Episode 71: Season Five Prologue

Well, hey there, family.

If you love old gods of Appalachia and want to help us keep the home fires burning, but maybe aren't comfortable with the monthly commitment, well, you can still support us via the ACAS supporter feature.

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Just click on the link in the show description, and you too can toss your tithe in the collection plate.

Feel free to go ahead and do that right about now.

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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Suffs!

The new musical has made Tony award-winning history on Broadway.

We demand to be hosted!

Winner, best score!

We demand to be seen!

Winner, best book!

We demand to be quality!

It's a theatrical masterpiece that's thrilling, inspiring, dazzlingly entertaining, and unquestionably the most emotionally stirring musical this season.

Suffs, playing the Orpheum Theater, October 22nd through November 9th.

Tickets at BroadwaySF.com

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

So listener discretion is advised.

Oh, Appalachia,

we have heard your call,

have felt it pull on our heartstrings and tug at our innards anytime we might think of moving away.

We have felt your breath on the back of our necks when we dare wonder what else is out there and if indeed the grass might be greener there.

Oh

Appalachia,

how quick is your hand to correct an errant child, to blister a backside if we stray from the five miles to work, two miles to church, and back routine that was good enough for them that come before us?

Oh, Appalachia.

The voice of a mother is that of a jealous god at times.

She wants what is best for us, holds us close to her loving bosom so that we can only breathe breathe when she breathes.

Our heart is allowed to beat only because it is in time with hers, oh mother.

Can't you see that after a lifetime of eating at the same table, praying at the same altar, hearing the same stories about how things used to be and how they were so much better back then?

We can't help but strain our necks to get a look at that wind and black-topped beast that eventually becomes one with the pounding heart of the highway.

And if we stay,

then we've been seduced by that siren serenade as surely as if she stood on our shoulders, whispering that home

is where the heart is,

while she holds ours clutched, bleeding in her talons.

Oh, Appalachia,

you tell us that the road that leads from this place, all asphalt and yellow lines paved and maintained by the county, can only bear us to damnation.

But the road that carries us home?

Well, blessed be that well-worn path, that holy backroad, that marriage of gravel and coal earth that calls us back again and again, whether we mean it to

or not.

Oh, Appalachia,

do you not see that they are one and the same?

Oh, mother,

will you ever let us go?

For some folks, hearth and holler might be enough, but the further you get from the generations that lived, died, and killed to hold on to this land, you'll find notions of the grandeur of familial proximity tend to wane.

There is a whole world outside of Appalachia,

and it's full of bright lights and jobs behind desks and buildings that are clean and carpeted and well lit while the folks back home are still scraping beneath the earth for the remaining crumbs of the dark wealth that filled our coffers for so very long.

See, there are places in this world

that these mountains never wanted you to see.

Places where earning a living doesn't have to come with a lifetime of pain and misery, where generations of judgment and expectations don't hang over your head like the coal-choked heart of the mountain.

The world

changes,

but often people do not.

You may love your mamma or your mama and daddy,

but the day may come when their kind and accepting hearts seem a little bit less of both.

They see who you're becoming,

and it ain't like them

and they don't know what to do with that

Traditions begin to feel like obligations and who you are and who they raised you to be start to feel like fighters on opposite sides of a squared circle you begin to ask questions

a lot of folks around here don't like it when you ask questions because questions

make people nervous.

Pretty soon, they're looking at you like a stranger,

asking questions about them books you've been reading, them bands you've been listening to.

And pretty soon, everything about you seems dark and worrisome to them.

Folks start muttering about appearances of evil

and warning you about that devil music, all them backward messages hidden in the mix that you don't even realize you're singing along with until it's too late.

Because shouting at the devil is all fun and games, they say,

until the devil shouts back.

So you might be a teenage girl writing poetry darker than a vice principal's heart in the back room of your mama's single white up on Sherry Hill, just counting the days till you're old enough to get the hell out of this town that threatens to wrap around you like the weeds that choke the medians on the four lane that lead down the mountain and away from this awful and beautiful place.

The license issued to you by the Commonwealth on your 16th birthday may be the greatest treasure you will ever own, as it bestows upon you the right to follow that great asphalt ribbon wherever it leads.

And for a girl who yearns to escape the petty prejudices and strangling expectations of small-town life, the holy rites of clutch and gear shift, the combination of speed and a mixtape in the cassette deck are the closest thing to religion you may ever accept.

And you know, one day they will take you far from here.

And yet, when it calls,

you answer.

And that always means a detour.

You might be a boy on the cusp of 17.

Being told you're already a man grown.

Your daddy and mommy were practically married at your age.

And your daddy knows somebody over at B ⁇ L that can get you on digging coal or turning wrenches on the diesels up on the strip job.

A little bit of training, you'll be making that good money in no time, son.

Oh, it ain't like it used to be.

There's all kinds of safety measures in place now to make sure the company can wring 30 or 40 years out of you instead of the usual 20.

I'm sure people still get buried alive or cooked in fires, but shoot.

Nowadays,

you're more than likely to end up with every joint in your body ground down to gristle and dust your spine a crumbling avalanche of herniated discs and nerve damage before your lungs even start to go bad.

What?

You want to be like them that run off and left their blood behind?

Then that think they're better than us going off some fancy fancy college or applying to jobs in some better place.

What place is better than home?

Unless it's military, of course.

That's different.

Man can leave here a hillbilly and come back a hero.

I mean, as long as he comes back at all.

Could be you're a child of the moon and stars.

Your body an ill-fitting garment against your soul.

The bones that bury you upright little more than a cage to keep you in.

In these hills, your heart has to work three times harder just to keep you upright and moving.

And you learn early on that escape is your best option, that staying here is a death sentence, and you got living to do, so you got to get out and stay out.

And you can feel in your bones that there are places that will love and accept you as you are.

You just have to find them.

Those places are not here.

Will likely never be here.

Oh, you'll find a place or two that's tolerable, maybe.

But is tolerable enough to hang your whole life on.

So you go.

You write letters home from time to time.

Call a friend or two you left behind to ask after your people without having to deal with your people, if you know what I'm saying.

Maybe you come home to bury somebody who was dear to you.

Maybe you see your friends' familiar smiles pressed like the fingerprints of ghosts onto the faces of their children and grandchildren before the last of them forgets you or

is gone.

You can try to ignore it.

You can refuse to answer.

You can sit still and pretend you haven't heard its call, but if you stay in these mountains for any time at all, you will find yourself there

alone

far from the light of your own porch, your feet carrying you ever deeper into the velveteen night of these hills with a different voice in your ear,

one that sounds more like your own,

or the one you wished you had,

whispering,

run, child,

run like hell.

When the walls close in

and the light gets swallowed

and there ain't no place that feels like home

The ones you love

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 air

Well, hey there, family, and welcome to season five of Old Gods of Appalachia Run Like Hell.

This season, we'll be returning to our traditional anthology format with a variety of tales centered on one simple truth about living in a place like this.

Eventually when the hills seem to close in around you and there's not enough daylight to go around when you just can't stand it anymore, we've all tried to get out.

And sometimes that means we do indeed got to run like hell.

I am not alone here in the Void family.

I think I hear a familiar voice coming through the gloom.

Well, hey there, family.

I thought I'd pop over and join Steve for the premiere of this season that I know we are both very excited about.

And we hope you are too.

But that's not the only thing we're excited about.

I don't know if you've heard us shouting from the mountaintops over on social media lately, but we've launched our very own paid subscription service called The Holler.

Powered by Supercast, a platform designed from the ground up with podcasters and our listeners in mind, The Holler is replacing our Patreon as the one true destination for all of our exclusive storylines and extras, such as Build My My Coffin, Black Mouth Dog, The Door Under the Floor, and so much more.

It's all in a streamlined, well-organized format that folks who've already moved to the Holler have been really excited about.

If you've already moved to the Holler, we thank you for all those kind words and welcome you home.

If you're an existing Patreon member and you haven't made the move yet, it's quick and easy.

Just log into Patreon and look for the post titled A Friendly Reminder from Steve.

Listen to the audio message from yours truly and follow the instructions that Cam has so meticulously laid out for you.

You can ask questions if you need to and the good folks over at Supercast are standing by to help if you have any technical questions or need help getting moved on over.

And speaking of billing, you don't even have to figure out when your current Patreon subscription expires, then wait till that day to make the switch.

We know that's a huge pain to try to remember.

So Supercast is going to credit you the remaining time you have on Patreon to your new subscription with the holler.

Now I know what some of y'all are thinking, blah blah blah Cam.

I'm not on Patreon.

Well for those of you who haven't tossed your tithe in the offering plate yet, or maybe you used to subscribe, but you've been waiting for this new season to start, we got you.

You can head on over to oldgodsofappalachia.com slash theholler.

The link is right here in the show notes and join the family in the holler today.

It's so quick and easy to gain access to hours of exclusive content with just a few clicks.

Is that everything, Witch?

I know we had a lot to tell the family about today.

Did we remember everything?

I think we did.

And if we missed anything, well, we'll just post it on socials fam.

All right, then.

Once again, we are super excited to have you with us for season five, family.

We got miles to go before we sleep, and that sleep probably won't be easy or untroubled.

So let's go, y'all.

We'll talk to you soon, family.

Talk to you real soon.

Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the new game day scratches 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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