Carraway thrusted the candle's flame upon himself, setting himself and the serpents ablaze. The scorched serpents hissed as they fled hastily from the elder priest's burning body. In their panic, the burning serpents slithered to the spaces, dredged in the frankincense, igniting them. Within mere minutes, the entirety of the sanctuary was an inferno. The agonized faces fixed within the abomination's flesh began to shriek in a uniformed cacophony of pain as the searing grasp of the flames came upon them. As the abomination's flesh charred, the massive faces began to protrude further from the form until breaking free of the flesh that held them bound, sending forth a cyclone of wailing apparitions. That swarmed the burning sanctuary all through the night. The flames gutted Blackrock Chapel. When the sun rose, nothing was left but hot, smoldering rubble. Seven sunsets passed, with many of the folk attempting to speculate and ponder what had happened that night. I heard some bloody priest went mad, set the whole damn chapel on fire, himself included. Exclaimed a young man to the bartender. Oui, the bartender retorted with a hearty laugh. Scoff all you want. I know what I heard. I know the truth. Do you know? Uttered the patron, seated upon the neighboring barstool. The young lad was taken aback by the somewhat abrupt and unexpected question by his mute neighbor. Well, sure, the young man finally replied with an uneasy chuckle. The stranger looked at the lad, locking the nervous eyes with his own cold gaze. The young lad saw saw that despite appearing twice his own age, full dark brunette hair and a young, youthful face, the stranger also appeared, clad in a dark robe similar to what the young lad had seen worn by preachers. Say, you wouldn't happen to be a priest, would you? The stranger's mouth parted upward on the left corner in dry amusement. I was once, he said in the same dry tone, nearly devoid of emotion. But then I learned the truth. The young lad, suspecting some manner of a bluff, challenged him that right now what would that be, holy man? Still bearing the same devious grin, the supposed former priest told the young man to follow him behind the tavern if he wished to be bestowed with the truth he offered. The young man obliged and followed as a pig to slaughter. Within seconds, the lad's confident arrogance was replaced with sheer terror as the stranger opened his robe to reveal a writhing mass of tortured faces, of pain branded into his flesh. Like you, the stranger began. I was too arrogant to excuse me, accept the truth. But I know now it's as they told me. Salvation is only the lie we spread, for all are condemned in the end. The former priest displayed a menacingly joyous smile as a horde of black and crimson scaled serpents silenced the young lad's screams. You say you'll never join the Navy, that living on a submarine would be too hard. You'd never power a whole ship with nuclear energy, never bring a patient back to life, or play the national anthem for a sold out crowd. Joining the Navy sounds crazy. Saying never actually is. Start your journey@navy.com America's Navy forged by the Sea Support for this podcast and the following message comes from America's Navy the Navy offers new graduates hands on training and experience in careers like computer science, aviation and medicine, plus education and sign on bonuses. Parents help your grads start their career today@navy.com youm say you'll never join the Navy, never climb Mount Fuji on a port visit or break the sound barrier. Joining the Navy sounds crazy. Saying never actually is. Learn why@navy.com America's Navy forged by the sea it's.