Episode 73: The Blood of Wolves

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Baker's Gap, Tennessee

1989

The air in the old barn up on Peter's Branch was rank

with the smells of both the living

and the dead.

The folk who had gathered in that place fit the literal definition of the great unwashed, and if their stench alone was the only scent on the wind, that would have been bad enough.

The six corpses laid at the front of the room,

some fresh,

others decidedly

not,

Made things exponentially worse.

The three bodies to the right were men, each stripped naked and bearing the wounds of their respectively brutal ends.

The throat of the first had been cut,

one eye torn out, the other staring sightlessly into the void.

His face had been shredded to the consistency of a fine pot roast.

The ivory of his exposed cheekbone a grotesquely bright spot in the gloom of the dimly lit chamber, the man's brother,

for the family resemblance was undeniable,

was missing both of his hands and most of his innards.

The barrel-chested bruiser carved into an empty keg of maggot-eaten gore.

His handsome face was untouched, however, his once-piercing sapphire eyes gazing sightlessly into nothing.

All that remained of the third

was a headless torso,

its appendages long since sawed away and cauterized with blowtorches.

The absence of face and limbs rendering the human form an almost unrecognizable

object,

bloodless and cold.

The remaining three corpses had been set a few feet apart from these and covered almost respectfully with white bedsheets.

Blood seeped through the fabric,

fresh

and wet.

A tall man stood behind this grim tableau.

Dressed in dark denim and a white button-up shirt, he was not old, nor was he close enough to this side of 30 to be called a kid.

His given name was Samuel Scott Blankenship.

Scotty, to those who knew and liked him, and there were plenty who did.

His hair was a rusty brown that hung about his ears in the stylish waterfall of a mullet.

His face was not clean-shaven.

Though he did not wear the full beard of his father's generation, his cheeks were flecked with a fashionable stubble.

Kept neat, but just rugged enough to be manly.

He looked for all the world like the man who would change your oil at the Texaco station and jokingly argue with your papa about where to find the best fishing between here and Knoxville.

At the moment, however,

Scotty stood solemn and silent, his hands tucked into his back pockets of his jeans as he stared contemplatively at the dirt floor under his boots.

A blue-collar oracle wrestling with the burden of delivering his prophecies of doom.

Finally, he raised his head and looked upon the living crowd assembled before the dead.

Behold the fruits of our labor, church.

Another cycle has passed, and the moon has completed her circuit across the sky, and again we made our offerings as commanded by those who come before us.

Yet we remained unheard and unseen.

Our prayers and petitions go unanswered.

We've labored hard, and yet here we stand, empty-handed and hungry.

The crowd shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet the speaker's eyes as he peered into each of them the way only a preacher in a pulpit can.

Scotty Blankenship was not a preacher, per se.

But in this place,

he was something else.

Something powerful.

Now, now, don't be so hard on yourselves, church.

We have kept the sacred rites as we were taught by our bettors and our elders, have we not?

We have honored the traditions and done so with reverence and solemnity.

To put it plainly, we held up our end of the deal.

I'm not here to blame or condemn y'all, or us as a body.

No, sir.

The energy in the small crowd began to shift.

They'd come here to be told they'd failed and expected the wrath of their prophet.

This was something else.

Church, we have followed the teachings.

We have been good and grateful children to our mother.

We were told to sacrifice, and so we have.

We offered her the wolves she hunted in our grandparents' time.

Wife beaters and drunkards, child stealers and murderers.

These men offended those weaker than them with their eyes and their hands, so we plucked them out, struck them off, and cast them into the fire.

For so long now we have hunted these predators

until they met their righteous fate at the hands of just folks like you and me.

Can I get an amen?

Scotty got more than an amen.

He got a bloodthirsty whoop and a hell yeah from a younger male voice in the back.

Still, the angel of vengeance, the protector of the meek and the lost,

the good mother

has not answered us.

In fact, she has not stirred since my mamma Almany's day.

You see, y'all,

my mama's mama was there when the good mother walked during the last age of reckoning.

She saw the glorious vengeance rained down upon those who would dare cross her flock, and I learned at that great woman's knee.

And I know her tales to be true.

So

when the blood of wolves didn't get the good mother's attention,

we turned to the blood of lambs.

Scotty gestured to the three covered bodies at his feet.

We figured maybe we'd angered her by doing her work for her.

Hell, if we killed all those who preyed on the weak and the helpless, what reason would she have to return?

Hell, maybe that evil needed to be in the world in order for her to find her way home.

Were the screams of the lost and uncared for of this cold world not loud enough for her to hear?

Maybe we could make them a little louder.

Though it pained us to shed innocent blood, yes, it did.

If it brought our mother home to us, then it was worth the stain upon our souls.

If she would come and strike us down,

well, we'd at least least know the touch of her hand, even as she tore us limb from limb.

Still,

she has not come.

And church,

I fear she cannot come.

Scotty Blankenship paused, allowing the fire within the faithful to die down as they absorbed this unwelcome pronouncement.

It didn't do no good to get folks all riled up for they understood what must come next.

He smiled the easy smile smile that was neither politician nor even preacher, really, but the smile of the charming and charismatic friend who always leads you into trouble.

It was a smile that said, oh, come on now.

You really believe that?

Before telling you the things that cracked the foundation of what you thought you knew to be true.

He was the buddy with improbable ideas that you scoffed at, but secretly thought about when you were trying to go to sleep at night.

And before you knew it, you were handing over your money for whatever wild investment scheme he was peddling this month because his truth had become your truth.

And this time, yeah, buddy, this time was going to be the big score.

Suddenly, the barn door behind the congregation creaked open wide enough to admit a slender young woman who darted through the throng, stepping carelessly over the corpses that separated Scotty Blankenship from the rest of them.

She handed the tall man a note, looking embarrassed for the interruption.

Scotty frowned at her and she lowered her head.

But as he read over the missive, that winning smile split his friendly face again.

He folded the note and put it in his back pocket.

He tipped the girl's chin up to meet his eyes and smiled.

Thank you, darling.

Go on now.

Tell him we'll be along shortly.

The girl blushed and scurried back through the gathered faithful and out of the barn.

As I was saying,

my mama's generation saw the faith waver and fall.

Her mama was there when the speaker at that time failed to bring the grace of the good mother to all the world.

But my mama never lost the face.

No, neither did yours, Brother Jason.

No, nor yours, Sister Melody.

No.

And when the time come to lay low and keep our faith in secret, we did.

The true elders of that time, like the Blessed Mother Darla and Sister Triplet, passed on what they knew.

Truce they shared with the folk of the gap.

They lived and died to pass on the rites and rituals, the prophecies and commandments, and they promised us that she would return.

We'd have our spiritual bellies filled and our needs met, and those who had wronged us fed to the cold, dark earth.

But that hadn't happened yet.

Y'all,

it has not happened.

So the time has come to turn the page on these particular teachings and open up a new chapter.

Because church, I'm here to tell you there is another way.

What if I told you our mother

chose a child from the last age of reckoning to rise in her stead?

What if I told you she chose a boy from her very own gap to carry on her holy work?

A boy who became a man.

A man who has barely aged a day in almost a hundred years.

A man

who could not die.

A man who wandered the world in search of peace but found it not.

Not a ghost nor an angel, but a man we could lay hands on and raise up to take on the mantle of his true destiny.

Wouldn't that just be wonderful, church?

Scotty Blanketship whipped the note the young woman had brought him from his back pocket and lifted it it slowly, deliberately above his head, ensuring all eyes followed that slip of folded notebook paper like it was the Dead Sea Scrolls.

What if I told you

that such a man

is over at Osborne's funeral home right now for a visitation tonight?

Would you come with me to help bring him into the fold?

Would you come, church?

Would you come?

When the walls close in

and the light gets swallowed,

and there ain't no place that feels like home,

the ones you love

will concerning the strangers

and you cast your eyes through 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

Archie Stallard twitched the front room curtain aside and watched as his son Kelson's truck backed down the drive, the taillights disappearing up the twisting road that led toward Baker's Gap proper and the Motel 6 they'd booked for what was supposed to be their only night in town.

It had taken some convincing for Kel to leave him here after dark, but Archie didn't need him arguing logic into the crazy things they were going to discuss tonight.

Belle Calloway closed the front door and turned the deadbolt, removing her coat and hanging it on the rack in the corner.

Then she turned with a pained smile to the two men who stood in her parlor.

You boys make yourself at home.

I'll put some coffee on.

Oh, none for me, thanks.

If I drink it past seven, I won't sleep at all.

I don't think any of us are going to be sleeping much tonight, Archie.

We have a lot to discuss.

I got cream and sugar.

If you want any of that artificial stuff, you're out of luck.

I'll

let the two of you catch up.

Belle made her way into the kitchen that had served as the base of operations, laboratory, and epicenter of culinary goodness for her aunts Marcy and Ellie for decades before she had inherited the place, leaving her two former pupils alone.

When y'all said to follow you to Miss Belle's house, I expected we'd end up over on Willow Street, where the where the teacher's house always was.

Archie glanced around the parlor of the tall house nestled into the back of a holler just far enough outside of Baker's Gap town limits to either be the subject of countless rumors back when they were kids or forgotten altogether in the current day and age.

A little bit of a surprise to end up on Big Gap Road.

She live out here all by herself.

She's got some folks that help her out from time to time.

She inherited the place when Miss Marcy died in 1984.

Oh,

I'm sorry to hear that.

I never really knew her, but Floyd always said nice things.

She made it to 98.

Tough old bird that she was.

Miss Ellie is still with us.

She's got a house up in Glamorgan that she's kept for years.

She sends her best.

I saw her on my way down.

You saw her on your way down, did you?

Down from where, kid?

Where exactly have you been all these years?

Sounds like you kept up with the Walker ladies all this time just fine, but you couldn't drop a line to your friends or even brother.

Arch, I know you've got questions, but...

But hell, where were you when your daddy and mama died?

Or were they just Junebug and Deborah to you?

Them people took you in.

Hell, we took you in.

And you couldn't show up to help bury your own people?

If not, your folks, and what about us?

We all made it to Kurt's funeral.

Your brother and me were right there with him in the hospital when he passed, but where were you?

Where were you, kid?

Archie's voice shook shook with years of rage and frustration he had no idea he'd been living with until this moment.

Arch, and Dallas.

We carried his casket and set him in the ground out back of Rising Creek Baptist ourselves.

And Shane?

Do you have any idea what happened to Shane?

What kind of life he lived after he's grown?

How he died?

And Alan took him and turned him inside out over and over again.

We went back there, you know.

We cleaned up the mess you left behind two years after you left.

We went out there and faced down all kinds of crazy stuff we never should have even known about, but we did.

Because of you,

shame was

haunted for years and years until he

stood by your side in the face of whatever the hell all that was.

And you left us and never so much as looked back.

Last time I seen you, you was 10 years old, standing right out there in that front yard saying goodbye to the only only friends you'd ever knowed.

Now here you are, born 60 years later, barely looking 20 years older.

So yes, kid, I have some questions and you're damn well gonna answer them.

Archie, that's enough.

Cowboy Absher.

You ain't wrong, Miss Bell.

I was little when I left, and I needed folks to take care of me then, but later on I chose to stay away.

I made the decision not to talk nor write to nobody.

The less y'all thought or knew about me, the better.

Cowboy Absher held up his hand to forestall any further protest from his old friend.

I kept up with Miss Marcy and Miss Ellie, Arch, because they were helping me with.

Well, what was wrong with me?

I don't even want to think about what life would be like if they hadn't.

But you want answers, Arch?

I'll give you answers.

Cowboy took a deep, steadying breath and then continued.

Steel creeping into his voice.

First off,

where was I when my mommy and daddy died?

I was standing somewhere in the woods west of the gap, watching a dead woman carrying a baby choke the breath out of my daddy without ever touching him.

I watched the homestead my kin built vanish into the earth like something bigger than God just opened its mouth and swallowed them whole.

My mamma, my papa, my uncles, all gone, screaming into the ground with a whole damn army of monsters nipping at their heels.

I had a whole family before I come to Baker's Cap.

And something

old and dark took them from me.

I didn't remember for a long time, but I do now.

I think whatever God done to me wants me to remember it now, so it hurts more.

I see them die in my dreams at least once a week.

The same thing that killed them made me like I am.

Belle Calloway stepped toward the handsome young man in the dark suit, preparing to comfort him, but he raised his hand and waved her off.

When Floyd found me, I couldn't eat.

I'd throw up anything I did.

I didn't grow none at all while I lived here and could hardly look at anybody because all I could see was how long they had before they were going to die.

And now that's all out out of sorts.

Dallas was supposed to outlive everybody but you and me, and Shane was supposed to live a good life and get married at least twice.

And now you're telling me that didn't happen either.

Y'all were good to me.

Y'all were my family and I loved y'all so much.

That's why I had to run.

The only way I was able to leave was knowing y'all would be mostly alright.

And yes, the Walkers helped me.

Ellie took me to see Ms.

Boggs, Ms.

Abernathy, Mr.

Bartholomew, anybody they could think of who might be able to help.

They all did what they could.

You can see I finally grew some anyway, but turns out nobody'd really seen anything like me before.

So once I had some kind of handle on things, I left and went to work.

I worked farms up in the New River Valley, herded cattle out west, worked on fishing boats in New England.

I figured if I just kept my head down, nothing bad could happen, right?

My whole life has just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, Arch.

Everywhere I go, things will be fine for a while, years sometimes.

But sooner or later, something always happens.

Cattle go missing and there are strange tracks that can't be explained, or a stranger comes to town asking about someone who looks like me.

People who know me get hurt until I move on.

The shadow of what happened to me as a boy ain't never rubbed off.

I'm 72 years old this year, Arch, and look at me.

Archie scowled.

and then cocked an eyebrow and a trademark stallard smirk.

72 without a wrinkle to your name and a head full of hair.

I bet you don't get up to pee 25 times a night neither.

Boo hoo, a bona fide tragedy is you.

Leave it to you to find the upside of watching all your friends die of old age while running from unknown horrors.

I mean, I do have good hair.

No,

really.

I'm sorry, Arch.

I'm sorry that I brought whatever followed me into y'all's lives.

I don't know what happened with Shane or my brother,

but if it was connected to the island, it's probably my fault.

See, that's where you're wrong, kid.

I think I got your brother killed.

Both y'all stop.

Belle Calloway interjected as she returned from the kitchen bearing a tray laden with a pot of coffee, the promised cream and sugar, and a plate of cookies.

Floyd Absher died of a heart attack.

I know, Miss Belle.

What y'all don't know is what he was doing out there trying to climb the cliffs of Dirk Rockbone at his age.

Miss Belle gestured for the two men to sit, so they settled down across from each other.

Archie choosing his seat near the end of the comfy sofa and Cowboy the armchair that had been Marcy's favorite.

Belle lowered herself into an overstuffed glider chair, taking up a soothing rocking motion.

Over the next several minutes, Archie related the strange encounters with the oddly dressed outsiders that Floyd had described to him.

Belle and Cowboy listened listened without further interruption, allowing him to lay it all out for them.

Cowboy leaned in with greater interest when Archie got to the part about Larry Collins' old pastures.

Floyd found him sniffing around Jaw's old house, too, which ain't nobody lived up there since y'all's mommy passed.

Floyd was up there making sure everything was locked up tight and caught some of them digging at the edge of the property line, down by the corner fence post in the backyard.

Said they had a little box and a spade like they was planting flowers or something.

They run off when he come around the corner.

Cowboy rubbed his face wearily, the wheels turning in his mind.

Was it the left corner of the backyard where Daddy's woodpile used to be?

It was?

How'd you know that?

That's where I used to go throw up my food when I couldn't eat.

I'd hide it from Mama so she wouldn't think I was sick.

I spent many an evening puking up beef stew and cornbread in

that very spot.

What's that got to do with anything?

Cowboy continued as if he'd not heard the question.

That was Mr.

Collins Lower Pasture, right?

By the road where they put the mailboxes the summer before I started school.

That's where Floyd found me sick and wandering around after I lost my first family.

My knees were all skinned up, and I know I'd been sick out there.

I bet if you'd look closer,

you'd have seen him digging up dirt there, too.

Archie glanced at Miss Bell nervously as Cowboy worked through what Archie had shared.

Then he looked up and met his old friend's eyes.

It's about me, Archie.

They're not trying to buy up land to build a new trailer park.

This is about me and my

situation.

They're looking for pieces of me that got left behind.

This ain't the first time something like this has happened, but usually they come looking for me in person.

Now, hang hang on a damn minute.

Creepy kids scraping up your upchuck from over 50 years ago did not get your big brother killed.

At least, not entirely.

The weirdos asking about those places are just the tip of the iceberg.

Give me a minute, kid, and I'll explain.

Archie turned from Cowboy and addressed his former teacher.

Miss Bell,

do you recognize the name Daryl Moore?

The old woman blinked, her gaze going a bit unfocused as she searched her memory for the name.

Oh, you mean Possum?

The old feller that lives.

Well, I guess he lives wherever he can.

You mostly see him out by the health department or the dollar store on Oklone Road.

He's a little strange, but harmless.

Might offer to sing you a song or do a little dance for a dollar.

And sometimes he has a chicken in a box he'll let you pet.

He told me one time he was going to come dig me a moat around the house to keep the boogers out.

I gave him five dollars and asked him to please not.

What's old Possum got to do with any of this?

But Archie wasn't done asking his own questions.

What about the dog lady?

Do you know her?

When Bill Calloway spoke, it was with the voice she used to correct an errant pupil whenever they crossed the line poking fun at another student.

Archie Stallard.

Her name is Maureen Fletcher.

She lives down by the river in a single wide and feeds all the stray dogs people dump out back of the high school.

She's a sweetheart.

I taught her the year before I retired.

She had a bad spell with some drugs after she graduated and left her,

well, dancing to a different drummer, if you will.

Again, she's a little out there, but harmless.

Archie bowed his head for a moment, thoughtful.

Do you remember Joshua Cook from our class?

The mean one?

Tried to come for Cowboy at one time when Cowboy said what he said about Joshua's daddy.

Miss Bell's mouth tightened.

Joshua Cook was a cautionary cautionary tale on all levels.

You know I do, Archie.

Mr.

Cook was as unpleasant as an adult as he was as a child.

He got sent to Brushy Mountain Penitentiary a long time ago for a number of violent offenses related to narcotics trafficking, I think.

Archie nodded solemnly.

Yes, that's the very feller.

According to Floyd, he got out about five years ago and come back bald as an eagle with a beard like a bearskin, covered in tattoos.

Mostly kept to himself living up on Peter's branch in an old cabin, but Floyd said he'd park the Sunday shopping crowd at Payless like the Red Sea when he'd come to town to do his trading.

Said he smelt as bad as he looked and still mean as ever.

Miss Bell started, her mind connecting the terrifying, near-skeletal figure who had pushed past her in the bread aisle last summer and the sour-faced little boy she taught years ago.

That's who that was?

Oh my lord, I had no idea.

Arch, what do all these folks have to do with?

Well, anything that's going on here?

Your big brother had been helping all of them.

He'd take dog food and groceries to the dog...

Miss Fletcher.

He made sure Possum had a warm place to be when the weather got cold, and believe it or not, he was driving Joshua Cook over to Tipton for AA meetings and appointments with his parole officer.

You know, he always had a soft spot for strays.

The crooked smile Archie turned on the young man, who was not young at all, sitting across from him, was soft and sad.

These are folks neither Rising Creek Baptist nor the Methodist Church are going to bother with.

And there ain't a whole lot of outreach to folks that are homeless around here to begin with.

Churches tend to their own flocks and don't seem to see nobody else out in the world.

It doesn't help that most of the time around here, any help you do get comes with a sermon damning you five ways to Sunday about how you better not spend it on liquor or wackybacker.

Some folks would rather be hungry than talk down to.

Though it was clear Archie had settled on a favorite topic, he seemed to catch himself.

Coming back to the matter at hand before he could get a good head of steam going,

he turned again to Miss Bell.

Last question, ma'am.

When was the last time you seen any of them folks?

Miss Belle appeared surprised by the question, her brow furrowing as she considered it.

Well, I saw Possum just

No, that was a year ago at least.

Well, Maureen turns up sometimes at her sister's beauty parlor, and that's only been...

No, no.

That was before I moved out here.

I saw the man you say is Joshua Cook just this past summer, but I didn't know him.

Time is a slippery thing when you get older, I suppose.

When Floyd started telling me about all this, he said he hadn't seen Possum in almost a year.

The women who worked at the dollar store asked after him.

They were worried.

I think they might even put up flyers.

I don't know if the possum was kin to any of the other moors around here.

If he was, ain't none of them claimed him.

Floyd also said he'd been feeding the dogs for Miss Fletcher for the past couple of months, and she was never at the trailer when he called anymore.

He asked around, and her sister hadn't seen her in ages.

Nobody else hadn't either.

Last time I spoke to Floyd on the phone, he said he got a call from Josh Cook saying he was struggling and he couldn't reach his AA sponsor over in Tipton.

Said his older brother Mikey kept calling him and inviting him to go get wild in the woods.

Said they had all the booze they could ever drink just to meet him at the usual place.

Archie, all the cook boys except Joshua are dead.

Have been for years.

Jerry Cook is the only cousin left out of that generation and he's a pastor now, ain't he?

Yes, ma'am.

Found Jesus in a foxhole over in Korea, honorably discharged as a chaplain.

I think he preaches over at the non-denominational church in Model City.

Highly unlikely he'd be calling his 75-year-old cousin asking him to go drinking in the woods on a Saturday night.

Not just any woods.

They hung out on the island, too.

We always had to head home before dark when the older boys came out to drink and shoot pistols.

Arch, did Floyd think Joshua was headed out to Death Island?

Astute observation, my young friend.

We'll make a detective of you yet.

Miss Bell could barely hide her smile.

The cowboy didn't even bother trying.

It was as if the years had melted away and Archie was holding forth in her social studies class, dragging the lesson off topic with wild speculations and made-up fun facts about whatever they were supposed to be learning, goading the younger children into asking questions that only served to egg him on.

When he asked about Possum, Floyd found out that the other homeless folk hadn't been seen in a while either.

This was all right around time them weirdo outsiders started turning up asking about property rights and digging around in people's yards.

Archie turned his eyes on the adopted brother of his best friend, and his tone turned deadly serious.

He told me it felt like old times,

like before cowboy left.

I ain't looking to fight with you, kid, but Floyd hadn't said your name out loud in 30 years, I bet.

That was just the only way he could describe what it felt like being in a place where bad things were happening and there weren't no answers.

That if it felt like it did when

you died and come back out there, kid.

And that's where he had to go.

I think he went looking for Joshua Cook and something or somebody did for him.

him.

Heart attack or not, he's gone, and...

And it brought me back to Baker's Gap.

Before either man could say a word, Belle Calloway shot to her feet, leaving her chair swaying gently back and forth behind her.

Miss Belle,

what's wrong?

I don't want to alarm anyone.

But someone just crossed the wards on the north side of the property.

Boys, it looks like

we have company.

There is a curse upon my every

waking breath,

and I cannot escape.

Well, hey there, family.

Looks like the more things change, the more they stay the same out in Baker's Gap,

where the dead don't stay buried and nothing is ever truly done until we leave them ghosts alone.

Hope y'all come back next time and see who comes knocking at the doors of the Walker House as well as why Good Mother Ministries seems to have taken on a terrifying new form

as if some of those people weren't scary enough back in season two.

Also in the spirit of friendly reminders a bunch of y'all reminded us friendly and not so sometimes that you'd missed out on tour merch in the past so we invite you to come get yourself some of what's left over at our new merch shop, oldgodsmerch.com, where you can find other high-quality, often screen printed items that will last you a long, long time.

And this is your, Yes, we know, we keep telling you your favorite characters are already dead this season.

Don't worry, we can always go back in time and tell you stories before that happened.

Calm down, reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media, 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 outro music is by those poor bastards.

The voice of Cowboy Apsher is Brandon Bentley.

We'll talk to you soon, family.

Talk to you real soon.

Family, won't you come with me into the darkness?

Into the sweet-smelling gloom of a dead mooned night, into the realm of Sucrebay,

a woman-owned and operated fragrance company like no other, with hand-blended small batches of perfumes with names like Nightshade, Chloroform,

goth as fuck

and I come from a long line of terrifying women.

Sucrebay is your source for smelling enticing and terrifying at the same time.

For more information on their world-bending fragrances, as well as subscription bags and a marketplace connecting you to over 40 other indie business owners, head over to SucraBay.com.

S-U-C-R-E-A-B-E-I-L-L-E dot com.

Look in the show notes for a link.

Come to the dark side.

We smell fantastic.

Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the new game day scratchers from the California Lottery.

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

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

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams Scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly must be 18 years or older to purchase, play, or claim.

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