Episode 88: Good Times

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Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

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Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

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Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences.

So listener discretion is advised.

Miranda Coffey hadn't been a vampire for all that long.

She had not faced down the ceaseless passing of time, nor borne the weight of centuries upon her slender shoulders.

She had not left a litany of lost loves and forgotten friends in her ageless wake, nor had she learned to endure the slip-stream, traitorous nature of time itself.

She had not discovered the way that years could seem like moments and decades feel like days, nor had she learned the stoic ways of moving through the ages that those of her kind adapted lest they lose themselves to madness.

She did, however, feel like she'd been hiding under the dirty old drop cloth at the back of a work van for an eternity.

If the smoking hot older vampire who'd introduced himself as Troy had bothered to secure the doors of her single-wide prison cell, he'd done a half-assed job of it.

Mr.

Peacoat had left her to a meal of cold, gelatinous blood, sealed up in IV bags like a six-pack of a sanguineous capri sun.

She'd barely touch the stuff despite her hunger.

The texture and flavor were just nasty and wrong.

It was like trying to eat a hamburger that had been cooked on a grill, then placed directly in the refrigerator.

All the heat and juice had congealed into something that might have once been delicious, but now tasted greasy and dead.

She'd left that cooler full of slop behind and slipped out the side door, sunglasses on, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up to shield her from the waning summer sun as she headed down State Road 107 for the second time in as many days.

Miranda had stumbled upon the HVAC service van parked outside a house barely half a mile from the narrow lane that led to Windsor Court.

The back doors of the van bore a googly-eyed golden sun and a grinning electric blue snowflake with the words, Anderson Heating and Cooling, stretched between them in big cartoonish letters.

The text below the logo indicated that the business was based in Sevierville, and while that wasn't exactly where she needed to to go, it would get her pretty close.

So, quick as a whisper, she'd slipped into the unlocked cabin where she concealed herself beneath a drop cloth in the bank.

The van's interior carried the distinct aroma of engine grease and marlborough reds that was a signature set of service trucks and vans across Appalachia.

The floor was sticky and littered with fast food wrappers, loose tools, and machine parts.

She hoped the driver was the owner of the business, or at least the vehicle, or else he was bound to get chewed out for letting his work ride end up in such a sorry state.

Miranda made herself as comfortable as she could and lay still.

It wasn't pleasant, but that was mainly because the tarp was rough against her skin, still healing from her last foray into the sun.

The cream that Mr.

Shelby had given her was helping, but the old man had been right.

Sun damage took time to repair.

It felt like there were tiny ants crawling over her face and arms, though even as she watched, she could see the burns healing and a new unblemished skin blossoming in the place of the blistered tissue.

She wished she'd choked down a little more of the sludgy syrup that had been left for her evening meal.

Drinking blood not only nourished her kind, but healed their wounds and renewed their dark gifts.

Mikey had always referred to feeding as drinking that red Gatorade,

and he hadn't been far from the mark.

Mikey, if only he could see her now.

It seemed like just yesterday they were living up in Knoxville's old city, having a grand old time, sleeping all day, partying all night, doing whatever they wanted, not taking shit from anybody.

Now Mikey was dead.

And here she was, stowing away in some good old boy's work van to get back to their friends in Knoxville.

She was on her way now, though.

A man with a thick neck and a round, friendly face wearing coveralls emblazoned with the same logo as the vehicle had returned a few minutes after she'd hidden herself under the tarp and hit the road.

She'd listened as he called his dispatcher on the CB radio, letting him know he wouldn't make it back to the shop before morning.

He promised to swing through Sparky's car wash on North Elmwood on his way in.

Miranda's heart had quickened with excitement at this unexpected stroke of luck.

Sparky's was a local chain of car washes, and unless she was mistaken, North Elmwood was in East Knoxville.

If where he was headed was close to there, he would be taking her far closer to her destination than she'd dare hope.

North Elmwood was still a good ways from downtown, but not nearly so far as Sevierville.

As the van trundled on down the interstate, she kept still, even when her unwitting chauffeur startled her by bursting into song, belting out classic rock and top 40 hits courtesy of WOKI, a radio station in Oak Ridge.

Miranda didn't even flinch when a stream of something that she hoped was just spilled soda ran over the floorboards, coming perilously close to her hair.

As disgusting as the van was, it was her chariot carrying her back to her old life, and she was determined to get home, even if it meant getting backer juice in her hair or smelling like grease and steal cigarettes for the rest of the night.

While hope had begun to stir within her,

her hunger was growing as well.

It had been so long since she'd had fresh blood.

When Cyrus and his goons had rounded her up, she'd been allowed to feed on one of the human boys who hung around Cyrus.

Older, more powerful members of the vampire community often traveled with entourages of blood donors specifically for this purpose.

Typically, they weren't glamoured or otherwise compromised.

They were just normal human folks who had willingly given themselves over to their undead masters to be fed upon in exchange for drugs, sex, maybe social clout.

Most of Cyrus's were in it for the drugs.

Deep down, though, they were all hoping for that rarest of gifts.

That they too might taste the sweet nectar of immortality and be made into a vampire.

After Mikey's death, Cyrus had kept Miranda under lock and key for two weeks before it was decided she'd be sent to the middle of fucking nowhere where some old lady was supposed to teach her how to behave.

She hadn't liked being in his house, but the old fuck at least made sure she didn't didn't starve.

And he hadn't expected her to live off disgusting bags of cold blood.

At Windsor Court, she'd suffered through enough of it to keep her head up, but that had been about all she could stomach.

The man behind the wheel was crunching his way through a bag of cool ranch Doritos and singing a truly horrifying rendition of Foreigners Cold as Ice when the beast truly awoke inside of Miranda.

The odors of motor oil and ancient French fries faded, and Miranda's nostrils flared as she breathed in the scent of the man's body.

Sweat and dirt and unwashed hair, overlaid with a chemical smell that must be coolant from the HVAC systems he serviced.

There was a fresh scrape on the underside of his left forearm, and the penny-kissed fragrance of drying blood screamed at Miranda from the front seat.

The sound of the radio receded into white noise as a single sound dominated her focus.

The beat of old Thickneck's heart.

Steady

and strong.

Miranda began to salivate.

She willed herself not to move.

If she lost control of herself, he would lose control of the van and wreck them in the middle of the interstate.

That would be very bad for her.

Very bad indeed.

The sun hadn't quite set yet, and an accident would draw police and paramedics and questions.

She needed him to get her as close to downtown as possible, and she couldn't let the fact that she'd skipped supper get in the way of that.

Miranda closed her eyes and tried to focus, to silence the sounds and smother the smells that were urging her to leap out from under that dirty old tarp and tear into the man's juicy neck like a turkey leg at Thanksgiving.

She could feel her fangs pressing against her gums, and she directed her will there, trying to force them back into hiding.

Miranda prayed for the strength to resist temptation to leave this poor man alone so he could get home safe, and she could get home safe, and everybody would be safe, and things would be just fine.

Eventually.

As the alluring scents and sounds receded and she returned to the present moment, Miranda felt the van slow and realized they were leaving the interstate.

Soon enough, the driver, now humming along to a Brian Adams song, began making turns with the occasional brief pause for a light or stop sign.

They were getting close, Miranda thought.

All she had to do was be strong and stay calm a little while longer.

Once he parked the van, she'd wait until he'd gone inside, then make her way to a payphone.

She'd call Tony or Jessamin or somebody to come pick her up.

Surely one of her old friends would help her.

The van rolled to a stop.

The man killed the engine and stretched, unfastening his seatbelt as he did.

Miranda heard the door open and felt the van shift as he got out, closing the door behind him.

She remained still, listening as his steps crunched on gravel, then wood, and finally the opening and closing of a door.

In a heartbeat, Miranda was on her feet, throwing the disgusting old drop cloth off of her.

She climbed into the front seat and began rummaging around the dash and console, searching for loose change.

She just needed a couple of quarters for the payphone, and then she could be on her way.

Dear God, how did this guy live like this?

Everything was sticky, and there was trash everywhere.

She didn't want to touch anything, but she had little choice.

She'd just removed a pile of ketchup-stained napkins from the center console when the driver's side door swung open with a creak and the overhead light flickered on.

Miranda sat up with a jump, locking eyes with the thick-necked man who looked just as surprised as she was.

I uh

I forgot my wallet.

Oh, shit.

The tenuous hold Miranda had on self-control snapped like an overstretched rubber band, and she yanked the heavyset man over the front seat into the back of the van as if he weighed nothing.

There wasn't even time for him to scream before everything

went red.

When the walls close in

and the light gets swallowed

And there ain't no place that feels like home

The ones you love

turn into strangers

And you cast your eyes to the winding road

Keep your foot on the gas, your eyes straight forward.

Clear your heart and mind.

Best leave them ghosts behind.

When the hearth grows cold and home is nowhere, then you might as well.

When darkness calls, run like hell.

The niece Raimi parked the vet next to a gas pump at an Exxon station just outside of Model City and cut the engine.

It was the only stop she had planned to make on the drive to Knoxville, but to her irritation, she'd already had to pull over once because Brendan had needed to pee.

Why the boy hadn't taken care of business before they left Flaymorgan was a mystery to her.

Hadn't he ever been on a road trip before?

She opened the driver's side door and stepped into the early evening heat, motioning to her friends to do the same.

All right, everybody out.

Get snacks, go pee, whatever you need to do.

I don't want to be late for the show, so we need to get back on the road.

Micah rolled his eyes as he clambered out of the back seat.

Yes, mother.

Denise selected her fuel grade and stuck the pump's nozzle into her gas tank, chewing her lip nervously as Lori, Brendan, and Micah strolled across the hot blacktop and into the convenience store.

She was anxious to get to Knoxville on time for the show.

She'd never driven in the city before, and she was worried about getting lost.

She also knew there'd be a line around the building when doors opened, and she wanted to get in quickly and snag a good spot down front near the stage.

She hoped her friends wouldn't take forever in the store.

Denise finished filling her tank and grabbed her purse from from the back of the vet.

Inside the gas station, she found her friends standing in front of the cold case, chatting as they peered in at bottles of Coke and Pepsi, Snapple, and Clearly Canadian.

So I got my acceptance letter to UK this morning.

I didn't think I'd make the cut without a football scholarship, but the lady in the admissions office says I should qualify for some grants and financial aid.

I couldn't have done it without your help, Lori.

Oh, you'd have been fine, Sugar Tits.

I mean, you might have had to perform some sexual favors for Miss Boatwright to pass Spanish, but...

No, no, really, I mean it.

You really helped me, and well, if it hadn't been for that, I might not have met any of y'all, and I'm glad I did.

Even if I did have to sit on the bench this year.

Lori rolled her eyes at Brendan, but Denise could tell her friend was pleased by the handsome boy's words.

He smiled as he noticed Denise had joined them.

Hey, De D De, you ready for your state exam?

I don't know, I guess.

Denise's tone was glum as she eyed the contents of the cooler, reaching in to select a bottle of the blackberry-flavored sparkling water.

Lori gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

You've got this sug.

I already took mine.

It ain't that hard.

Yeah, you're totally gonna nail it.

You're great at doing hair.

Denise shook her head.

I just didn't get it.

None of them seemed to.

I'm not really worried about passing the exam.

It's just, I don't know.

Do I really want to spend my life doing hair for old ladies in fucking Esau County?

Lori nodded, understanding now why her friends seemed so down lately.

While most of them had approached graduation in the coming summer with excitement, Denise had become moody and distant.

Lori, too, sometimes felt that the world suddenly expected them to know what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives, to make decisions that might affect them for decades to come.

It was a lot of pressure.

But a girl could always change her mind, she thought.

They had years to look forward to, to dream and plan and try new things.

Maybe not, but you can do hair anywhere, Dee Dee.

You're really good.

And if that ain't what you want, well, your grades weren't bad.

You could always put in a couple years over at the community college in Mavisdale, then transfer somewhere bigger.

Yeah, maybe.

I don't know.

I guess I just...

I don't know what to do with my life, you know?

Denise stifled a groan as her younger cousin launched into what had become a frequent topic of conversation since she, Lori, and Brendan graduated in May.

Well, at least you're done with high school.

I still got two years in that shithole, and all my friends will be gone.

You've got other friends besides us, Micah.

What about that one girl?

What's her name?

That little blonde girl from Study Hall.

I mean, sure, I got a couple people I can hang out with, but it just won't be the same.

I mean, most of the kids in my class are fucking lame.

Just a bunch of jocks and preps, and they'll make my life hell with y'all gone.

I'm not going anywhere.

I told you I got that job waiting for me doing nails at Scissor Tricks.

It's just right down the street.

You can walk over there after school and hang out with me until I get off work anytime you want.

You'll be out before you know it.

It's going to be fine, dude.

Especially with a girl as beautiful and badass as Lori watching your back.

Ain't nobody gonna fuck with you.

They're right, Micah.

It's gonna be okay and hell.

Ain't like I'm going anywhere just yet either.

Yeah, I guess so.

With Micah's anxiety soothed for the moment, the conversation lulled, and Denise seized the opportunity to redirect everyone's attention to what really mattered for the moment.

The amazing night of music they had ahead of them, if they ever got there.

But speaking of going places, come on, y'all, get your snacks and get in the damn car.

We gotta get to Knoxville.

Her friends quickly made their selections, and Denise paid for her gas and snack and herded them back into the Chevette.

She cranked the AC in the tape deck and all but peeled away from the gas station, heading south toward the on-ramp for Interstate 81.

Miranda closed the door to the dead man's house and stepped out into the heaviness of the summer night.

She had cleaned herself up as best she could in his bathroom, which surprisingly was nowhere near as disgusting as its occupant's work van, and thank the stars that he lived alone.

She pulled her hoodie up and kept her head down as she slipped past the van that now served as its driver's tomb, down his short driveway and vanished into the night.

A few wrong turns and a bit of backtracking later, Miranda had gotten her bearings.

She wasn't overly familiar with the East Knoxville suburbs, but she could manage.

Luckily, tracing her steps back to the dead man's house had led her to the very place she was looking for.

A gas station.

Its faded amicose sign, a dirty red and blue beacon in the dying light of the day.

Situated against the far corner of the grimy brick building was a bank of three payphones.

With a few quick steps, she stood in front of the first phone.

Tony, she thought.

She'd call Tony first.

He had been Mikey's best friend, and though Miranda wasn't sure if he even knew about all the vampire shit, he'd bailed Mikey out of jail a couple times, and he'd always been willing to give them a ride when they were too fucked up to drive.

She picked up the receiver, dropped the quarter into the slot, and dialed Tony's number.

The phone rang and rang, until Miranda finally gave up.

She hung up and retrieved her quarter when it reappeared in the slot at the base of the payphone.

God.

Damn it, Tony.

Shit.

I guess it is Friday night.

He's probably at somebody's house doing shots or something before they all go out.

She pondered, who would Tony want to get fucked up with?

And the even better question, who would let Tony drink enough of their booze to get him fucked up?

Tony was a gentle giant, checking in at 6'4, close to 300 pounds.

It took more than a few drinks to get the giant teddy bear of a man the least bit buzzed.

Nicole.

I bet he's over at Nicole's.

Miranda dropped her coin into the slot again and dialed the number of the girl with the pink spiky hair who always had her daddy's credit card in her purse.

The inspiration for many of their drunken escapades had flowed from Nicole's mischievous head and her family's bank account.

After three rings, the line connected.

A sexy baseline oozed from the receiver, then Nicole's voice purred,

Hey lover, you've reached Nicole.

But I'm not here.

I'm not there.

I'm not anywhere.

But I could be if you leave your name and number after the...

Miranda rolled her eyes and slammed the phone back into its cradle.

Did everyone have to have some sort of clever answering machine message these days?

Jesus.

And could the girl try any harder?

It had been a waste of her change.

She fished around in the pocket of her shorts for the remaining quarters she had found in old Thickneck's fan and thought for a moment.

She was going about this all wrong.

She should reach out to the people who were actually her friends and not just the people who had been nice to her because she was Mikey's girlfriend.

She placed her last quarter in the slot, and her fingers danced over the numbers, attempting to summon Jessamine Rogers.

Jessamine was the little sister of Chad Rogers, the bass player for Allison's Journal, a local shock rock band that Miranda had always really liked.

Jess had been genuinely nice to her from the first show she'd ever attended over at the old punk house outside of the old city.

They'd bonded over their love of Edie Raquel and Kate Bush.

Jess had helped her obtain her first fake ID, and if that wasn't a lifetime bond, then what was?

Granted, that had been before before she'd met Mikey and things got a bit wild.

Surely Jessamine would help her.

Once again, the phone rang and rang.

Miranda was almost ready to give up when the call connected and Jessamine's voice came over the line.

Hello?

Jess.

Hey,

it's Randy.

What are you doing right now?

Randy?

Where are you?

How

when did you get back into town?

Just now.

I wasn't gonna miss Violent Fear's release show.

I thought you were gonna be gone for a while.

I told them people wasn't nothing gonna stop me from...

Randy, you can't be here.

People are looking for you.

The cops are looking for you.

Why did you come back?

Oh, don't be so dramatic.

I know y'all were worried because of...

Because of what happened to Mikey, but...

Honey, this ain't about Mikey.

You killed two of the girls in the bathroom at at the underground.

The third one won't ever walk again.

You can't just roll into town and go to a show after something like that.

If somebody don't call the cops, they'll call Cyrus Sunil.

What the hell are you talking about?

And how the fuck do you know Cyrus?

Jessamine had moved in the same circles as Miranda in the Knoxville music scene, but she'd never known her to cross into the darker corners of Old City where Miranda had ended up with Mikey.

Jessamine Rogers had always been a sweet girl, and it shocked her to think Jess would even know someone like Silas Robinson existed.

I can't help you, Randy.

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't even be talking to you.

If you have half a brain in your head, you'll get gone and stay gone.

The line went dead, and Miranda's last quarter was swallowed up in the belly of the payphone, never to return.

She looked at the silent receiver in her hand and slowly returned it to its cradle, the words of the old man in the trailer park echoing in the back of her mind.

Someone likely saw what you did, and you may have to accept that your life in that town is over.

It had been the night she'd had that awful fight with Mikey.

The last time she ever saw him.

Cyrus had thrown a private party on a rooftop bar overlooking Market Square to celebrate her joining the family.

He and his usual crew had turned up with a handful of beautiful girls and boys whom they had offered to her and Mikey as gifts.

He'd even made an appropriately pompous and cheesy toast.

A great new maker must be properly hailed and recognized in this town, and a progeny so lovely and vivacious deserves a special treat.

Drink, drink, my friends, and may this scruffy old city tremble beneath our feet.

The party had raged until the wee hours, and just before dawn, Cyrus had introduced them to a pair of beautiful twin girls who he said he'd procured especially for them to enjoy.

He would take his entourage and retire for the evening, but they should stay and enjoy a romantic dinner for two.

Miranda could tell right away that something was wrong.

The girls were certainly gorgeous, built like the matchstick thin models on the cover of Vogue with the big dark eyes and long sleek hair.

When they drew close enough to drink from, however,

the reek of something narcotic and sterile wafted from their pores.

Their heartbeats were frenetic and fluttery as if they'd run a race, though their faces bore the usual dreamy expressions of frequent blood donors.

Miranda suspected they'd been sedated.

The girl's scent and heart rates weren't the only thing that put Miranda on edge.

When had Cyrus ever celebrated anyone but himself?

Why would he hail her goofy stoner boyfriend as a great maker when he barely acknowledged Mikey's existence before now?

Something was off here.

And she wasn't about to feed on someone Cyrus Robinson told her was special, much less try to make some sort of sexy dinner date out of it.

When she told Mikey as much, he'd accused her of being jealous, unwilling to share her man because she felt threatened by the beautiful women.

Miranda tried to convince him to leave, but he had already begun drinking from one of the sisters and he'd waved her away.

If she wanted to waste a perfectly good meal by being a jealous bitch, well, she was welcome to it.

But he planned to enjoy Cyrus' gift.

Miranda had stormed off and gone home.

sleeping through the next day as the rhythms of her new life dictated.

When she rose the next evening, Mikey was nowhere to be found.

He'd never returned to the basement apartment they shared, and no one had seen him since the night before.

Though they advised her not to worry.

He'd probably just stayed out too late to get back to the apartment and sought shelter from the sun somewhere else.

But one day turned to two,

turned to three,

and Mikey'd never come home.

The next thing Miranda heard was that he had burned to death in the sun on that rooftop in the square.

She was told to stay put until arrangements could be made for her now that her maker was gone.

Fuck that, Miranda had thought.

She wanted answers and she set out to find them.

She'd gone to the underground, a club in the old city where Cyrus was known to hold court in a downstairs speakeasy called the Boiler Room.

Cyrus' thugs turned her away at the door, telling her to go home and stay there.

None bothered to escort her, though, and so instead she'd headed back upstairs where she'd ducked into a bathroom to gather her thongs.

That's where she'd found them.

The twins Cyrus had gifted her and Mikey.

Standing at the sink with a third girl she didn't know.

One of the twins was snorting coke off the counter while the other touched up her lipstick in the mirror just as casual as you please, as if nothing had happened at all.

When Miranda asked them what had happened after she left the party, the one with the lipstick's reflection had smirked at her and told her she should have stayed.

The other laughed and remarked how romantic it would have been to watch the sunrise with her boyfriend.

Everything after that was a scarlet haze.

Miranda didn't remember leaving the underground or where she went afterwards.

The next thing she could recall was waking up at Cyrus' place bound to a chair while Cyrus explained what was going to happen next.

Her maker was dead.

The other elders in the city had demanded more information about what had happened, and he had assured them that he would find a proper foster foster home for their new stray.

Two weeks later, he dumped her at a trailer park in the Styx.

Now,

after fighting tooth and claw to get here, she stood in what felt like the graveyard of her old life.

How had she forgotten what had happened with those girls?

Jess had been right.

It was stupid of her to return.

Her mama used to say that all that devil music and black hair dye would lead her down a path to damnation, and well,

here she was.

She'd killed a man and drank his blood just that evening, and now she was in danger of being hunted down by her own kind for breaking laws that nobody had ever bothered to explain to her.

She'd wound up just how her mama always said she would, lost and alone.

Bitter memories and fear for the future collided like thunderheads before a bad storm.

Miranda Coffey stood by herself in front of the bank of payphones

and wept.

In the confines of the vet, Denise Ramey was growing increasingly irritated.

They'd been having such a good time chatting and listening to their favorite mixtape, they'd gone the wrong way at the junction of 81 and 40 and ended up driving east instead of west for a good 10 miles before they got turned around and headed in the right direction.

She chewed her lip, her knee bouncing nervously as she eyed the clock on the dash.

Lori gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

Relax, Suge.

It's gonna be all right.

I just wanted to get get there on time.

There's gonna be a line around the building and I wanted to make sure we got in early to find a good spot down front.

I'm telling you, it's fine.

Marcus put us on the guest list and we can go backstage and see him when we get there.

He said the first band won't even start until 10.

We've got plenty of time, babe.

Just breathe.

Whoa, wait.

We got backstage passes?

Am I going to get to meet John David?

Not if you act like some star-struck hick.

I'll leave you out front.

John David's just a kid from out by hogskin.

The man wrote Neon Dracula, Didi.

He is not like us.

Denise shook her head and did not respond.

The whole point of being part of the scene or whatever you wanted to call it was that they were all equals.

It was a completely different world from the hero worship and trappings of fame that came with pop music or arena rock.

There was no difference between the people who made the music and the people who loved it.

From the back seat, Brendan popped up timidly.

Hey, Denise.

I hate to ask, but...

Jesus, Brendan, again?

Sorry, I have a tiny bladder.

I gotta have some flaws, you know.

I can't be this pretty and not have some dark and secret weakness.

Lori snorted, one eyebrow arching toward her hairline.

I don't think needing to pee every 15 minutes is some dark and secret weakness, but you might want to talk to your doctor about that.

Yeah, come on, Brendan.

It's only another 20 minutes.

Can't you hold it bullshit you said it was another 20 minutes half an hour ago i mean i can try to use mica's gatorade bottle but i don't know if it can contain the absolute ocean of piss i've got going on back here what no

i'm still drinking that brendan sugar tits mcdaniels i will kick your ass if you pee in my back seat

Fine.

Next exit, we'll stop.

Thank you.

Yeah, thanks, Dee Dee.

Trying to piss in my lemon lime.

Fuck out of here.

Would probably make it taste better.

It was, in fact, another 25 minutes before Denise found an exit with a gas station.

By that time, the sun had begun its descent in earnest as a Chevette and its passengers pulled into the parking lot of an Amoco with a small mom-and-pop convenience store attached.

Brendan bolted from the car and ran into the gas station, only to run right back out again, clutching an old hubcap that had been tied to the men's room key.

He dashed out of sight around the corner of the building where a sign indicated the restrooms were located.

Denise rolled the windows down, leaving the keys in the ignition so Micah could listen to the radio and got out of the car.

Lori followed her a safe distance away from the pumps and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

She offered one to Denise and the two settled in for a smoke break while they waited for Brendan to finish his business.

Lori gazed around them with mild curiosity as they smoked.

The exit was flanked with the usual roadside amenities, the gas station, a couple of chain fast food restaurants, and not much else.

The street Denise had pulled onto twined away through a cluster of trees into what were clearly small neighborhoods.

Beneath the roar of semi-trucks trumbling across the overpass behind them, crickets chirped and cicadas whined.

As close as she knew they were to Knoxville, it wasn't so different from home, she mused.

She opened her mouth to voice this observation to Denise when a young woman standing in a block of payphones at the other side of the parking lot caught her eye.

Dressed all in black, she was pale and thin and sobbing uncontrollably.

Didi, look over there.

Lori nodded her head toward the girl by the phone.

You think she's all right?

She don't look alright, but I don't know.

We should at least check on her.

Lori hefted her bag onto her shoulder and walked slowly toward the payphones.

The girl had continued crying, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie.

After she heard the crunch of gravel under Lori's feet, she glanced up, startled.

Lori smiled and pulled up short, raising her hands in a non-confrontational gesture.

Hey, honey, I know it's probably none of my business, but are you okay?

Do you need some help?

Miranda Coffey had flinched at the sound of approaching footsteps, her head full of Jessamine's warnings about all the people who might be looking for her here.

Instead, she was surprised to find a girl in a long black dress with a lace-trimmed corset and elbow-length black lace gloves.

Her eyes ringed with heavy black liner, lips stained a red so deep it was nearly black.

For a moment, she thought one of Cyrus' flunkies had caught up to her.

But when the teen was close enough to scent, she realized this was just a normal girl dressed up for a night out.

She had a thick Southwest Virginia accent, and she smelled like patchouli and clove cigarettes.

Miranda wiped at her eyes, thinking how badly she must be smudging the liner she'd applied so carefully earlier.

Oh, you scared me.

I'm just having a

little bit of a rough night.

I'm fine.

Denise stepped up beside Lori, her eyes scanning the girl under the bright gas station fluorescence.

She was thin and pale and wore fish net tights under artfully ripped black shorts and a depeche mode hoodie.

A pair of purple velveteen Doc Martens completed the ensemble.

Her eyeliner was smudged and her eyes were puffy from crying.

Are you sure it's getting dark out here?

Are you by yourself?

Oh, I like your earrings.

The girl smiled shyly, her hands drifting up to touch the gleaming silver anks that hung from each ear.

That's so sweet of you.

Um, no, really, y'all, I'm fine.

My ride is just late, is all.

Miranda considered the two girls who had seen her crying and come to check on her.

She should just glamour them, she thought.

Make them forget they'd ever seen her.

These were just two sweet teenagers out for a night on the town who had seen another girl in trouble and thought to help.

They didn't need to get mixed up with someone like her.

At the very least, least, she should reassure them and send them on their way so she could figure out her next move.

Maybe Jess had been right.

She should just go back to that dinky little trailer park, let them teach her whatever they had to teach, and when she'd done her time, get far, far away from Knoxville.

When she returned her attention to them, the tall, curvy one was introducing herself.

We could give you a ride somewhere if you need it.

I'm Lori, and this here's Denise.

We got room for one more in the back seat if you don't mind squeezing in.

Suddenly, a tall, athletic boy in a nine-inch nails t-shirt came sprinting around the side of the building.

He ducked into the gas station to return the bathroom key and then bounded back towards the car.

Let's go, y'all!

As he opened the car door, the haunting tones of a no-more light song burst into the evening air.

Brendan stood looking back at Lori and Denise, holding the door open before he climbed into the back seat.

The strange girl's gaze followed him, her brow furrowing as the song reached her ears.

Back at the vet, Brendan tapped the horn a couple times and called across the parking lot.

Come on, Dee Dee!

You're the one bitching about not wanting to be late for the show.

Miranda turned back to Denise and Lori, really taking in their appearance for the first time.

Her brow furrowed as her mind made the connections, their outfit, the music, the boys' comments.

Wait, are y'all going to the show at the Mercury tonight?

Violent Fears Release Show.

Yep, my cousin Marcus plays bass in No More Light.

He put us on the guest list.

We can probably get you on too if you want.

Maybe she didn't have to send them away after all, Miranda thought.

They were going to the very same show she herself had risked so much for.

Perhaps all this was simply meant to be.

She could accept the ride they offered her, enjoy one last night in town and the scenes she loved, and figure out the rest tomorrow.

The club would be dark.

She could blend in with the crowd.

And if she saw any of Cyrus' bunch, she'd just leave.

Simple as that.

Her tears drying on her cheeks, Miranda favored the two girls with a dazzling smile.

That's where I was headed to.

That would be amazing.

Lori put an arm around the new girl's shoulders and steered her toward the vet.

Trailing behind them, Denise rummaged around in her purse.

I got concealer and eyeliner in here somewhere.

You can fix your makeup on the way.

Miranda followed the two girls from Glaymorgan back to the car, where she squeezed into the back between Micah and Brendan, and Lori made introductions.

Denise turned the key in the ignition, put the Chevette in gear, and pulled back onto the blacktop, steering the car toward downtown Knoxville through the deepening shadows.

Well, hey there, family.

We are one step further down the highway in this the final arc of season five of Old Gods of Appalachia Run Like Hell.

Are you getting scared for Denise and her friends yet?

What are what's going to happen when the paths of all these folks converge?

Well, I guess you'll just have to come back next time to find out.

I hope you will.

I bet you will.

Now we've got a full cast for this final story arc and if you'd like to learn more about the folks who are helping us bring our stories to life, head on over to our website at old godsofappalachia.com and while you're there be sure to complete your social media ritual and follow us on facebook instagram and blue sky and wherever else you might like to spend your scrolling time and if you just can't get enough of these little stories we tell you can find more at the holler where for just ten dollars a month you can find hours upon hours of spin-off tales such as bill bama coffin familiar and beloved and more just head on over to old godsofappalachia.com slash the holler and join us today

and this is your yes Those Purple Docks are based on a pair one of our friends had in the 90s reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media and is distributed by Rusty Quill.

Today's story was written by Steve Schell and Cam Collins.

Our intro music is by Brother Landon Blood.

And our brand new outro music is Far Away by No More Light.

The voice of Miranda Coffey is Andy Marie Tillman.

And the voice of Jessamine Rogers is Cam Collins.

The voice of Denise Raimi is Autumn Bogeman.

The voice of Laurie Powers is Allison Mullins.

The voice of Michael Raimi Raimi is Aaron Bentley, and the voice of Brendan McDaniels is Craig Rice.

We'll talk to you soon, family.

Talk to you real soon.

I'm far away,

so far far away.

And there's nothing I can do.

Never meant to leave you there.

Dark eyes and sweet despair.

Knowing there's nothing you can do.

I'm far away,

so far away.

And there's nothing I can do.

Never meant to leave you there.

No time's sweet to spare.

Knowing there's nothing you can do.

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