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- [00:00]
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Hey, how's it going? Welcome to Scary Stories and Rain. Before we begin, I just want to remind you that there is now one week left to get your name in the pot to win a Nintendo Switch 2 bundle. If you want to be eligible to win, join my podcast. For $2.99 a month, you get rid of all of the ads, which is really great for sleeping and relaxing. And I might be contacting you to ask where to send your new Nintendo Switch 2 bundle. Also, I do want to say that I'm going to be announcing the winner on the first and I'm also going to be dropping a photo on my Instagram account showing the proof that I have the console, the shipping information that I actually did send it, and by the way, I just got my hands on a PlayStation 5 and I'm going to be giving that away next. So if you want to automatically enter to win the Nintendo Switch 2 bundle, go ahead and subscribe. Get rid of all of the ads and listen to every episode completely interruption free and you'll be automatically entered to win the PlayStation. I'm going to start doing giveaways every single month. And again, I just want to say thank you for being here.
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Class is now in session and the UPS Store is here to help you ace arriving on campus. Our certified packing experts can pack everything you need from desktops to decor. Plus, when you pack and ship with us, you get our exclusive pack and ship guarantee. Your items arrive safe or your money back. Restrictions and limitations apply. To get a 20% off packing coupon and for full details, visit the upsstore.com.
- [01:35]
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Packing@Blinds.Com it's not just about window treatments. It's about you. Your style, your space, your way. Whether you DIY or want the pros to handle it all, you'll have the confidence of knowing it's done right. From free expert design help to our 100% satisfaction guarantee, everything we do do is made to fit your life and your windows. Because@blinds.com the only thing we treat better than Windows is you. Visit blinds.com now for up to 50% off with minimum purchase plus a professional measure at no cost. Rules and restrictions apply. When people ask me at parties, I tell them I work in HR for an accounting firm or that my corner office has some bland nonsense title like Managing Consultant congealed to this glass and black lettering. They stop asking questions pretty quickly when you pull out your card and cover their whole tab. Curiosity peaks a little again, but soon gets washed over with inebriation. They wake up in the morning, and if their wife or lover asks them what it is I do, they just say something and like, administration, I think, and that's it. Plainness can hide all sorts of eccentricity. Can you think of anything plainer than the American Hops Museum? Even its boxy white form, sitting squat in the town of Yakima, Washington, yields little to hold your attention. The whole building is dedicated to the no doubt fascinating history of the cultivation of hops in the American Northwest. Can you tell your strigs from your bracts, from your bractioles? Eager to learn about how the rich volcanic soil of the Yakima Valley has made it to the ideal environment for hop growing? Yeah, one mention of the hop museum in the back of your dad's sweltering summer road trip RV and you'll be screaming to see the largest ball of twine in the Cascadia region. But plainness hides strangeness. Secrets are contained in the things that your eyes pass and glaze over. Just down the hall from the statue of Charles Capenter, the first to promote commercials of the hop growing east of the Cascades, lies a vending machine. It has Coke and Pepsi and everything you expect, with the only oddity that might catch someone's eye being as the machine had clearly not been replaced since the 70s, as Pepsi still bears its cold, chunky logo. But if you grab the machine at the back in just the right spot and pull, it'll swing back from the wall as light as a feather, and behind it you'll find a featureless wooden door. If you were to go to all this trouble, you'd be the only person to see my handiwork, besides the clients it's made for. If you looked at the blueprints for the American Hops Museum, should you be for some reason so inclined, you would notice that laws of physics remaining intact. The door ought to lead you to a spot in the parking lot, but if you went ahead and opened the door, you would in fact find a luxury hotel room. Or so I've been told. The furnishing of these impossible spaces is usually not part of your contract. I make the space between spaces, the rooms that should not be, and you figure out the Craigslist couch or BDSM equipment as you see fit. This is the work of a crypto architect. We often regard the founder of our field as Sarah Winchester. Her face adorns the first poorly mimeographed page of the Excellence in Cryptography correspondence courses that introduces one to the field. If you have heard of the legendary Winchester Mystery House. You probably know her story, or at least you think you do. Supposedly, she was haunted by the ghosts of all those killed by her husband's eponymous firearms. That she spent years pouring her fortune into a nonsensical house to appease or escape them. Doors that open to brick walls, stairs that go nowhere, rooms no bigger than a few inches wide. The whole labyrinth had become a tidy little tourist attraction. But that couldn't be farther from the truth. See, Mrs. Winchester lived at the time when folks scoffed at the thought of a woman becoming an architect. Hell, in some of the big firms you'll still get a couple of derisive snorts if they see someone with two X chromosomes mucking around with floor plans and blueprints. So Sarah, discovering something within herself, pioneered our art of making rooms that should not be contemporary. Reports will indicate that the Winchester home remained, to all casual observers, the small farmhouse that Sarah had initially purchased. A far cry from the four stories, 40 bedrooms, 17 chimneyed monstrosity that is now a modern attraction. So why now does the building seem to reside in documented and bizarre physical shape, attested to by tens of thousands of tourists? Well, one thing that keeps crypto constructs safe is precisely their impossibility. The ordinary mind, unconditioned to encounter such illogical spaces, will often crack under the pressure and instinctively flee the room while blocking any memory of it having existed. This would be what we might think of as. As a best case scenario. A more troublesome contingency is what we in the business call a fly trap. The intruder becomes convinced that the simultaneous feelings of strangeness and familiarity engendered by our spaces make them the only safe place left in a mad outside world. So your wealthy senator client brings his smoke show young mistress to the secret room on floor eight and a half of the 60 story downtown hotel and finds not an amorous love nest, but the emaciated corpse of some poor refugee from sanity. It kills the mood and leads to a hell of a customer service complaint. But on rare occasions that crypto constructs are passed through by thousands, like the tourist trap that is the Winchester Mystery House. The psychic weight of so many minds poison puzzling over the same space will eventually massage it into something real and physical. But once you're skilled and smart enough to avoid pitfalls, it ain't a bad little industry. Raunchy secret liaisons of the wealthy and powerful tend to be my stock in trade. The family values state senator that likes to take his boy toys in the room behind the vending machine in the hopps Museum just got me a nice new beachfront property. Secrecy will always be at a premium, and secrecy paid off my student loans for my naive, abortive attempt to break into the architectural world of the more usual variety. What can I say? I have unusual skill in high demand and I've always dreamed of making kill a guy and get away with community service money. And then one day opportunity came knocking. I got an email from a friend of mine in the industry saying he had just gotten off this incredible job. Easy, shouldn't take more than a few hours, and it was guaranteed big money. So of course I jumped at the opportunity because I'm nothing if not hungry for a quick buck. He told me he would send them my resume and information and someone should be in touch shortly. A few days later I got a text from an unknown Egyptian Embassy, Los Angeles. Tell them that you're with the Department of HSEC. Bathroom cubicles. Second from right in upstairs office. 8ft high, 3ft wide, length is up to you. Bare concrete single bowl. $3 million to complete in 24 hours. I gave my aforementioned acquaintance a quick call to make sure this all sounded right and he enthusiastically confirmed that everything sounded in order. He sounded a little stunned at the fact I had been offered a sum twice what he had received for the job, but his voice also contained a note of excitement. In our tight knit little industry, any notes of cutthroat competition were dulled by the feeling that we were all pioneers in some strange new art form. The fact that none of us were exactly starving artists helped some. The journey from my home in the Puget Sound area to LA was a fairly uneventful one. Only a sense of paranoia that thrummed in the back of my mind made me occasionally pick out inconspicuous looking people I suspected of glancing at me a little bit too long, my friend had suggested, and all evidence seemed to indicate that this was a secretive government job of some kind. Maybe I had just been watching too many 70s spy thrillers, but I kept looking over my shoulder until I got to the embassy. The building was quiet and as I walked in I suddenly wondered what it was exactly an embassy did from day to day, having never been inside one crazy hand to hand combat like in the Bourne movies. As far as I knew, it could very well be the case, but the drab bureaucratic building was about to see at least a little bit of excitement today, I thought as I strode up to the counter with my briefcase and neatly pressed suit. I gave my name and the sweet looking old lady at the desk blinked in the befuddlement before I added homeland Security and she beamed, gesturing me to a set of stairs behind her desk. I found my way to upstairs bathroom without a problem and feigned a little stage fright at the urinal before the rotund Arab man occupying my workspace had left. As I entered the cubicle, I gagged and muttered some derogatory a comment about his diet. I held my breath as I fumbled around the back of the cistern, calming my mind and envisioning a door opening in the white tiled wall in front of me. Eventually my grasping found the imperfection that would act as a key. A tiny chip in the back of this cistern. I pressed my finger, squeezing the flesh into the tiny space and turned it counterclockwise three times, visualizing a key turning in a door. Just like that, I was stumbling back as the toilet slid towards me, taking five feet of wall with it and leaving a gap to slip behind. All in all, forming the little room took two to three hours. The minute dimensions and bare features made it easy enough, and it only took a little massaging and concentrating to get done. But the light bulb was the real trouble. As previously mentioned, I usually tend to leave furnishing to the client themselves, and as for more complex systems like wiring and plumbing, those were definitely a no go. Without specialist knowledge, making U bends and earth lines out of sheer thought forms tended to go drastically wrong. I sent a message to my client's number informing them the space was prepared, but lighting would have to be done by someone else. I received a terse reply, get it done. At a loss, I reached out to a contact of mine in la. I kept tradesmen that I knew that could keep their mouth shut on hand in a few major cities for just this eventuality. After some confusion at the front desk, I brought my wire bearing savior into the cubicle and squeezed my eyes tight height twisting at the chip in the back of the cistern as the wall slid backlight spilled the color of jaundice onto the tiling. I crouched into the room in confusion. There was now a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling of the concrete den, but it was its companion, casting shivering shadows on the walls that made my heart rise to my throat. A pair of manacles stood suspended by chains from the roof, embedded in the concrete. It appeared the furnishing had already begun. As the electrician began to fire questions my way, my phone buzzed. I glanced at it in the dark and the light bounced off the shaking chains. Asset compromised. Our professional relationship is terminated. Consequences to follow I caught the last plane back to Seattle just as soon as I could, drinking three or four Jack and Cokes to calm my nerves. I should have been angry about the broken contract, but the only emotion my fiery gut could summon was pure animal fear. I tried every way I knew how to contact the acquaintance that had put me onto this job in the first place, but all I could get was his voicemail. Eventually, even that was gone, replaced by a dead click and and eventually one of those robot voice out of service notifications. I haven't left my house in a week or so. At night I dream of that little room behind the cubicle in the embassy. A shadowy figure hangs there and I can see his heartbeat through his chest. I pace the floor of my apartment, desperately begging it to expand. I feel like I can't breathe in here. I tried my front door today and it wouldn't budge in the slightest, as though something were blocking. I damn near broke my shoulder ramming the damn thing, but it would not budge despite the fact that it was clearly unlocked. Mind racing, I decided instead to pull, yanking at the silvery handle with all my might, cold sweat down my back. Eventually, the top of the door separated enough from its frame that I was able to yank at it with my fingernails, peeling it back ever so slightly, like I was peeking into a box of Tupperware. Beyond it, I saw a slab of dense concrete wall. My windows will be the next to go. Crypto architecture is a truly amazing industry. To change and conjure spaces, all you need is a defined, unbroken string of thought. Your mind can get lost in a trance, building and reshaping things unconsciously as its forefront is otherwise occupied. You can hypnotize yourself with a racing series of thoughts like a good tale, unaware of your world shifting imperceptibly around you. By the way, when was the last time you pulled your eyes away from the screen? Does something seem off about the familiar place that you're huddled up in right now? Plainness can hide all sorts of strangeness. You might want to try your nearest doorway.
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Eczema isn't always obvious, but it's real. And so is the relief from EBGLIS. After an initial dosing phase, about 4 in 10 people taking EVGLIS achieved itch, relief and clear or almost clear skin at 16 weeks, and most of those people maintain skin that's still more clear at one year with monthly dosing.
- [17:17]
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Librekizumab LBKZ a 250mg per 2ml injection is a prescription medicine used to treat adults and children 12 years of age and older who weigh at least 88 pounds or 40 kilograms with moderate to severe eczema, also called atopic dermatitis that is not well controlled with prescription therapies used on the skin or topicals, or who cannot use topical therapies. Epglis can be used with or without topical corticosteroids. Don't use if you're allergic to ebglis. Allergic reactions can occur that can be severe. Eye problems can occur. Tell your doctor if you have new or worsening eye problems. You should not receive a live vaccine when treated with ebglis. People before starting Epglis, tell your doctor.
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If you have a parasitic infection searching for real relief? Ask your doctor about epgliss and visit epgliss.lily.com or call 1-800-lilyrx or 1-800-545-5979. Abercrombie Denim is everything Right now. Denim should feel like this. Confident, easy, like your butt has never looked better. If you didn't know Abercrombie's Curve Love Denim went viral in 2019 for eliminating waist gap and it's still a game changer. Between that and their classic fits with a straighter line from waist to hip, the perfect denim does exist. Shop Abercrombie Denim in the app online and in store. This episode is brought to you by State Farm. Checking off the boxes on your to do list is a great feeling and when it comes to checking off coverage, a State Farm agent can help you choose an option that's right for you. Whether you prefer talking in person on the phone or using the award winning app, it's nice knowing you have help finding coverage that best fits your needs. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.
- [18:55]
A
My mom has been missing for years and I think I might have found her by dismal apparition. Eat it. Charlotte pushed Marlena's face closer to the fly infested dog turd. Eat it and be grateful. My daddy saw your daddy at the soup kitchen so you must be hungry. A cacophony of giggles erupted behind Charlotte. A gaggle of pigtailed, ponytailed and bob cutted brats from hell. You're hurting me. Marleena cried. Please just let me go. Strands of her flowing brown hair were beginning to touch the droppings. Enough Charlotte. I shouted. Leave her alone or I'll tell the teacher. Charlotte turned her head towards me in a slow, calculated manner. Oh, look who it is. Peepee Boy Carlos. She pointed her gang bellowing out on cue, did you run out of pants to pee in yet? That was three years ago. We were in second grade. You want to know what my daddy said about you? She took a step towards me, blonde pigtails bouncing as she moved. He said your mommy didn't just skip town. He said your daddy killed her. Stop it. That's not true. I took a step backward. He said your daddy got mad cause your mommy was sleeping with every man in town. He said that your daddy doesn't even know if you're his kid. Her next step sent me stumbling backward, tripping over Marleena. My skull smacked against the asphalt. The group roared with laughter, joined by a new voice. Marlena's. Ew. Charlotte giggled. I knew you were full of piss. I guess you're full of crap now, too. The crowd went wild. The sudden blare of the school bell caused the herd to break apart and head towards the building, leaving me to tend to my wounds. My ears were still ringing from the knock to my head when I first heard her. Bring her to me. The woman's voice turned my blood into ice. It was a low, guttural whisper, echoing from the tunnel at the far end of the playground, 50 yards away. I pushed myself up and turned towards my caller. She was wiring so thin that it looked as if a weak gust of wind would snap her in half. Her skin was gray and sagged as if it was about to fall off. With her right hand, she beckoned towards me once more. Her voice sounded like it was emanating from all around me. Bring her to me. I wanted to run, but my legs betrayed me. My feet were glued to the ground. Tears began to flow down my face. Just as she was about to speak again, my bladder released. Carlos. I turned, snapped out of the trance by my teacher's sharp voice. Recess is over. Get over here now. My goodness, did you wet yourself again? I'm going to have to call your father. The class clapped and laughed from the window as if I had given them some sort of encore. We can't keep doing this. My father kept his eye on the road as he spoke. Dad, it was an accident. I saw some. I know it was an accident, boy, but you can't keep having them. You'll be starting middle school next year. I know, Dad. I didn't mean to. I saw some. No one ever means to mess their pants. You just need to go to the bathroom more often. Sometimes you have to go, even if it doesn't feel like it. Do you understand? Dad, I'm trying to tell you that I understand. Yes, I understand. It was still early in the afternoon when we got home. My dad had to go back to work, so I was left alone. I took a quick shower, hopped on my bicycle, and rode back towards the tunnel. I wasn't sure who the woman was, but something inside me was burning to go back and see her. I parked my bike on the side of the tunnel opposite the school. It was a large empty field with a few trees. No one was around except for a couple of teenagers throwing water balloons at cars. Hello? I used my hands as a makeshift megaphone from 10 yards away. Is anyone there? The dark skeletal figure began crawling down the tunnel, bouncing side to side. The woman's bony gray elbows jutted out towards the walls. Her knees were locked straight, forcing her into a misshapen triangle like figure. She was giggling and humming as she wriggled forward. A sudden wave of chills poured over me, covering my body in goose flesh. I moved backward, away from the tunnel. The woman seemed incensed by this and began moving faster. She started making a noise that sounded like she was rapidly licking and smacking her cracked, rotting lips. I turned to run, but was immediately pushed to the floor. What are you looking for? Your mommy? It was one of the teenagers wearing a red shirt. You gotta get out of here. I pushed myself up in desperation. Before you get hurt. Is that a threat, twerp? He shoved me down again, even harder. My sister has class with this kid. She says he pees his pants all the time. His sidekick snickered at the same time she spoke. Bring them to me. It sounded like she was inhaling as she called. Please. I yelled. Can't you hear her? We have to go. The only thing I hear is a little boy about to pee his pants. I stood up once more and was immediately dropped by a punch to the gut. I laid on the ground helpless as a red shirt jumped on my bicycle and rode off. The sidekick launched a water balloon at me before running away, hitting me square in the crack crotch. When I looked towards the tunnel, the woman was gone. Somewhere in the depths, I heard a faint gurgling growl. I jumped up and raced towards home. The trip would take even longer without my bike. My dad's car was standing guard in the driveway when I arrived. He pushed the door open before I even reached the steps. Where the hell were you, Carlos? He yelled. You think today was some kind of reward? That you could just run around town doing whatever you want? Dad, I'm sorry. Please. I need to tell you. I saw. My God. Did you piss in Your pants again? Twice in one day? Dad, no. Someone threw a water balloon and I. A water balloon? You thought you had permission to go have a water balloon fight in the middle of a school day? Get to your room. Now. Dad. There was a now. I moped into my room and crawled under the blankets. I tossed and turned that night. Every creak in the floorboards and whistle of the wind caused my heart to race. At some point, the sweet release of sleep rescued me. I could hear the other kids whispering and giggling behind my back at the school the next day. I flinched every time I rounded a corner. Hearing the final bell ring felt like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I stepped out of school, planning to take a long way home, when Marlena approached me. Hey, Carlos, she said. I'm sorry I laughed at you the other day. I was just trying to fit in. She started walking towards the playground. Oh, it's okay, I guess. I began to follow without realizing it. You know, Charlotte's not all that bad when you get to know her. She was just having fun. She started walking quicker. Um, she kind of is. She's been bullying me since the second grade. I matched her pace. Well, either way. She came to an abrupt stop and turned to face me. I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me. She slowly began leaning her face towards mine. My heart started banging in my chest. She inched closer, eyes closed. I gradually leaned back, closed my eyes. Our lips were nearly touching. And then. Ew. Charlotte's voice shot through the air like a bullet. I told you he'd come if you told him to pee. Pee boy has a crush on you. She laughed. Marlena stepped away, covered her mouth, and giggled. I opened my eyes and realized we were mere feet from the tunnel. You really thought she was going to kiss you, didn't you? Charlotte laughed. I found another dog turd. This one is just for you. Marleena. And another girl grabbed me by the arms and held me in place as Charlotte moved toward me with a wet mess in her bare hands. Bring them to me. The voice sounded more potent now, more explicit than ever. I didn't hesitate this time. I swung my head to the side and cracked Marlena in the nose, then pushed Charlotte's hand into her face.
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Ah.
- [28:35]
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She screamed, Screamed. Get him. I sprinted into the tunnel, the girls chasing not far behind. I was never the fastest runner in the class, not by a long shot, but the tunnel wasn't very long. I pushed myself forward with everything I had, but every one of their strides equaled two of mine. I could feel them gaining on me. My lungs began to hurt. I felt one of them graze the back of my shirt. I was almost at the exit. A hand pushed me by the shoulder, sending me crashing to the ground face first. I bundled into the fetal position and covered my face, instinctively bracing myself. And then. Nothing. I opened my eyes to see that I was lying in the field a few feet outside the exit. I stood and faced the tunnel, but it was empty. No Charlotte, no Marlena. Not even the gray woman. I was brought in for questioning by the police. Since I was the last person who saw the girls before they disappeared. I told them that we were playing a game. The girls were hiding and I was seeking. I told them the last place I saw the girls was the tunnel. The department closed closed the school and scoured the shaft. They found a single set of bones buried inside my mother's. They still don't have any leads on who killed her or buried her there, but I think I have an idea. The school opened for summer classes today to make up for lost time. When my dad came to pick me up, a low, guttural growl poured from the top tunnel. Bring him to me. This episode is brought to you by Lifelock. When you visit the Doctor, you probably hand over your insurance, your ID and contact details. It's just one of the many places that has your personal info, and if any of them accidentally expose it, you could be at risk for identity theft. LifeLock monitors millions of data points a second. If you become a victim, they'll fix it, guaranteed, or your money back. Save up to 40% your first year@lifelock.com podcast terms apply. Working at a bakery always seemed like a very romantic job. It was the job of choice for many rom com leading ladies, and romance always seemed to bloom from them with the smell of freshly baked bread in the background. Did I apply for this job because of that? Yes, but don't judge me for it. I'm not actually a baker, but I know my way around a kitchen and I got hired on as Susan's assistant. At first, waking up at 4am to get to the bakery by 4:30 was torture, but my sleep schedule adapted and the sunrises were beautiful to see. Eventually I fell into routine, kneading dough and piping icing while the morning stars still twinkled outside. It was one of those things that even once you saw the reality of it, it was still fantastical. We made lavender loaves, wildflower cookies, thyme shortbread cookies, and anything else that struck Susan's fancy. In the morning, I stuck around to help cashier and brew coffee for the early crowd, but I was usually out by 10 o'. Clock. It's a really dedicated early crowd, though, and the tips were nice. Sometimes it was cash, but some customers brought us things that they think that we would like. I have gotten wildflowers, shiny stones, vials of stream water, and fresh sunflower seeds placed in the tip jar. I took them all home and set them in my windowsill. There was one weird thing, though. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone my name and we didn't have name tags. Susan said it's because of a past situation where she had a cashier Nicole stalked by a crazy customer, and ever since then she says not to share that much about ourselves with the customers. I had gotten good at shaking off the question, but smiling and nodding can only get you so far in customer service. So when Nathaniel came in one morning, I accidentally mentioned the neighborhood I lived in. When it came up in conversation, he smiled, tipped his hat, and took his rosemary scone to go. I thought that was the end of it. But lately I had been hearing weird things outside my windows at night. Scratchings? Kind of. It sounded like what a tree branch scraping on your window would sound like. Except there are no trees close to my windows. Regardless, I still came to work every day. Nathaniel has become a regular now. He stays to sip his tea and watch me as I work. It was a little uncomfortable, but kind of flattering. You'd understand if you saw Nathaniel. He. He's. Well, there's no other word for it than beautiful. His long, dark locks of hair hang easily on his shoulders, and his green eyes seem to shine brighter as the day goes on. His freckles seem to almost dance across the bridge of his nose. That's cheesy, isn't it? I can't help it. He's just ethereal. Good morning, miss, he said, startling me as I was rearranging the loaves in the window. Good morning, Nathaniel, I smile. Would you like a refill on tea? He grinned and handed his teacup to me, brushing my hand. His hands were surprisingly smooth. It doesn't seem as if he had ever had a hard day's work in his life. I turned to boil some more water for him and set his teacup on the counter. He was still standing there, watching me. I suddenly wished the water would boil faster. I could feel my pulse quickening. It's just so hard to have small talk with customers when you can't say anything about yourself. Maybe that's why I was so nervous. It's a beautiful morning out, isn't it? I said. Oh yes. He smiled. He knew he had me until the water boiled. I had a wonderful walk here this morning. The morning dew was always such a nice morning surprise. Sweet like honey. I couldn't decide if he was just especially pretentious or if he was genuinely someone who drank morning dew. I had had some customers mention it to me before. Maybe it was just something that people did. I personally prefer real honey in my tea, but that's just just because I see what my neighbor's dog does to that sweet morning dew. The water seemed to be taking longer than normal to boil. Had I even turned it on? So, he continued, what do you do in your free time away from here? Oh, this and that, I said, fumbling with the cord. It had somehow fallen away from the wall. Susan came out from the kitchen, still covered in a snow dusting of flour. Her eyes were quick and settled on Nathaniel leaning carelessly against the counter, and me scrambling under the table with the plug. I'll get some water boiling in the kitchen. Why don't you come with me? She said to me, more of a command than anything. She filled up an iron saucepan with water and put it on the stove. Quick and dirty, but it'll do the job. Are you being careful, Qali? She said, leaning an elbow against the counter. You know how important it is for you to follow the rules here. I was baffled. Was I being reamed out about forgetting the plug on the electric tea kettle? Surely she knew it had been a mistake. Sometimes I'm a little slow to things. But she knew I had been trying my best. Yes, of course. I'm sorry about the kettle. I don't know how. I mean. Are you being careful about yourself? She cuts me off. We have a very loyal clientele. Fine folks, but boundaries are important here. I knew that Nicole's disappearance had rattled her. It'd be insane if it didn't. But that was just a one time crazy incident. The stalker had been arrested and was in a maximum security psych unit. He had never said what happened to Nicole, but she seemed to have vanished without a trace. The police tried to find her, but it was as if she had fallen off the face of the planet. Her stalker was no help either. They interrogated him for days, but he just kept saying she had left to be with family. It was assumed she was dead. Sure, Nathaniel was a little weird in that eclectic artist way, but. But there was no way he was stalker murderer level weird. Just weird. Susan, I said softly, I'm being careful. I promise nothing is going to happen to me. I took the now boiling water and made Nathaniel's tea. I thought that was going to be the end of it. I really wished it had been. I wish I had listened to Susan. There was so much I didn't know. After that, Nathaniel didn't come around anymore. I started having trouble sleeping, though. I thought that waking up every morning so early meant I would sleep like a log at night. But the damn scratching kept me up so late. Work started to get weirder. Susan seemed more cagey and the clientele seemed less friendly. They still lined up in droves for our scones and pastries, but they felt more like a collective swarm of angry wasps. The energy was frantic. Even as they sipped their tea, staring at me from the tables, complaints started to roll in about me. I wasn't friendly or wasn't customer service oriented. Customers bared their teeth as I forget to say please and thank you. I dodged personal questions without any care or regard for politeness. I could just never sleep. The scratching became so loud at night. I had barricaded myself under my bed. The windows rattled. Sleep seemed to be a thing of the past. Now I felt like a zombie dragging myself into work in the morning. I had made my first mistake when I was boiling lingonberries for jam. I nodded off, just for a second, but long enough to spill the jam and get a nasty burn on my hand. Susan sent me home for the day to rest and take care of myself. The bell tinkled above me as I left out the front door to drive home. It was 6:30, which meant customers were getting ready to come in. I smiled and waved at the queue as I made my way to my car. Susan would be okay. She said she was going to call in some help to manage the register while I was out. I was distracted. I bumped into someone on the sidewalk and sent his To Go mug flying. It busted open on my chest and drenched me in dark coffee. I'm so sorry. He exclaimed, scrambling for the mug. I was positively soaked. There was no amount of bleach that would get this out of my white suit sweater. I'm so sorry, he said again. Please, I have to insist that you let me pay for your dry cleaning. I won't take no for an answer. I was exhausted and not in the mood to argue. Besides, it was my favorite sweater. I tried to push the thought out of my head that technically it was my fault. Well, I guess it was. It felt like one second. It was free and clear and Then the next second, he had appeared out of nowhere. He had offered a pad of paper for me to put my information on. I wrote down my information, ignoring my aching burned hand as I spelled out my name and contact information. He took it from me and smiled. Excellent. I'll be in contact soon. Calliope oh, it's just Callie. I frowned. There was no way I wrote out my actual name. I have always gone by Cali, but maybe he was just one of those weird pretentious dudes. I waved as I went to my car, desperate to get home and lay my head down on my pillow. I glanced up as I put the car in reverse to back out. The man I had run into had gotten into line outside the bakery. He smiled wolfishly and raised his hand in a wave. I should have known you never give them your name.
- [41:37]
B
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A
Lowes has the Labor Day deals you need to give your home a new look. Buy one, get one free. Select interior paint via Visa gift card rebate then add the final touch with two for $8 on select 2.5 or 3 quart mums. Refresh your home and save big while doing it. Lowes we help you Save valid through 93 mums offer in store only. Selection varies by location while supplies last. More terms and restrictions apply. Seeloes.com rebates for details are you ready.
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A
This episode is brought to you by FX's alien Earth, the official podcast. Each week, host Adam Rogers is joined by guests, including the show's creator, cast and crew. In this exclusive companion podcast. They will explore story elements, deep dive into character motivations, and offer an episode by episode behind the scenes breakdown of each terrifying chapter in this new series. Search FX's alien Earth wherever you listen to podcasts it.
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B
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- [45:14]
A
Your burger is served and this is our finest Pepsi Zero Sugar. Its sweet profile perfectly balances the savory.
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B
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It It's.