There's Something Wrong With Wendigoon

Welcome back to Creedcast!

We're back today.

We're reading another Elias Withero story, the Tommy Taffy guy, which I do say we actually just got a most wanted poster and for Tommy Taffy.

Did you know that?

I did not know that.

You see that?

Right here.

Hi.

Come down the basement.

You're my daddy.

So it actually hurts my feelings more when it's closer to how I actually look.

Looks pretty good.

I mean, it looks pretty cool.

I was over there.

He kept,

he was at the mic.

He was literally at the mic, and he was doing this while we were sitting here waiting for the lights to turn on.

He was literally doing this.

Because you just can't help it.

Big old puffer fish, aren't you?

We're reading Elias Witherose, There's Something Wrong with Dad.

Yeah,

you were drawing something, and I was like, oh, maybe it's a little bit for the episode.

I'll wait.

So I did an ask, and then whatever.

Go ahead.

What are we reading, Hunter?

There's Something Wrong with Dad, which is the future story of Isaiah.

I'm very excited to see where this goes because I'm now picturing that you are the dad in this, and this is your child.

That's how I'm picturing this.

And what's even funnier is that when we were reading this, there is a...

So there is a not safe for work warning.

And there's an immediate, there's an immediate, and this is the trigger warning off the top, too, right?

There's a tag right at the top that says child abuse.

Child abuse.

I have never seen a story tagged with child abuse.

Tommy Taffy had child abuse.

And it didn't.

It didn't, but this one.

This one does.

And it's by the guy that wrote, which we like Elias Wither Road.

Tommy Taffy is a good story.

He also wrote Feed the Pig, one of the editors.

His best work, in my opinion.

Great author.

And then for this recording session, our beloved Harry was like, oh, well, you know, let's do a wild story.

How about this one?

And we look at it and it says not safe for work.

And I'm like, okay.

And then click through, tag, child abuse.

So I, trigger warning,

I don't have any, we have never read this.

I have no idea.

Harry has.

So whatever happens, he's and he and he is not, he's being very elusive with

what is in the

Without further ado, should we just jump right in?

I guess.

Do we have any?

Oh, yeah, go ahead.

We probably have merch by this time.

Here's a link to the merch.

New merch.

New merch.

We have a big backpack.

That was a tiny backpack.

Yeah.

So now there's a bigger backpack.

There's two.

There's two.

Let me put my fat body on.

All right, do we have the big one?

It's in the other building.

I think it's in the other building.

Let me get that big one.

This is the first product sample they sent.

Also, I'm a morbidly obese man.

Once again, not morbidly, but.

Imagine you pull out your creepcat's backpack and it's this.

I think it's a good look, personally.

Oh, did you need my iPad?

Hey, you.

Hey, Mike.

Hey, Mike, do you mind if you grab my iPad and my backpack?

Nick, call my name as if uh as if uh we're a high school buddies.

Or be like, hey, Hunter, can I borrow your note your notebook?

Hey, Hunter, can I borrow your homework?

Hey, sure, man.

Oh.

I just ripped the arm off.

Uh That actually worked.

Great job, dude.

We have a better backpack.

I'm pretty sure.

That was the prototype.

To clarify the ones that are sent out aren't bad.

Well, to be fair, you're not a gigantic worm man.

I was just trying to get out of the backpack.

They're not that small.

Yeah, that was

the actual one.

Same design, but bigger.

For also all the beautiful audio listeners out there, thank you so much.

Spotify, Apple Podcast, for the rating.

There's a tiny little backpack.

All right.

There's more than just

other merch items as well.

It was a tiny backpack.

I shattered it.

If you decided to support us,

you would think that it was made of glass.

You would almost assume the backpack was made of literal stained glass.

Here we go.

Now,

let me do this one.

Now, look at this guy.

See, now this is what we want.

You made these way too.

Yeah, they're for me.

Let me put it on.

Hold on.

Yeah, here, let.

Actually, that's going to be a funny juxtaposition.

Here's it.

Now,

what we preferred was large cartoony backpack.

Yes.

Like goosebumps.

You're going to struggle too.

This is really not a great promo for this product.

Are you gonna turn around?

It's a big fucking thing.

You wanna put your full child in there?

Yeah, you wanna throw a baby in there?

Do you have a baby sister or a baby brother?

I put several in there.

You wanna come to college with me?

You wanna get in?

You go to economics?

Here we go.

I mean, look at look at the size difference.

Hold on, hold on, hold on.

I mean.

It's a bit uh

there you go.

Maybe, maybe, maybe you buy both.

It's a Russian nesting doll-styled backpack.

Will we do that?

I don't know.

We have shirts and stuff, too.

Fuck it.

You want to buy it?

I don't care.

Let's finally get into the show.

I care.

If you all decide to support us there, I don't.

It means a lot.

The bears.

All right.

I'm kidding.

No.

Please don't be mad at me.

He is very high energy today.

Also, hey, shout out to patrons.

Yeah, man.

Good ones.

Shout out to patrons.

Okay.

Thank you all very much to the patrons who continue to support us.

It means the world.

Your support means a lot.

Lets us keep doing this.

So thank you.

There's something

wrong with Debbie.

Let's do it.

Let's do it.

15 years ago, something terrible happened to my family.

It's taken a lot of therapy and drugs to help me cope with it.

They keep me up at night.

I want to forget, but I can't seem to.

My therapist told me I should write it all out.

She said that it would help me purge some of these memories.

I'm not sure if I believe her, but I'm going to try.

I have to.

I need peace of mind.

I can't keep living like this.

Couple things you need to know before I begin.

One, my family didn't believe in technology.

We didn't have a TV.

What does that mean?

It means they didn't

have technology.

They didn't believe in technology?

Well, I'm sure they believe it exists, but like they didn't believe in having it.

It might be Amish.

Amish Midianite.

Yeah.

kind of thing.

Maybe Amish.

We didn't have a TV, a computer, a phone, anything.

My dad believed those things would rot your brain out and he was always happy to tell people just that.

Two, my family didn't like to be bothered.

Our house was out in the hills down a dirt road.

We didn't have neighbors.

We didn't have company.

It was just us, my mom, my dad, and my brother Jay.

My mom homeschooled us and my dad would take his truck into town to work at the bank.

I wouldn't say we were an unhappy family.

My mom, Anne, was caring, kind, and had a passive way of dealing with things.

She was a soft-spoken, submissive woman.

My brother, Jay, was two years younger than me.

I loved my brother.

He was a troublemaker, and I constantly had to cover for him, hiding some of his more mischievous actions from our parents.

And then there was my father, Henry.

He was an old-fashioned kind of man, strict but honest.

He believed in a moral code, believed in being an upstanding example, and was a hard-working provider for our small family.

That was before everything went bad, that's before my father changed.

Ooh, also, I just want to say the same people that do like I don't believe TV will write your brain out.

That's the same guy smoking like menthol cigarettes and drinking Everclear and all that kind of stuff.

You're ruining your mind with that.

I know people that smoke cigarettes but won't sleep next to like a Wi-Fi or Bluetooth

system.

We're going to put that phone.

You brother, seriously, put that phone away.

Get away from me.

Those radioactive waves are fucking my mind, man.

Eyes completely yellow.

Is that a Nokia?

It doesn't have Bluetooth, does it?

Keep that away from me.

Get that away from me right now.

I was sitting at the breakfast table, happily munching my toast.

My six-year-old brother sat across from me, slurping down his milk.

My father walked into the kitchen and asked Jay to stop being so rude before going to my mother, pecking her on the cheek, bidding her good morning.

My mother smiled and helped him with his tie, telling him his lunch was packed for the day and to come home safe.

My dad threw on his sports jacket and grabbed his briefcase from the kitchen counter.

ruffled my hair and leaned down next to me.

Are you going to be good for your mom today, champ?

This close, I could smell his cologne, his face freshly shaved.

He was a good-looking man, tall and dark, with broad shoulders.

I'd always looked up to him and admired his physicality.

Yeah, dad, I'll be good.

So, I'm not gonna

say anything yet.

Because, like any other story, I wouldn't give that a second thought.

But just because

we had multiple stories, like wee, wee, wee.

Yeah, yeah.

Smiling, my dad went to my brother and asked him the same my brother shrugged his shoulders a goofy grin on his face one of his front teeth was loose and it stuck out at an angle the object of much fruitless wiggling maybe today i'll come out he kissed jay on the forehead and said a goodbye to my mother blowing her a kiss and was out the door as i finished my toast heard him fire up the truck and back it down the gravel driveway My mother began cleaning up the breakfast dishes, telling Jay and I to finish up and fetch our school books.

I hated school, as all children do.

I thought it was boring and a waste of time.

The woods and hills were more interesting to me than words or pencils.

Groaning, I brushed the crumbs from my shirt and motioned for Jay to come with me to our room to collect our school supplies.

The day passed like so many before it.

Jay and I sat at the kitchen table, doing our schoolwork, listening to our mother, and trying not to die of boredom.

Lunch my mother made us peanut butter sandwiches.

We were allowed to go outside for an hour.

This was always my favorite part of the the school day jay and i bound from our house and went to the woods we climbed trees threw rocks at each other then finally took turns rolling down the grassy hill we'd lived on i remember how warm it was that day the june heat foreshadowing an even hotter july we heard our mother calling us back in and we obeyed stealing ourselves for the final stretch of schoolwork hours seemed like years in that kitchen But three o'clock always came.

When the hands on the old clock made a right angle, we were allowed to close our books books for the day.

That evening, Jay and I decided to make paper airplanes on the living room floor as my mother prepared supper.

I remember the delicious smells wafting through the house as we folded newspaper into planes.

Jay had just finished his first one, holding it up proudly, when dad came home.

From the second he walked into the door, I knew it was going to be a bad night.

We all have those memories of our fathers, probably when his temper got the better of him and everyone was on eggshells.

This was different, though.

There was an aura of tension around him that I had never seen before.

He didn't say anything when he walked in, just tossed his coat over the back of a chair and put his briefcase down.

My mother turned from the stove and smiled at him, welcoming him home and asking how his day was.

Dad said nothing, just going to the sink and filling a glass of water.

He drained it in one long gulp and set the glass down.

Turned to Jay and I.

Something hard and dark in his eyes.

What are you doing?

Look, Dad, it's a B-52 bomber, he said proudly, swooping his paper plane through the air.

My father took a step forward suddenly, snatched it from his hand, examining it.

He lowered the plane and stared at us.

Is this the paper I was reading this morning?

I swallowed.

Yeah, dad was in a bad mood.

I told him they could use it.

I thought you were finished reading it.

My mother intervened.

My dad turned to her.

Well, maybe you should ask me next time.

Do you think you can handle that?

My mom blinked.

I'm sorry, honey.

I didn't think it was a big deal.

My dad said nothing, just pulled the kitchen chair out and sat down, watching us.

I felt uncomfortable.

I felt like he was looking for an excuse to be angry.

He wasn't usually like this, but there had been a time or two his anger had gotten the better of him.

For the most part, though, he wasn't a violent or even loud person.

Bad day at the bank, dear?

My mother asked, stirring a pot full of sauce.

She was.

Oh, I thought he was.

I saw stirring a pot and thought it was a metaphor.

She's actually stirring a pot.

My mother asked, stirring a pot full of sauce, she was preparing.

My dad turned to look at her.

I had the worst day I've ever had.

You can't even imagine.

None of you can.

The things I go through to put food on this table.

My mother turned and frowned.

I'm sorry to hear that.

Can I get you a beer?

Is that your I want a beer?

Uh, duh!

Uh, a dirt!

Earth's too stupid.

Uh, yes.

So he talks to his wife, too.

No.

I do.

Oh my god, baby, please, could you?

My mom went to the fridge and pulled one out, handing it to him and putting a hand on my dad's shoulder reassuringly.

My dad went to twist the top off, but pulled his hand away with a snarl.

Ah!

Shit!

Of course it's not a twist top.

Why would it be?

Such a funny thing to get mad at.

I guess you need a goddamn opener for everything!

Nothing works in this house.

Nothing works in this.

Fuck!

I could see a drop of blood on my dad's hand from where the cap had cut him.

I began to look for an excuse to leave the room before dinner.

Relax, dear.

I'll get you a bottle opener.

My dad shook his head.

Oh, don't bother.

Raising his arm, he smashed the neck of the beer against the table and shattered it.

Poured the beer from the fragment of the neck into a glass before tossing the empty bottle towards the trash can.

It missed and shattered on the floor.

Henry!

My mom said, her voice a soft hiss.

My dad took a long pull and set the glass down hard on the table.

Maybe next time you should just get the goddamn twist-off taps!

Maybe you should think about me once in a while.

Not wanting to fight, my mom quietly turned around and continued continued making dinner my dad took another drink from the glass and looked at jay and i i quickly looked down at my half-made paper plane and mindlessly fiddled with it i didn't want him to even know i existed right now tommy my dad called my heart froze i looked up at him panicked were you good today

was

was tommy a good boy for mommy His voice was condescending.

His eyes bore into mine.

I nodded.

He drained the rest of his beer, staring at me before putting it down and muttering, You better have been.

My brother and I tried to melt into the floor.

My dad stood and went to the bedroom to get changed out of his work clothes, let out a sigh of relief and looked at Jay.

He grimaced at me and shook his head, his loose tooth jutting from his upper lip.

Be good tonight.

I whispered urgently to him.

I picked up my plane and decided to stash it in my bedroom.

I didn't want to give my dad any excuse to flip out tonight.

Out of sight, out of mind.

This is like, so far, just very tragic.

Just a very sad scenario.

I feel like.

This seems like this is legitimately most nights at my house growing up.

I feel like

it's just doing a thing of being like, hey, how was your day?

Oh.

Oh.

Spin me up and let me go.

It's like a loose canon, emotionally immature dad.

It's kind of what this reminds me of.

It's funny because I was about to be like, yeah, I've heard from people who have had abuse.

I mean, I've never seen my dad.

Also, first, I thought the kid was gonna be like, Dad, what about broken glass shards?

From like, if you smash a bottle, it would go everywhere, and you'd be drinking it.

Yeah, it's like cleaning up his throat and shit.

Ah, it's smooth.

It's a coughing of blood.

Dad?

You good boy?

You good boy from Roger?

You good boy for mom?

Hmm.

Is that a paper I was reading today, big man?

Hmm?

Can you read yet?

Can you do that?

Dad truly has become scary, hasn't he?

There's certainly something wrong with him.

There's something wrong with Pep Pep.

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We are now back to the episode.

Then I saw he had his hands over his eyes, his elbows jetting away from his body.

Didn't move a muscle.

Stood like that, silently.

Like he had been turned to stone.

I didn't know what to make of it.

The odd display unnerving me.

I didn't stick around to find out what he was doing, and quickly scooted down the hall to my room.

I deposited my plan on my dresser just as I heard my mom call everyone for supper.

Jay and I trot to the table as my mom placed a steaming bowl of hot spaghetti on it, smelling of garlic and basil.

Jay rubbed his stomach and swooned, expressing to mom how hungry he was.

I took my place at the table next to him as my father entered the kitchen.

Wordlessly, took a seat at the head of the table, opposite my mother, who shot him a cautious glance.

He folded his hands and turned to me.

Why don't you say grace for us tonight, Tommy?

Nodded and closed my eyes, locking my fingers together.

Dear Jesus, thank you.

I jumped as my dad slammed his head down on the table.

Jay let out a little squeak, and my mom visibly flinched.

My dad leaned towards me.

Now, Tommy,

how do you expect Jesus to hear you when you talk so softly?

Start over, but louder.

My heart was thundering in my chest.

It took conscious effort to keep my voice from shaking.

My father's outburst was so sudden and out of character for him that I didn't know how to respond.

I lowered my head and began again.

Dear Jesus, thank you for the food and thank you for my mom who made it.

After a pause, I added.

And thank you for dad who goes to work for it.

Amen.

My mom echoed my amen.

Amen.

Told me that was a nice prayer.

Jay was staring at my dad, unease blooming in his eyes.

Dad looked at the bowl of spaghetti.

I saw his jaw clinch.

This again?

I guess it's not your fault, Anne, that you can't cook anything but noodles.

It's not like your family had the money to send you to college to make something, make something of yourself.

Gosh, God.

Gosh.

Lord.

Fuck sakes.

My mom looked up at him, shock rippling across her face.

My dad met her stare, his face carved from stone.

He was daring her to say something to him.

Anything.

Wisely, my mom lowered her eyes and began spooning out the steaming spaghetti.

Jay immediately dug into his, twirling his fork around the sauce noodles and shoving them hungrily into his mouth.

I winced as he slurped down a mouthful, causing the red gravy to squirt from his lips.

My dad turned to him, his eyes ice.

Jay?

What have I told you about being rude at the table?

Jay froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

He stuttered, mind blinking.

My dad curled a finger at him.

Come here.

Now

I felt my heart sink into my guts and turn to rot.

I was breathing heavily, not wanting my brother to be in any kind of trouble.

I watched as he slid from his chair, fearing his eyes.

Bring me your plate, he said in the same iron voice.

Jay turned and took his plate, slowly walking it over to stand in front of my dad.

My father looked him over, shaking his head, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

They didn't raise a pig,

but if you insist on being one, you're going to eat like one.

This is rough.

This even a horror story is sad.

Hey, thanks for inviting me out, Hunter.

Great time.

Thank God we're back in person reading this, huh?

Harry's like, guys, I know a great story.

This will be a good dick off.

Dude, honestly, this is going to, the whole, everyone's going to love it.

This one, it'll kill.

Zero notes.

he suddenly grabbed jay's plate and threw it on the floor shattering it and spraying spaghetti everywhere i jumped to my seat again forcing my eyes away and praying i'd disappear my mom gasped and her mouth fell open my dad pointed to the floor go ahead son if you're so desperate to be a barnyard animal you can eat like one when is it socially acceptable to kill him from the wife's perspective when is it like she gets revolt i don't think he deserves death but i think you could be like we should get out of here.

I mean, what good does he do?

He threw a plate of spaghetti on the floor.

Yeah, but he's making his son eat off the floor.

I hear you.

Do I think that calls the death penalty?

No.

Okay.

You know?

I think it's, I think.

Put your hand cocktails.

You know what, though?

I think that this is a good time.

This is a good.

Let me tell you what this is.

This is a red flag moment.

Right?

I thought you were about to lead into an ad raid.

No, no.

Great time to talk about our bridge wallet.

No,

this is a thing where this is a time in a person's life, which if someone's going through this right now, maybe there is.

There's someone who's listening to this that's going through it, right?

This is a moment where you say, hmm, that's a bit of a sign that this is probably not the correct environment.

I should leave.

I need to get out of here.

Yeah.

Which is sometimes hard to do, but, you know.

Yeah, you should leave.

Because

I think as soon as he lays a hand on the child, I think that's worth it.

That's worth it.

That's worth shooting him?

Yeah.

Or cutting off his hands or something like that.

Okay.

You know what I mean?

I feel like the cutting.

A little plate of spaghetti on the floor.

It's not so much the throwing the spaghetti in the floor as much as it is making the kid.

Well, of course.

Of course.

I'm just saying.

Yeah.

All right.

Yeah.

Jay looked at my mom, and I could tell he was on the brink of crying.

Unsure what to do, begging someone for help.

Henry, don't you think you're overreacting a little bit?

My mom ventured timidly.

My dad slammed his hands down again, his voice rising.

And

if you don't raise these kids to be gunkrit, hate it when the wind blows north.

I think he's trying to say ungrateful.

I think he's having a stroke.

Or he's transforming it.

It looks like he's like,

Yeah,

something weird is happening to him, yeah.

Everyone paused.

I chanced to glance at my dad.

What?

It sounded like he switched sentences midway through.

My mom said nothing, waiting for her husband to continue.

Jay sniffled beside me and I reached out a hand and took took his, squeezing it gently.

My dad blinked and one of his eyes rolled up into his head and then righted itself.

Happened so fast I almost didn't see it.

Cleared his throat and gave his head a quick shake.

My father blinked a few more times and then looked at me and Jay.

Saw me holding his hand, Jay on the brink of tears.

Tommy, look over your brother's hand, he said, his eye twitching slightly.

I obeyed.

Our sweaty palms separating.

I watched my father, food forgotten, my throat dry and mouth parched.

I didn't understand why he was acting like this.

I had never seen him this hostile towards us.

I knew that sometimes, when he had a bad day at work, came home frustrated, but never like this.

What had happened today?

Father looked at me in my seat, waving Jay to sit back down.

Tommy,

your brother was being punished.

Do you know why I punish you boys?

It's so that you understand right from wrong.

Now,

I just saw you trying to comfort your brother.

That tells me that you're on his side.

That tells me you think it's okay to act like a pig at my table.

I shook my head frantically.

My dad cut me off with a wave of his hand.

Stop!

Stop!

I don't want to have to punish you for lying as well.

Patted the tabletop.

Put your hand on the table.

Shot my mom a terrified look, begging her for help.

Her eyes eyes were wide and her face pale.

She didn't know how to react.

I'd never seen her husband so cruel or sharp with us.

She was speechless, afraid that saying something would antagonize my dad further.

On the table!

My dad repeated, his voice hardening.

Hands shaking.

I placed it on the table, palm down.

Jay had started to cry next to me, tears dripping from his cheeks.

My dad picked up his fork.

At like, what point is this just like...

well he's a monster.

Well yeah but it's just is this not just like torture porn?

Well he's a monster hunter.

Oh okay.

I forgot.

Oh yeah I forgot.

Yeah that's fine.

Henry?

Mom whispered eyes wide.

I looked at my dad fighting back my own tears fear choking me.

My father gripped the fork.

You need to understand that.

He stopped suddenly.

coughing hard and then gasped in a dry voice

don't you hate the wind in the north he dropped the fork on the table and his mouth fell open, his tongue stretching to his chin.

His eye began to twitch rapidly and he rubbed it viciously, closing his mouth and gritting his teeth.

None of us moved, paralyzed by the odd display.

I had no idea what he was talking about or why he was acting like this.

Something was wrong with him.

That much was clear.

After a few seconds, my dad lowered his hand from his face and smiled at all of us.

I think you boys understand now.

Remember what I said, and we don't have- and we won't have to do this again, okay?

Jay and I nodded vigorously, desperate to get away from the tension, the table, all of this.

I felt like I was stuck in some alternate reality.

Nightmare, just waiting to wake up from.

My dad pointed to the floor.

Tommy, could you please clean up that mess?

As I scrambled to comply, he turned his eye to my mother, looking her up and down where she sat.

He began to twirl a spoon in his hand and got a strange look in his eye.

It was as if he was evaluating her as a person, taking in all her physical features.

So, scraping globs of spaghetti into the trash, I heard my father say, Jay,

can you go around to the back of the house and get me a brick?

Don't

like that.

Don't like anything.

Why he's looking at his wife there, too, my mom.

What four pops?

Gee, Dad, what is it?

Jay, can you get me a frying pan?

Go to my study and get the katana.

Jay, can you go to my study and get the keyblade?

What do you want the keyblade for, Dad?

And get me Mickey's shield.

This is really in the kingdom hearts.

I was kidding.

Paraphernalia.

Fuck it.

Get me Goofy's boots as well.

Dad?

What are you talking about?

Turns into a violent, torture-porn Kingdom Hearts.

Kingdom Hearts fanfactory.

Where did you even get Kingdom?

It was just up there somewhere, and you just grabbed it as it went by.

I don't know.

Okay.

I don't know.

I heard my brother get up and open the side door to the house.

The hinges creaking in their familiar way.

Henry, what's wrong?

I heard my mom ask in a hushed voice.

Even as I sponged up the mess, I could hear the fear in her voice.

My dad didn't respond.

I finished wiping sauce from the floor just as Jay shuffled back into the house.

He held a brick in his hands, dirt staining his fingers.

Cast-down eyes, he brought it to my father, placed it on the table next to him.

My dad turned to the both of us, his voice cold steel.

Now, both of you, go to your room for the night.

I'm going to fuck your mother.

Where's Harry?

Get him in here.

I'm going to fuck your mother.

What'd you do with that brick?

Where is Harry?

What'd you do with that brick?

Hold, hold on.

Me and your mom were playing Bob the Builder.

Okay.

Canny fix it.

We need.

We need to integrate.

Why do you call mom's vagina the chimney?

No, bad, bad.

You're not.

Don't, don't, don't.

This is not funny.

This is not cute.

This is very bad and not good.

It's, it's funny because it's just, uh,

I think if I can assess, we're not done yet, but if I can assess so far, I think that it's trying to make like a mutation or like an uncanny valley thing out of

like a story out of basically like

family

abuse or like

like a paternal abuse situation, right?

And then transforming that of like what would be just emotionally unfit parent actually transforming into something is what's going on like a mr hide kind of the problem with this which is the same kind of problem that at least i have with tommy taffy is that it's just so abrupt and it's just it's one of those things where it's like huh you know he starts off like to me it's not justifiable or not not that justifiable it's it's not satisfying enough to just be like my dad was a great guy yeah he didn't let us have internet but you know he thought it ran our brain out and all of a sudden he's just like i'm gonna shove this brick up your mom's vagina Because that's what he's saying, right?

Yeah, that's got to be what he says.

That's the sensation is.

Yeah.

I wonder why a brick.

Because it's coarse and painful and huge.

I mean, that's all that makes sense.

Yeah.

It's a torture.

It's torture.

It's like

this is all torture porn, is what it is.

Yeah.

Well, at this point, literally.

Yeah.

I like how Harry was like, they'll love this.

Okay, well, I don't think he ever said he'll love this.

I think he just said that this is like.

He put it on the docket.

He did put it on the dock.

I mean,

you have to kind of fault him a little bit for that.

Yeah, he put this on the docket.

And earlier today, when I said, let's start with this one, he goes, that's a good one.

Elias Withero, too, what I've been noticing, a big motif is older, the perspective always of the older brother, younger brother, mom, and then some kind of, and then the dad figure is always

like in Tommy Taffy, wasn't the dad the guy just that would just like, didn't he just like listen to the mom?

Well, his thing was, so there were two families.

In the first Tommy Taffy story, he was like, oh, this happened to me when I was a kid.

We have to let let this play out.

Yeah.

But the dad let the mom

the basement.

Yeah, yeah.

Right.

And his daughter.

Remember, there's the one where the boy comes, his son comes to him and he's like, come here.

And he could hear the noise in his daughter's room.

And he was like, we just have to ride this out.

We're going to have to edit this.

And then in the

flat.

In the second one, which was a prequel about the dad as a boy, his father got killed by Tommy Tommy Taffy because his dad kept trying to, his dad was the one that tied him up in the basement, set him on fire and everything.

Tommy comes back and like drives a steak through his mouth and kills him.

Or let's just read it.

Both stories put you in an insanely uncomfortable scenario where it's like, I don't want to think about being in this scenario.

Because Tommy Taffy is like, what if someone was going to

what if Superman was a pedophile?

Yeah, what if someone was going to rape your kids and you couldn't do anything about it?

You just had to be there.

No, he kills you if you try and then he rapes them.

It's very unforgiving.

I think that's probably why, too, is why it feels so bad is that it's like, there's really no point.

Like, it's completely hopeless.

Yeah.

Which I think might be a narrative choice of like the hopelessness of these situations or something.

Yeah, because what's a kid going to do?

Yeah.

Kid campers.

But I wonder if there's a way where, is there a way that you could write that to where it's unnerving and not just revolting?

Like, is there a way to get across that idea without having it be maybe so literal?

I guess for a horror story, revolting can be the point where it's like, gosh, that made me uncomfortable.

And that's like.

Yeah, but I don't think that's satisfying.

That doesn't mean that.

It's not a horror I enjoy, but it is a kind of horror.

Is that the same kind of stuff?

Because we've had people recommend us

the story like Playground.

I've always hear people talk about Playground in the book.

And there's like...

I think that one's more of like Saw Trap stuff, like wacky ways people get killed.

Okay, so I think.

think, but is that not, you know, I guess in a way, is that not torture porn?

I mean, similar where it's just like, this is a like, can you imagine going down this thing?

It doesn't really matter.

It's like, there's really no escaping it, but it's just like, it was a slide with blades, yeah, or whatever.

It's just not comparable to that.

I think it is in the sense of it's like that, that one's a bit different because I would say there's like gimmicks, so it's part like a saw traps.

It's like the funness of it, sort of.

Whereas this one's kind of like, don't you hate this?

Don't you, I bet you feel real bad yeah well i think it's also trying to tap into people where it's just like i bet you you know just tapping into like that i guess that like that memory of like i don't know fight you maybe had with your parents yeah you know it's like trying to like twist that in a way where it's fucking to an extreme obviously yeah i don't know yeah

i heard my mom gasp as jay and i turned away Took my brother's hand in mine, heart racing.

I was terrified.

I rarely heard my dad use that kind of language before and never in such an abrasive manner.

So we quickly walked to our room.

I looked at Jane, saw his face was a mess of snot, drool, and tear-streaked terror.

His eyes were wet and wide with confusion.

He didn't understand any of this.

Didn't understand why his father was being so mean to him.

I didn't either, and so I gave his hand a little squeeze.

Sure what else to do.

We closed the door to our bedroom and stared at each other.

We could hear our dad yelling loudly in the kitchen, his voice rising.

Jay covered his ears and ran to his bed, collapsing into his pillow.

I went to him and put a hand on his back as he cried, sobs muffled in the cotton.

Then I heard my mom start to scream.

I felt tears spill from her.

Gosh, dude.

It's like it's such an unnecessary amount of description of like the weeping and just the like the excessive.

It's excessive.

Extremely excessive.

Again, Harry, that's a good one.

Start with that one.

Put it on the docket.

Put it on the docket.

Before we're done recording, he needs to come stand in here.

He's going to have to have something.

He's going to have to pay for his crime.

He's got to put him on trial.

I felt tears spill from my eyes and I began to hyperventilate.

Each breath, a desperate attempt for oxygen.

Covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut as something crashed to the floor in the kitchen.

More banging followed, and all the while my mother continued to shriek, her voice rising to an inhuman level.

There was agony in her cries along with fear and I kept waiting for her to stop, but she didn't.

It kept going and going and going and going.

Jay was weeping now, shaking his head into his pillow, trying to block out the sound.

His whole body was shaking and it sounded like he was having trouble breathing.

I lay down next to him and clutched his body to mine.

My own tears spilling into his hair.

I didn't know what else to do.

Didn't know when this horrible nightmare would end.

I heard heard another crash as something shattered in the kitchen.

I heard my mother howling and then the screech of table legs on the hardwood floor.

Oh, gosh.

I heard Jay praying to God.

This is so rough, dude.

I just like, it's a thing where there probably is people out there who enjoy this, like, I felt miserable.

There's things I like that I'll partake in where it's just the

context, of everything.

The grossness moves you in a way.

Or not even a gross, but just like something that just moves you in a way where it's like, I didn't think that it could make me feel like this.

This is just like a recollection.

This is like a horrible recollection.

It feels like a thing that other people really shouldn't even know about.

Yeah.

You know what I mean?

Like a private, like an intimate thing that someone would tell you where you're like, oh my God, it's horrible.

But just having it be so.

It's almost like,

which kind of get, which is kind of the thing that, I guess, makes me respect the story a bit where it's like in the real world there are maybe like some of the elements like the brick and stuff, but who knows?

Maybe there was there have been scenarios that intense, you know, of like spousal abuse.

Oh, I mean, I'm sure there is, but I think the context of like,

I guess, learning about these things

is,

I guess it's like, if,

I mean, I don't know.

It's just the intimate nature of you not knowing somebody.

This is the first first time.

It's just like such a whiplash.

Yeah.

To be like, what?

It's just all at once.

You know, and it's just grueling.

It's also somewhat, it's almost like

it's almost torture.

Yeah, I guess it depends on the context you enter it with.

As a reader, I would say.

As a reader, yeah.

Torture.

Torture as a reader as you're reading it.

I guess it depends on the context you enter it.

Because if you're going to talk about a story about like spousal abuse, something that intense, then I don't think you should pull punches, you know?

No, I don't think you have to hide stuff, but I just, I guess it's just,

I still, I mean, I haven't finished it, but but so far, it does not feel,

it doesn't,

even not even say classy is the wrong word.

I just think it feels excessive to the point of,

I guess, just like, how else can I twist the knife more?

Right.

Right.

Yeah.

Which I don't, I don't particularly find interesting.

Not my kind of thing, but like I said, maybe for somebody.

Maybe for somebody.

And also because like there's real world scenarios like this, I do kind of respect,

in that sense, not pulling punches.

It's kind of like the first time I watched Schindler's list, where it's like, oh my gosh, for two hours.

And then at the end, you're like, well, I guess it would have been worse if they didn't show it, right?

If they downplayed how bad it really was.

So, you know.

Yeah.

I don't know.

I don't know.

Also, I'm not smart enough to articulate my my thoughts like that.

I guess the difference between Schindler's List and this is that that is a real thing that happened.

And to pull away from and to not show the horrors of it would maybe be disrespectful versus this is a fictitious thing that can happen well here's the thing i'm not i'm not saying a liar specifically obviously you are no yeah uh but maybe this was like based on a real story i probably imagine it was so if it was then similar to schindler's list Maybe it would be illegitimate to pull back on some of the more gruesome details to a degree.

I guess.

Yeah.

Maybe, maybe.

Maybe.

I don't know.

If that's the case, then two, I don't know.

It feels like to also fabricate that story in a way where it's like, I'm going to make characters around this horrible thing that happened to me.

Feels fantastic.

And he's like, and he's also like a monster that's kind of like, that's a good point.

Yeah.

I think that would be a bit tasteless, in my opinion.

Yeah, yeah, no, that makes sense.

I heard Jay praying to God, his voice trembling.

I clutched him tighter, realizing that I was sobbing as well.

My whole body felt like it was a quivering mass of jello.

My muscles weak and useless.

I was more terrified than I'd ever been in my life.

Finally, my mother stopped screaming.

Soft hush fell over the house.

I didn't hear anything except the blood pumping in my ears.

Jay had quieted to a series of soft sniffles, his face still buried in the pillow.

Looked up from the bed, staring at the closed bedroom door.

I begged it to remain shut.

I heard movement in the house, footsteps that came down the hall.

It stopped on the other side of the wall in my parents' bedroom.

I heard shuffling, and then the door shut.

I waited.

I prayed.

Jay shifted next to me and I told him to be quiet, wiping tears from his face and holding him close.

More footsteps in the house.

Heavy, slow paces.

I thought for sure my mom was dead.

People didn't scream like that and live.

Our bedroom door opened.

Jay let out a little scream and shrunk into me as my dad entered.

He was crawling on all fours.

Oh, all right.

Monster Man.

He was crawling on all fours, his mouth hanging open, drool running down his chin, his eyes rolled back into his head.

He shuffled side to side across the floor, slowly opening and closing his mouth, spittle leaking from his face.

He was blinking rapidly, one of his eyes rolling forward to stare at us.

After a few seconds, he coughed, hacking up Flem.

Growling, he wiped his lips and stood, looking down at us, cowering on the bed.

Come with me, he said, his voice a low low rattle in his chest.

I didn't move.

Jay shrunk further against me.

I could feel his body shaking against mine, sweat beating on his skin.

My dad took a step towards us.

Get up, both of you, right now.

Where's mom?

He was standing in front of us now.

She's resting.

She's had a long day.

Now get up.

Jay shifted against me and then he was sliding to the floor.

Without much choice, I followed his example.

My dad placed a hand on each of our shoulders and guided us towards the door.

We were directed through the house.

I listened for my mother.

What had he done to her?

Where was she?

Was she dead in the bedroom?

I didn't hear anything.

No clues as to her condition or where she was.

We entered the kitchen and I saw that the table was pressed against the cabinets and a few of the dinner glasses lay shattered on the floor.

I expected to see blood smeared across the floor, dripping down the surfaces, but there was none.

At least, that was until I saw the brick.

It had been placed on the counter by the sink.

Half of it was soaked in thick, oozing blood.

When I saw it, I felt my body tense up.

My dad must have felt the change in my stance because his grip tightened on my shoulder.

Jay was sniffling beside me, his eyes cast down, refusing to look up and potentially see the horrors my father had bestowed on my mother.

My dad pushed us through the side door outside.

The night air was humid and sticky on the skin.

A fat yellow moon hung in the sky like an out-of-place out-of-place Christmas ornament.

Stars twinkled across the black canvas, and my ears were filled with the sound of chirpy night critters.

Contrary to inside, everything felt alive out here, pulsing in unison to the night's dark heartbeat.

We were led around to the back of the house towards our old shed.

My dad didn't keep much out there, just a few tools and the rickety lawnmower, both of which weren't used much throughout the year.

I didn't like the shed.

Something about it always haunted me.

At night, as I lay in bed, I would imagine some creature hiding inside, waiting until I fell asleep before emerging and creeping into my room to watch me.

Jay and I jerked to a halt as my dad squeezed our shoulders.

Wait here, he said, his voice sounding far away and strange.

Glanced over my shoulder and saw he was rubbing his eyes.

I want to go back in.

I want mom.

Jay sobbed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

You can go in when came up and traveled in the wind.

My dad said, his sentence fracturing fracturing into two nonsensical statements.

He coughed hard and stuck his tongue out like he had a bad taste on it.

I saw a shudder rack his body and he looked like he was about to gag.

He gained control of himself with a quick shake of his head, closing his mouth so hard his teeth clicked together.

I watched as he came around us and walked towards the shed.

He looked back, making sure we were obeying, and then went inside.

Jay looked at me, his eyes full of fear.

He expected me to have some kind of explanation, an answer to the madness that surrounded us.

I couldn't summon the words to comfort him, didn't know what combination of soothing syllables I could possibly string together to calm his terror.

What is he going to do with us?

I whispered, the warm moonlight shining in his eyes.

It's going to be okay, I said softly, the words tasting like a lie.

We heard movement from the shed, our father's actions hidden behind the closed door.

Warm breeze stirred the distant trees, and the night was filled with the sound of rustling leaves.

My hair danced across my forehead in the wind and I begged to blow away with it.

Jay and I remained frozen in place, neither of us knowing which would be worse, facing whatever my father was preparing or running away and facing the wrath that came after.

It's not like we had anywhere to run.

I mean where could we possibly go?

How could we flee?

Who could we flee to?

Minds were trapped inside our youth, doomed to the almighty authority of our father.

See, paragraphs like that, I see where it's coming from.

With like the father being a monster as representative of like real scenarios like this.

100%.

That's very clear.

I see the vision.

That's very clear.

I mean the idea of even personifying into a horror story of the monsters our parents become or revealed to be

through you know like a workplace thing.

Your dad loses his job.

He changes.

He goes, you know, this could be a personification of the dad being alcoholic.

Something like that.

That all is that is totally clear.

You know what I mean?

When we finish it, I'll have more thoughts on it.

But I do, like, I mean, like, it's very clear.

That's, I think, what the story is trying to get to.

You know what I mean?

Yeah, yeah, I think so.

The shed door opened, snapping me out of my thoughts.

My dad stepped back into the night, his figure draped in shadows and dark moonlight.

Both of you, get inside.

Jay grasped my arm as we shuffled forward, our father stepping aside to let us pass.

The smell of rotting wood and old grass salted my senses, and I rubbed my hand across my nose, trying to scrub the stench away.

My dad had illuminated the cramped space with an old electric lantern.

Set on the workbench on the right, our small loan mower catching the light on its dull metal surface.

Tools piled around the lantern, an array of rusted hammers, screwdrivers, and pliers.

I couldn't remember the last time my dad had actually used any of them.

But all of that was seen with a passing glance.

That wasn't what held my attention.

Something else did.

My eyes drawn to it like fire and gasoline.

Jay's fingernails dug into my skin as he saw it too, his breath catching in his lungs.

A noose hung from the crossbeam, dangling down into the empty space.

The rope was knotted tight, twisting cords more menacing than anything on the workbench.

Oh, look who decided to show up.

Look who decided to show up.

We have some questions

for the story

once we're done.

Okay, all right.

My dad entered behind us, shutting the door.

He went and and stood by the noose, motioning me forward.

Come on now, Tommy.

Let's get this over with.

Dad, I croaked, mouth trying, voice cracking like a dead twig.

What are you gonna?

What are you gonna do?

Heart was pressed against my ribs, throwing itself against bone, a wild beast in my chest.

Dad traced the hanging loop with his fingers.

You're gonna be my wind chime, son.

You're I roll.

Cringe.

You're gonna to be my wind chime, son.

I need to know when the wind will blow north.

I think you'll be a good chime.

Once I empty your insides out, but I'll do that after.

Why are you doing this, Daddy?

Jay cried, wet tears rolling down his cheeks.

He didn't answer.

Just waited for me to go to him.

I didn't move.

Didn't know what to do.

Was he serious about going through with this?

He couldn't be.

This was my father.

He loved me.

He would never do anything to seriously hurt me.

At this age, blind trust is a dangerous thing.

It filled me, the memories and kindness my dad had shown me over the years.

I trusted him.

He was my father.

But that darkness in his eye, that black spark, terrified me.

Reality and faith collided together in my mind like oil and water, the mixture turning my stomach in sick horror.

My father gripped the hanging rope.

If you don't come over here right now, I'm gonna use Jay instead.

I felt my brother bury his face into my side, weeping.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Over and over again, his tears damp on my shirt.

I wrapped an arm around his head, feeling his sweaty hair brush over my skin.

My heart was audible in my ears, my lips cracked and dry, breath coming in stuttering heaves.

Dad!

I cried, feeling myself begin to cry.

Dad, I don't want to.

Please, Dad.

My face was flushed as the fear came bubbling out of my face in wet streaks.

My father suddenly reached out and grabbed me, gripping my arm and yanking me towards the rope.

I let out a cry and fell towards him, his hands hard and strong, pushed and shoved me, positioning me under the rope, its shadow a dark halo over my head.

Jay was screaming openly, his face red and terrified.

He just stood there, helpless, as my father pulled the noose down and slid it over my head.

That's going to hang me.

The thought hit me like a knife to the heart.

My knees were weak and knocked together, my whole body trembling in horrific anticipation.

The rope around my neck scratched and rubbed against my skin, coarse and itchy.

This was really about to happen.

Up until this point, I didn't believe my father was capable of such sins, especially to his own son.

My dad was my hero, a strong supportive pillar and example to my brother and I.

Now I waited with bated breath for him to kill me.

Here we go.

Dad said, positioning himself behind me and grabbing the dangling end of the rope that hung from the crossbeam.

I heard a a tighten of cords the rope stretching and straining suddenly my throat man was

storm

you want to hear first person

first person hanging here we go

suddenly my throat was clamped with hot fire burning agony that cut it up into my chin so i was lifted off my feet kicked my legs frantically impossibly helpless my hands grabbing at my neck couldn't get my fingers between the rope my skin the tension denying any space to dig my nails into.

My head swelled and I felt the blood in my face ready to pop out of my eyes and mouth.

I hacked and coughed, horrible gagging wretches exploding from my lips as I tried to breathe.

My vision began to swim and my colors began to blend.

I felt myself dying.

Suddenly, the pain was gone, a halo of fire around my throat vanishing.

I felt my knees hit the hard floor and I crumpled into myself.

I sucked in deep lungfuls of air, the oxygen never tasting any sweeter in my life.

As the world began to focus again, I realized my father was screaming.

I blinked back the dizziness and focused my eyes, pushing the shadows away.

My father was against the back wall, clutching his side and howling as blood bubbled from his shirt.

Jay stood next to him, weeping, screaming, his right arm soaked with blood up to his elbow.

He was holding a rusty box cutter, its blade dripping.

Don't hurt Tommy.

Don't hurt Tommy!

There you go.

I was like, I just...

Don't do that.

You're dead, madman.

Sorry, dad.

Jay was howling through wet eyes.

Don't hurt him, Dad.

Hand pressed to his side, my dad swiped at Jay, trying to snatch the box cutter.

Jay jerked back and almost tripped over himself, letting out another shriek.

Look at what you did to me!

My dad grimaced, pulling his hands away and revealing a deep gash in his side, shirt tattered and red.

I struggled to my feet, reaching out and pulling Jay towards me.

Took the box cutter from him and put a hand on my throbbing head.

Okay, it's it's gonna be okay.

Suddenly, my dad lunged for me, pushing himself off the wall and using his back.

Without thinking, I slashed at him, a purely defensive reaction.

Time seemed to slow as I watched the blade catch my dad in the arm, the blade eating into his skin, cut through the flesh like soft butter, parting his wrists like a bloody zipper.

Blood squirted into my eyes, and I heard my dad scream, pulling his arm back and cradling it on his chest.

He slumped to the floor, his face pale and full of fury.

He was breathing hard, and I could tell it wouldn't be long before he steadied himself and was at us again.

I grabbed Jay and ran from the shed, the night behind us filling with howls of rage.

As the air hit our tear-stained faces, I suddenly noticed trucks roaring down the road and up our driveway.

They were bulky and loud, diesel engines growling towards us.

Blinding white lights cut past through the night, shining across my bloody face as two, three, then four of them stopped in front of our house.

They were camouflaged.

Even at that age, I knew they were military.

What?

What?

What is going on?

My exhausted, terrified mind asked.

I pulled Jay close to me and advanced on them, unsure what they were doing here, but desperately needing of help.

Two men emerged from a white van, dressed in hazmat suits.

I sent a shiver of fear coursing through me as they charged Jay and I, yelling and waving their arms.

I froze in the yard, Jay trembling beside me.

Men in uniform poured from the other vehicles, guns drawn, all pointed at us.

They all had gas masks on, and it gave them a chilling, inhuman look in the moonlight.

Everyone was shouting as the men in the hazmat suits approach Jay and myself.

I back up and step as they get close, gripping the box cutter in my bloody hand.

I didn't know who these people were or why they were pointing guns at us.

I needed to protect Jay.

He had been through enough.

We both had.

It's okay, kid.

It's okay.

One of the men in the suit said, raising his hands.

The other one had a pistol drawn, scanning the yard.

Where is he?

One with the pistol asked.

I stammered, mind blanking in fear and confusion.

You're dead.

Where's your dad, kid?

Through the suit, I could see blue eyes reflecting back at me.

He's in there.

Jay cried suddenly, pointing to the shed.

He wanted to hurt Tommy, so I cut him.

I had to.

I'm sorry.

I didn't want him to hurt.

I didn't want Tommy to die.

First one looked at the one with the pistol and gave a quick nod.

I watched as he trot over to the shed and peeked inside.

He looked back and gave the three of us a wave and then a thumbs up to the men in gas masks.

Then he entered the shed, and I heard him kill my father.

The gunshot exploded in the night and I jumped, the finality of it deafening.

I stood there, dumbfounded.

Bloody, confused, terrified.

I didn't know who these men were, what they were doing here, or why they had shot my dad.

Clutched Jay to my side, who was staring up at me with giant round eyes.

Did that man just kill dad?

He asked, his voice a shaking whisper.

The man in the hazmat suit shook his head.

Son, you don't have anything to worry about.

It's going to be okay now.

He won't hurt you anymore.

Someone was yelling behind him, and I glanced over his shoulder to see the men in masks had gone into our house.

One of them was calling for a medic, frantically waving his hand to get inside.

My mother, I prayed she was okay and these men could help her.

I didn't know what my father had done to her, but I remembered the screams.

What's going on?

I whispered as I watched the man with the pistol exit the shed.

He was yelling towards the soldiers, asking for something.

My ears not registering his calls.

My world was crashing down around me in inky patches of disbelief and shock.

The man knelt down in front of us, placing a hand on each of us, our shoulders.

Boys,

I really shouldn't be the one to tell you this, especially right now.

I looked at him with moist eyes.

My dad just tried to hang me.

Please.

I could see shock ripple through his eyes through the hazmat visor.

He looked at both of us, struggling with himself.

Please!

I begged, desperate to make any kind of sense of the madness.

Man sighed.

Boys, something happened today.

I really don't think I should be the one to tell you, but he looked at us again.

Boys, something bad happened by the bank where your dad worked.

There was some kind of earthquake.

Very minor,

but it cut a deep gash in the earth.

It opened up a pocket of something that we've never seen before.

Some kind of gas.

The wind carried it towards the town, and he looked to the ground, shaking his head.

It killed a lot of people.

A lot of people.

We're trying to contain it.

Keep whatever it is from spreading.

Is that why you shot dad?

Jay asked quietly, sniffling and rubbing his nose.

Because he had to go to the bad, because he got the bad wind on him.

The man looked up at both of us, his eyes fearful.

Boys,

your dad died this morning along with everyone else at the bank.

We took his body to containment, performing an autopsy on him as we speak.

I'm really sorry.

Damn it, I am.

Felt my brain been backwards on itself.

Mess of knotted thoughts and emotions, the words hitting me like bullets.

What was this man talking about?

Dad died this morning?

That was impossible.

He came home from work.

It's like every other day.

Dad's body was lying dead in the shed.

This man was lying.

He had to be.

Then who's...

who's in there?

Finally asked, the question coming out in a weak treble.

The man shook his head.

Son, whatever's lying dead in that shed, it isn't your father.

You see, something else came out of the earth this morning.

Something other than poisonous gas,

something that crawled up to the surface and got out.

Something that, for whatever reason, took the form of your father and drove home to you all.

It witnessed the solemn it leaving.

The only one to get out.

When we found your dad's body, we didn't know what to make of it.

We still don't.

That thing in there, he said, pointing to the shed.

We don't know what it is or what it was trying to do, but that is not your father.

He shook his head.

Shit.

I'm really sorry, kids.

I really do.

I really shouldn't be telling you all this.

I'm sorry about your dad.

I really am.

He stood up.

Come on.

We need to get you to the hospital and have you checked out.

It's going to be okay, I promise.

I barely heard him as Jay and I were led to the trucks.

I saw men carrying my mother out of the house on a stretcher.

She was alive and barely conscious, but when she saw us, she reached out and called our names.

They started crying again and I sprinted to her.

I wanted to as well, but found I didn't have the strength.

Everything the man had told me twisted and coiled around my mind.

None of it made sense.

None of it could possibly be real.

Couldn't be.

How could my entire life change so drastically in one night?

What was going to happen to us now?

Where were they taking us?

Were we going to be okay?

At the time, I didn't know.

I felt felt someone grasp something out of my hand, and I realized one of the soldiers was trying to pry the box cutter out of my grip.

I let go.

The rusty metal peeling away from my palm, blood staining it in sticky red splotches.

What had happened tonight?

Looked back and saw the men in hazmat suits pulling my dad's dead body from the shed and zipping it up in a clear plastic body bag.

A final thought rippled through the madness: What the hell is that thing?

The end.

So a

so a goblin crawled through a poisonous gas

to come out take the form of this random man's body go home shove a brick in a woman's pussy and then threaten to hang some kids and they're like yeah i don't know what's happening

boys you know what you know what really pisses me off about that

boys son Boys.

I shouldn't be telling you this.

Never mind.

Okay, I'll tell you.

I shouldn't be the one to to do it.

I shouldn't be the one.

I'll tell you, but I shouldn't be the one.

Goblins are real.

I should have said it.

I've said too much.

I've said too much.

Never mind.

I've said not enough and too much at the same time.

That's why the brick win the pussy.

I should have even said that.

What am I doing?

I hate that ending because it also, I feel like we were giving the...

We were giving it a credit card.

We were giving it way too much credit for being like, oh, it's a thing about

domestic abuse.

You're growing up and you kind of realize the faults faults of your parents and how, really, how nasty they can be and the perception of all that.

Nope.

Nope.

It's a goblin.

Poison goblin.

Bad goblin poison goblin from the bank in town.

Killed everyone.

What is going on?

Wait, how could this all happen in one day?

My life's upside down.

I shouldn't even tell you this.

It became like a freaky Friday thing.

Like it just totally jumped.

Jamie Lee Curtis and Lindsey Lohan have switched bodies.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Just at the bank.

And you know what's crazy happening at the bank?

This is actually a really good example of framing because I was thinking about it at the end when the guy was describing like there's a gas that makes like before he revealed he was dead.

No, when he revealed he was dead and I thought he was resurrected or something, but instead it was a goblin.

What was that?

It reminded me of Greylock.

You remember in Greylock, how all the miners died and then their bodies reanimated?

Yeah, that was sick.

So imagine if in Greylock, there was a short that was this, where it's one of the mind workers coming home and being super violent and then transforming slowly.

That would work because Graylock starts with the big picture, it starts with like this is a big mine company and there's something that's something that you can even have the thing of like let's just say it's the poisonous gas that transforms them and that's like that's representative of something of the dad taking something and changing right whatever that's all fine I think another thing that just since we're all done with it now since it's since the story's buttoned up

since the brick has been laid so to speak uh

I hate the like it's not fun or rewarding reading something that's like, yeah,

I don't know.

We fucking, yeah, you throw the plate on the floor and make him eat like a pig.

It's almost something it's like, well, it'd be fucked up.

You put a fucking rake on his back and you scratch his back and he's got fucking strips of blood in his back.

Yeah.

It's like,

oh, yeah, that wood stuck.

Yeah, it would, wouldn't it?

Yeah, it's like...

And he's crying, too.

And

you can see the tears forming from his tear ducts.

And he's like fucking mumbling something to God, but it doesn't matter because that motherfucker's not helping.

And I take it and I take a rabid raccoon and I shove it up his asshole.

And you're like, well, that would be crazy.

Yeah, it's like, isn't this awful?

But then...

all the stuff we were giving it like, well, maybe it's being that awful because it's trying to be like representative of real world scenarios.

That would make sense.

But then at the end, it's like, no, it's the poison goblin.

Yeah.

It's the poison goblin from the bank.

That's what it is.

Like, okay, well, then.

the

i do think there is ways because what you're getting at earlier with does it cheapen a thing to be like you're put through like if it was about this traumatic thing right yeah if you want to be stuck in that i understand what you're trying to get at there i think that what we're what we're really saying with that is

If the goal of this thing is to be something where it's like you realize the faults of your parents or like, let's just say it's like the repressed trauma or you're like, you know,

you get to a certain age and you are able to realize that maybe your parents are the people who they say they are.

I think that's fine to put people in that scenario to be like, and then you're stuck.

Like if you're building out,

you're building out a scenario.

It's the first time you notice it's like that catalyst, that catalyst moment where it's like you're here and that your senses are heightened.

I heard every single thing, but this whole story is just like, yeah, I shit in a fucking diaper and I put razor blades in a diaper and it cuts a little under some of my balls.

Yeah.

And it hurts.

It's just like, yeah, that would be pretty fucked up.

Yeah, that would be bad.

And that's why it's not satisfying.

I think that you can have a thing where maybe you do have a guy shove a fucking brick in a pussy somehow.

And it is alluded to something.

It like can be.

It reminds me of

some of the Rob Zombie horror films.

Well, yeah, that's just the grindhouse aesthetic of people screaming.

And it's just like, isn't this just fucking gross and terrible?

Yeah.

And even then, it's just.

I guess that's the biggest complaint.

The biggest complaint I have is that I gave it credit for.

Also, too, we have, and I say, I will say, I have, we have, I've seen this too.

Are we the most,

what is it?

What is it called?

What's like

comprehension, like literacy, literacy comprehension or whatever?

No, we're, we're not the most

literate.

No, there's times where I'm like, guys who have there has been times,

exactly.

And this is me just shooting from the hip here of what I've just read because there's been times in the show where we're halfway through a four-hour story and I'll be like, it's a girl?

Yeah.

You know?

Or like how how it took us like seven hours into mother horse eyes to be like oh this is a cat yeah this is a cat telling the story yeah which I still didn't even know at the end I was just like I had no idea about the cat had no idea all right

so I guess from what I'm seeing here is that from just the blatant part of reading which this is a more condensed story but

I it's just it's excessive to be obsessive which is also why I think some people have complaints with like the shit like playground yeah or you know like there's a there's there's like another one that that guy wrote where it's like, I don't know, the picture, the cover of the book is like,

it's like a really gross kitchen or something.

And it's all about like a guy being like, yeah, just like kidnapping and torturing a person.

Well, it's also like

with

out of train of thought.

I completely lost it.

It's it's hard to justify all the torture porn stuff because I do think that there's like, there is merit to things of building up a narrative that is just like, this is about this repressed thing, and it's a heightened version of everything yeah so everything that's happening it's like you're in it and you're trapped in this nightmare and i think it is supposed to be tackling things where it's like you've probably had something like this and this is the heightened version of that

but it's also so easy to just be like yeah

it just reads is cheap i guess is what i say it feels cheap it feels like it's a very quick way of being like yeah and her fucking fingernails fall off and she's trying to scratch a bug itch but it won't fuck it's still a cheap well at the end of it too it's again i was giving it benefit of the doubt of like, well, maybe this will get to a place where it's about real-world things.

And at the end, it's like some supernatural stuff.

Okay, it wasn't set up.

Boys.

Yeah, I shouldn't even be telling you.

It wasn't like delivered on to where it was like representative of the real trauma.

So it's like the real trauma was just set dressing for the goblin.

I mean, was it even set dressing, or was this just a thing where it's like, wouldn't it be crazy if your dad came home and he like just fucking like shoved a brick up your mom's pussy?

Well, I think it was like, it's so over the top.

Your dad comes home.

Like,

there was a thought.

And I could be, the literacy comprehension could be completely wrong.

I want to put that out there.

Right.

Wouldn't it be crazy?

This is what's a train of thought.

Yeah, your dad comes home and he's like, go out, son, and get a brick.

I'm going to fuck your mom with it.

And you're like, dad, that's not cool.

Right.

And then at some point, there was a pause and he was like, and then the earth cracks open and there's mustard gas and gobbles.

Like those are the same training

where was that connection well i feel like i have no idea i have no idea because when i heard the gas i was like that's supposed to be something about substance abuse or something is what i was like yeah yeah that's something where it's like your dad breathed in this thing it's not that's not really who he is but no dad's dad yeah dad's dad but then but then it's like no he died right there there's a ghoul that came out of the ground and then for some reason he looked at your dad yeah he looked at your dad and he's just like yep transformed into him yeah and he's just like i'm gonna go home and i'm gonna

like i'm gonna just go go straight up to.

Also, I know where you live.

Yeah, yeah.

I know where you live.

He gets in the car.

He gets in the car.

He goes home and he's like, I need a beer, honey.

Yeah, exactly.

He's like, fucking long.

And also, he's carrying the emotional baggage of like, fucking long day at the bank.

As if you guys even fucking care.

And then all of a sudden he's like, eat it off the floor, you fat pig.

Yeah.

My fat son.

Son's like spaghetti again as if he knows she's been

also.

This is the biggest part of the Isaiah.

Okay?

Poison gas.

Sure.

Goblin, crown of the goblin.

Whatever.

Sure.

He knows.

Then the goblin, who has not been to the backside of the house, knows that there's a brick pile outside the back of the house.

Yep.

Yep.

Unless he was driving in and he's like,

and he saw it there.

Here's the brick pile.

How'd you know about the brick pile, Goblin Man?

Which I guess, to be fair, if he knew exactly where the coordinates were to the house, then.

Look, the story is,

it's not my thing.

There's people, like we mentioned earlier, who the enjoyment to them is the brutal nature of it.

Like, oh, that's messed up, which if you like it, good for you.

Just not my flavor.

It can be done correctly.

I think anything can be done.

Like I said, there is probably a story out there where if I saw a guy being like, yeah, I'm shoving a brick up there.

Yeah.

In a way where I was like, damn, that hit.

Somehow.

Don't know how.

I'd kind of love to find out how.

Where I'm like, okay.

I'm in.

All right.

Hey, we turned in the right direction.

You know what I mean?

But all in all, I just.

Harry, actually, you know what, Harry?

Harry, come over here.

What was the justification for reading this?

Come over here.

Was it just because it was an Elias with a row piece?

No, hold on.

Get up here.

Let him use your mic.

Yeah, that's what I'm doing.

Look at this walk of shame coming in here.

We were supposed to read Shel Silverstein's Where Those Sidewalk Ends.

And earlier, I'm like, how about this one?

You're like, that's a good one.

So, what about this story made you?

But hold on, hold on.

In my defense, I did make the list, although you picked this story from the top of the list.

So it was Isaiah, who's a real choice.

No, no, hold on.

So it was Isaiah.

No, no.

No, no, my mic now.

He had a list of six stories, all of which we're reading during this trip.

And he goes, which should we do first?

And I'm like, oh, we'll start with Elias.

This was on a list of six that he compiled.

That is true.

That part is true.

I will, that part is true.

This is the first time in podcast history where the producer has to defend himself.

Like, what are you talking about?

Yeah.

No, I just want to say that, can we confirm that you did pick it from the top?

It was my list.

This is my botched list, but you did pick it from the top.

We were going to go to the bottom.

Was it a blindfire because it was Eliza With Row?

Was it a blindfire?

So, wait, can I?

I was going to see.

Well, let me explain.

At the beginning, he said, I also wondered what happened to the cart.

He's so hot right now.

Can I at least, I was not here.

I'm hot because you're like, Isaiah did this.

Okay, for the record, looking at the camera, Isaiah did not do this.

Can I at least get the line read?

Because part of the whole reason I picked this story is because I wanted to hear the quintessential line.

I'm going to fuck your mom.

I wasn't here when that.

I was doing chores.

Wait, so you didn't read that part?

No, I did.

No, I said I didn't.

Oh, you want me to read it out loud?

What are you saying?

He picked the story so that there would be a sound.

I thought it'd be funny, that line.

I thought it'd be funny.

You know what?

I think you put us in a little bit of rough pumpkins.

I think people are going to be upset.

I think that is an absurd reason.

Okay, well, this one won't come out for a while, so there's that.

Yeah, it's fucked up.

By the time this comes out, we're going to be like, oh, fuck, I forgot about that one.

Well, there's your story.

Sorry, guys.

Thanks for the pod.

Thanks for the.

Hey, seriously, I hope none of you guys fucking.

Hope none of you guys get fucking razor wire on your fucking naked balls and your fucking...

Hey,

by the way, also, I'm going to fuck your mom mom tonight with this fucking rusty shovel.

All right, bye.

Is that it?

That's good, I think.

That's it.

little bit of idea,