Episode 48: By Reason of Mine Affliction

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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.

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A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly.

Must be 18 years or older to purchase play or claim.

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

So listener discretion is advised.

In the sticky heat of the summer of 1941,

eyes and doors had begun to open in some of the darkest places in Appalachia.

In far-off Barrow, Pennsylvania, two cars departed from the big old house on Coal Hill loaded with enough firepower to besiege a small nation.

The impeccably dressed woman in the back seat

would not be caught unprepared again.

In Roanoke, Virginia,

the younger brother of a dead man jolted awake, soaked in sweat from a dream about his long-lost nephew.

Bolting from his bed, he ran for the telephone.

And in a place

that isn't a place at all, unless it wants to be,

something that had been waiting for many long years rose to its full towering height

and laughed.

A sound so carnal and full of hate, it would have scared the preacher from the pulpit and the saints right out of heaven and it befouled their holy ears.

Greta Amberge's death had pulled back a veil,

and the path to the children of men

stood open.

Meanwhile, in the mouth of a cave halfway up Lost Mountain, three children sat amongst the ghosts of others who had come before them and read their own histories.

scrawled across hitherto unknown pages in a too familiar hand.

A young girl with death in her touch traced her fingers morosely over drawings of innumerable monsters and fiends, muttering as she turned each over.

Dead.

Dead.

Nope.

Wrong.

No,

nope, not that one either.

Come on, Granny.

Occasionally shaking her head to still a ringing deep within it.

A smaller boy's fingers traced the edges of a dense gray envelope sealed with industrial strength glue.

The handwriting on the front was shaky and hurried, addressing its contents simply to the orphan lady.

Seeing it made his small eyes well with tears.

He shook his head and pushed it into the inner pocket of his coat in denial.

At that same moment, miles to the north, there was a rustling in the deeper wood that built to a thunder of running feet that shook the ground like the whisper of a summer storm before a flock of

something

took near flight.

Meanwhile, young Jonah Hellbender sat with a pile of paper on his lap stacked high enough to make the tax man jealous.

Each page was covered in Granny Amberge's neat script or Miss Laura's impatient scrawl.

and each detailed the things that might possibly be seeking the boy child that had come to them all those years ago.

There was a sketch of something that looked like a wolf walking upright on two legs like a man and all manner of boogers with the heads of mountain lions or bodies made of things that bodies ought not be made of like

worms

or teeth.

Of all these horrors, only two genuinely frightened Jonah.

Though he had no idea why

one

was a photograph of a smiling man in a simple suit.

There was a twinkle in his eye and a knowing smile upon his lips that chilled Jonah to the bone.

On the back of the photo, someone had scrawled, do not believe his lies.

Do not even talk to him.

It had been clipped to a page full of notes and warnings, including a lengthy string of aliases under the heading, he may call himself.

The other.

The The other he could not bear to look at for very long without feeling like he was about to piss his britches.

And that was just silly.

Unlike the others, it wasn't a monster at all.

It was a simple drawing of a critter he'd seen out in the woods hundreds of times.

No more than that.

Still.

Something about that picture just wasn't right.

Its eyes seemed to burn into him from the page, and it too was accompanied by a litany of careful notes that began under the sketch and continued across the back of the page.

Jonah turned it face down so the eyes couldn't watch him and skimmed the notes on the back.

There was a recurring theme to the dire predictions and warnings that Granny and Miss Laura and whoever else had taken the time to put down on paper.

These people or

beings or whatever else they were,

They wanted them.

The children that Granny had hidden away on her farm, they were worth something to these beings, which was more than Jonah could say for the people who had given him away to Granny Ambergie.

It was a powerful feeling.

Being wanted.

Being

valued.

The three teenagers stared at the pages spread out before them in silence for a long time.

None of them realizing how long it had been since they'd spoken aloud until Jonah startled them all by blurting out,

We should try to find one of them.

It says here they know things, secret things, and sometimes you can make a deal with them if you got something they want.

And it sounds like we've all got something they want.

So maybe they can tell me who I am, who my family is, or was at any rate.

Jonah, that is not a good idea.

The things in this book,

they're dangerous.

How would you know?

Because Granny said so?

Granny Ambergee lied, Rachel.

She lied to all of us.

She always said she never knew where I come from, and it's clear she knew a lot more than she let on.

These folks, the beings in her book, might know a lot more, or at least be able to point me in the right direction.

You can't trust these things.

They tell you what you want to hear.

They make you promises, but their gifts always come with strings attached.

You just...

You don't understand, Rach.

You knew your mama.

Rachel's eyes narrowed, and Jonah held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

I know you lost your ma real young, but at least you knew her.

You know where you come from.

I don't know anything about my people, Rach.

Don't you see?

They can still be out there, and I have to know.

And if not, well, hell.

At least maybe somebody or something wants me around.

Can help me figure out what to do next.

They say that knowledge is power, family.

And that's true enough so far as it goes.

But they also say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing and that power corrupts.

And young Miss Rachel.

Didn't like the gleam she saw in Jonah Helbender's eyes as he gazed upon the late Granny Amberge's Bible or whatever that wondrous tome was in truth, his desire for that knowledge contained amongst its pages, the naked hunger for it,

reminded her too much of some other folks she'd known in her few years on this earth.

She'd seen firsthand what those who sought power sometimes found at the end of that quest.

And she'd be damned before she saw her friend share their fate.

Reluctantly, she sighed and leaned forward, flipping back a couple of pages in Granny's book.

Fine then.

This one here?

It wants me.

You want to meet one of them things?

I can introduce you.

It's been hunting me for years.

These old hills call

for the blood of my body

A pound of flesh for a ton of coal

So down I

go

into a dark hell waiting

Where lungs turn black and hearts grow cold

And I'll take to the hills and run from the devil to the dying sun.

Something wicked by we comes

and treads off my friend into these shadows where the old drone

in those hills we die

alone.

Jonah regarded Rachel for a moment.

Skepticism writ clearly on his face.

She'd spun many an adventurous tale in the years he'd known her, but somehow this time was different.

Maybe it was the darkness that touched her eyes or the grim set of her mouth, which was most often quirked into a sly smile.

Rachel was a gifted storyteller and a born liar, but these words held the ring of truth.

Still, the question had to be asked.

Truly?

You're not just telling tales, Rachel Harlow or Fairchild or whatever your name is today?

He half expected her to take offense, but Rachel only nodded.

How?

Rachel gave a little half shrug and looked away.

I still hear its calls sometimes.

Hard as she tried to put a stop to it.

I know where it is.

Jonah nodded thoughtfully.

All right, then.

We'll go do this.

Thing you say calls you.

See what it has to say.

You in, Skeets?

Skeeters scowled.

Ain't no good going to come of this.

But he nodded all the same.

Nobody had much to say after that.

They nibbled on a scant meal of hard biscuits and a few strips of jerky, and then tamped down the lantern and settled down to rest.

Jonah slept poorly, eager to get on the road, waking every hour like a child on Christmas Eve, checking to see if it was time to open presents yet.

He had them all up at first light, Skeeter resentful of the intrusion on his rest, and Rachel resigned to the task ahead.

The route she charted would lead them out of Harbuckle South by way of Hazard, and then east by way of Route 15 before they crossed the mountain into Virginia.

It was a long way,

over 70 miles near she could reckon.

And so the trio of young folks hiked south along the road at a harbuckle with their thumbs out, hoping to catch a ride.

The sun was high and hot, and they were just outside a hazard by the time somebody stopped.

A farmer hauling about half a load of hay pulled to a stop and waved them over.

He eyed them a little nervously, but it was shaping up to be a real scorcher of a day, and he couldn't quite stomach the idea of letting three scraggly, half-starved-looking young'uns plod along the asphalt in it.

So he told them they could ride in the back, and the hay ought to make that ride a little more comfortable for him.

And they were in luck.

He could take him as far as Eagle Creek before he had to turn back.

Rachel smiled and thanked him for his kindness and climbed back into the back of the truck after the boys.

The hay proved reasonably comfortable, shielding them from the scalding metal truck bed, and the wind that whipped through their hair as the farmer trundled along Route 15 wicked the sweat from their brows.

As they rode along, Jonah plied Rachel with questions about the thing that had called to her, how she knew of it, why it wanted her.

With little else to pass the time, she began to tell them about her life before she'd come to Granny's farm.

Rachel's mother, Helena, had loved the Lord as much as she'd loved coaxing folks' hard-earned money out of their pockets.

And if she could combine the two passions, all the better.

Rachel's early childhood had been spent bouncing from one tent revival to the next, where her mama often played the role of faith healer, or medium.

or clairvoyant, hell, sometimes all three, whatever the prevailing winds called for.

Truth to tell helena did have a slight touch of the sight just enough to get by in her chosen profession the real talent in the family had been her own mama she said who had passed when she was still a teen

helena on the other hand had just enough of the sight to convince the unwary the grieving and the desperate that she could take away their pain foretell their bright and glorious future with just a touch of her hand, or put them in contact with family beyond the veil.

For the right prize, of course.

Packing her young daughter into the back of a beat-up old Ford, she plied her trade across the mountains of West Virginia, down the valleys of Eastern Kentucky, that little twinkle of the sight just accurate enough to keep her ahead of the folks she swindled.

Most of the time, anyway.

Then one day, Helena McCoy, as she styled herself at the time, attended a meeting of the disciples of the Holy Incarnation.

And nothing in Rachel's life would ever be the same.

The disciples adhered to a rather idiosyncratic interpretation of the scriptures, if you will, with regard to the Holy Trinity and the prophesied second coming of their Lord and Savior.

It was their belief that the child carried by Mary had been an ordinary boy, but with the assistance of the three wise men attendant upon his birth, had been groomed and prepared throughout his youth to become the perfect vessel for the Spirit of the Almighty.

A transformation that had occurred when Jesus wandered in the wilderness.

The test he had faced, they believed, was not administered by the devil, but by the Lord himself.

Once Jesus had proven himself a worthy vessel, the Holy Spirit had entered him, filling him with the divine power he would later wield.

The disciples regarded it as their sacred duty to prepare the next vessel.

ushering in the return of their God and the glorious rapture that would sweep his faithful up into heaven.

Or something to that effect.

It had never made much sense to Rachel, but but in Helena, that spark of an idea had caught fire.

The flame of her devotion kindled into a bonfire of fervent belief.

You see, the disciples, unlike many religious folk at the time, did not believe gender imposed any barrier on one's holy potential.

Male and female created he them and blessed them, so the good book says, and thus any of the Lord's children might bear his spirit when he returned.

At least if they were properly prepared.

And the disciples believed they knew just where to take their specially prepared young'uns to be divinely empowered.

As they sat sweating on narrow folding chairs beneath the suffocating drapery of the disciples' tent on that sweltering August day, Rachel felt the weight of her mother's regard.

If the Lord needed a vessel, Helena was certain that her daughter would be the one he chose for his holy works.

After all, Rachel had already begun to show signs of inheriting some form of her grandmother's gifts.

Surely she must be a more desirable vessel for the Lord than these

ordinary children.

So Helena set about ingratiating herself with the sect, learning everything she could about how best the children might be ready for this awesome responsibility.

There was, of course, daily Bible study.

There was a fitness regimen and a special diet.

The level of competition amongst the disciples had become obvious quickly.

All the parents convinced their child must be the chosen vessel.

No other could be more pure or devoted.

And Rachel's mama was swept up in the tide of righteous ambition.

Mama meant well.

But when she got an idea in her head, well,

she sometimes took things a little bit far.

As Rachel's mother charmed her way up the ranks of the church, she learned that each year, a group of young folks would be taken into the woods to seek the Holy Spirit and be tested.

She had convinced convinced the pastor that though they were new to the disciples, they were not new to the Lord's work, and her daughter was ready.

So on the appointed night, May Eve, she and Rachel gathered with the congregation's other two prospective vessels, a very young girl and boy, barely more than babies, and their parents on the edge of the woods and prepared to meet God.

Mother and daughter found themselves blindfolded and a length of cord tied around their waist that the pastor would use to lead them through the darkness.

Terrified, Rachel had clasped her mother's hand, and Helena squeezed it back, assuring her that she had nothing to fear.

The small assembly made their shuffling way through the brush, stumbling over unseen roots and tangled vines until they reached their destinations where the blinds were removed from their eyes and their bonds untied.

They stood in a small clearing at the mouth of a tunnel.

Not a cave, but clearly a tunnel hollowed out of rock into the side of the mountain

strange designs patterns of arcs and spirals and slashes had been carved into the stone and they could see the faint flicker of light from within

the pastor dropped humbly to his knees gesturing for the other disciples to follow and rachel nervously sank down next to helena her mother's hand trembled in hers and her face held an expression of fierce joy edged with a hint of desperation

The thing that emerged from the tunnel was quite clearly

not God.

Not the God of Abraham or any other mortal man.

Rachel's jaw dropped, her face slack and stunned with shock as the creature that the disciples had somehow come to venerate stepped from its cave.

Its voice was a cacophonous howl that rent the night air, leaving its assembled flock stunned and motionless.

And then it snatched up one of the other two children and the screaming

began.

To her credit, the woman currently known as Helena McCoy didn't hesitate.

She jolted to her feet, snatched her young daughter up in her arms, and ran.

Rachel speculated her mama must have been peeking during that long, slow walk into the woods because her step never faltered.

She led them unerringly through the darkness, straight back to the wide spot on the side of the road where they'd left their car.

There were shouts behind them, and Rachel could hear the sounds of someone or something

tearing through the underbrush behind them.

But Helena was quick and she had a head start.

She reached the old Ford before they could catch up to her, pushed Rachel across the bench seat through the driver's side door and slid in behind her.

Helena gunned the engine and tore off into the night, but by now whoever pursued them had caught up.

She did her best to lose them as the car swung wide around curves and nearly fishtailed on the hairpin turns of the twisty mountain roads, but every time she hit a straight stretch, they caught her up again.

The disciples of the Holy Incarnation were right on her tail as she drove onto a narrow old wooden bridge that spanned a steep ravine.

Signs at either end warned travelers that only one car was permitted to cross at a time.

Their pursuers did not heed this prohibition.

They were halfway across when they heard a tremendous crack.

The bridge swayed under them, and Helena's arm slapped protectively across her daughter's chest.

And then

they were falling.

When the bridge collapsed,

I cried for mama and I

held on tight.

When we hit the side of the embankment, the car flipped over and

kind of tumbled the rest of the way down.

When we finally fetched up at the bottom and the world stopped spinning,

she was...

I was just a kid.

And it only happened a couple of times before.

And I didn't understand how careful I had to be about

touching things, touching

people,

especially.

It's okay, Rach.

You don't have to tell us no more if you don't want to.

Granny liked to talk about our our gifts.

Some gift, huh?

For a long time I just sat in the car with mama.

What was

left of her?

Mostly just some bones and old rags.

Eventually when I got hungry enough I crawled out of the car and up to the road

started walking.

I was lucky.

Some nice folks found me, me, took me home with them.

Didn't take too long before they figured out how unlucky that was for them.

Rachel stared down at her hands and sighed.

The boys didn't press, and finally she went on.

I couldn't really control this

thing I can do

back then, and it started attracting attention.

To everyone's surprise, not least his own, Skeeter interrupted her tale, his face a mask of dread as he blurted out,

what was it the baby eater?

What?

No.

No, it was something different.

Something

closer to human, maybe?

Or at least better at pretending to be.

I started hearing voices calling to me from the woods out back of the house, or from the weeds when I started walking home from school.

I did my best to just ignore it.

Then it started happening when I was sleeping,

talking to me in my dreams.

One night I woke up and

me and little Nan,

I was their little girl.

I was sleeping in her room

or on the floor, and

the bed and all the covers were just

gone.

They were afraid I might hurt Nan and

so was I.

Anyway,

it was when I came to Granny Amberge's.

The three friends were silent for a long while after Rachel finished her story.

Eventually they came to the outskirts of a small town and a neatly painted sign welcoming them to Eagle Creek.

The farmer was kind enough to drive them into town and drop them off outside of Eagle Mercantile before continuing on his way.

From there, Rachel managed to hitch them a ride into Virginia with a tractor salesman who was heading from Eagle Creek to Prince's flat.

It had been a long, sweaty day by the time the trio reached Virginia.

The salesman gazed skeptically over the three with a furrow in his brow.

To be fair, they must surely be a stinky, grimy, bedraggled lot by now, and asked with some hesitation,

You kids are sure you'll be all right here?

You said your papa's sick.

I mean, I could run you all over to to the hospital.

It's not far from...

We'll be fine.

It's not far.

And, well,

I thought we might stop and get him a piece of candy or something, you know, to cheer him up.

Rachel glanced meaningfully toward the small drugstore on the corner, and the man nodded slowly.

Well, if you're sure, I mean, I could wait.

It's fine.

We appreciate you, kind, sir.

The salesman nodded and tipped his hat to her, like she was a real lady.

Even grimy and sweaty, with her hair windblown and tangled, Rachel had a way with folks, particularly men folk, that never failed to amuse Jonah.

Rachel smiled and waved as he stepped back into his truck.

She remained upright and smiling, watching the truck until it turned at the end of the street, and then she turned back to her friends.

It's not much farther now.

It was, in point of fact, a few more miles out of the hustle and bustle of Prince's flat, but when Jonah asked her about hitching another ride, Rachel said no.

No, they would walk.

Too tired to do much talking, the boys simply followed her, heading away from town and turning down a twisty gravel road that led into a narrow holler outside of town.

Trees stretched high overhead to either side of them, casting their path into deep shade.

The temperature dropped noticeably as they followed the narrow track deeper into the holler, the sweat cooling on their sticky skin.

The road led past a few tar paper shacks, some small but serviceable cabins set far back into the trees, and one swaying farmhouse with a rusty tin roof topped with a weather vane in the shape of a rooster.

Jonah had the distinct feeling of eyes upon them as he glanced up at it, spinning lazily, though the air was still and silent.

But they saw no one.

The sun was riding low on the ridge above them, limiting the tree branches in a fiery orange light by the time they reached their destination.

The road curved around a bend in some trickling tributary of the Powell River before a narrow wooden bridge, clearly constructed decades before, led across the creek, dead ending in a space wide enough to park a car or turn around, but nothing any sensible person might call a parking lot.

In the shadow of the woods, across an unkempt plot of tall grass, an abandoned church leaned against the trees.

It might have once been white, Jonah imagined, but most of its paint had peeled away long ago.

The exposed boards were gray and weathered now.

In the spaces, they weren't crawling with rot, that is.

Constructed unwisely on a mere mosquito bite of a rise in the holler bottom, the structure was all but sunk into the thick mulch of the swampy forest floor, a greenish-black mold crawling up its walls from the muck.

The door appeared to have once been painted red, a color that had, if anything, been deepened by the rot to a deep brownish shade, the color of clotted blood.

It sagged on its frame, but remained shut.

The glass and the church's windows were long gone, but for a single cracked triangular pane of stained glass high in the steeple.

Probably all his congregation could afford when it was built.

Jonah couldn't quite make out what it might have depicted.

It didn't look like a cross.

A star, maybe?

Or the sun?

Something on a red field, perhaps intended to match the door, but it was too damaged to make out.

A sudden rustling in the woods around them broke the silence, and the three teen startled.

Skeeter glanced around nervously.

Rach?

Rachel didn't answer him.

Her eyes never left the church.

There was a faint creak, and as they watched, the door swung open before them.

The thing that emerged from the den it had made inside the ruined church wore the shape of a man in a way that suggested it had hastily assembled a costume for a Halloween party it had forgotten about until the last minute.

A black overcoat hung long and loosely over limbs that seemed even draped in tattered wool to have too many sharp, angular joints.

The four claws that peeked from beneath the cuffs were long and multi-jointed and ended in talons.

Its head hung bulbous and bald on a neck that seemed too delicate to hold it.

Gray skin stretched over a skull mottled with darker spots of black and charcoal that disappeared up under the brim of a flat-top black felt hat.

And beneath the brim of the hat, its face

was covered with what looked like a death mask.

Crumbling white plaster going yellow with age, blank and expressionless.

The eyes that stared from its sockets were a piercing yellow, glowing like topaz floating in an inky black sclera, and they were alight with a cold ruthless intelligence

watching

weighing

assessing

Jonah had a passing thought that nothing escaped its notice and as that thought crossed his mind that gaze flickered briefly to him and it tipped its head in a sharp avian gesture of acknowledgement before it returned its attention to his friend

You will come at last.

When I heard the old witch had shuffled off this

mortal coil,

I hoped you might finally find your way.

Of course I did.

You called and called and called.

I thought you might never shut up.

And you brought guests.

Why don't you introduce me to your friends?

Never you mind them.

Your business is with me.

All right, then.

Business it is.

How might I help you today,

Madam?

I came to tell you to your face.

Leave me be.

As if you could walk away, my dear girl.

You were meant for me.

Your talent shines like a star in the night sky.

It only requires the proper

tutor to unlock your potential.

To be your puppet, you mean.

Emptied out like a husk to be your vessel.

Or just a snack?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, you

misunderstand

those

people your mother allied herself with allowed themselves to be manipulated by a pathetic bottom Vita with no real power, but you,

my girl, are made of standard stuff than that.

We could do glorious things together, you and I.

All you have to do

is take my

hand.

You sound like one of them traveling revival preachers.

I'll show you miracles, ladies and gents.

And all you have to do is believe in me.

And put your quarter in the collection plate.

Yes, I I can see those charlatans have damaged your faith.

And I must say, I do understand.

Those people, well, exactly the sort who killed your mother after all.

Oh, no, no, no.

I know what happened to your poor dear mama.

You need not recollect, no doubt, painful memories on my account.

I know the whole sad, sordid tale, and I can help you there.

My mama's dead.

Ain't no power on earth can bring her back.

So I don't see any way you could help.

No, no, sadly she

is beyond our reach.

But I do know where

they

are.

And I can take you to them

and you can make them answer for their crimes my dear girl we can make them beg

your forgiveness whether you grant it of course is

up to you

and then

and then what

and then what happens after i get my revenge on those people

what comes next

What do you want from me?

And then, on and then well then

my dear girl, it's on to the next

and with my help

You will bring this world to its knees

The world

Tough luck for you.

I don't want the world

The one thing I want is that I can get my own mama back.

And you admitted you can't do that.

The only other thing

I want is for you to shut up.

I haven't had a good night's sleep since Granny died, and I'm sick to death of the sound of your voice.

Before she could second-guess herself or question her control over her gift, Rachel ran straight toward the thing in the suit, barreling into it at top speed.

She plunged her hands into the folds of its coat, grasping for flesh, for something made of solid organic matter that she could break down into its component parts.

The creature laughed as her hands found nothing but fabric.

Its body seemed to twist and writhe away from her touch, the material of the coat itself slithering into her way as if it had a mind of its own.

And then it grasped her by the neck with one taloned hand.

Nails digging into the tender flesh of her throat as it lifted her up, holding her at arm's length, her hands scrabbling furiously at its coat sleeve as she struggled for breath.

Let her go!

Skeeter bolted across the grass and leapt onto the thing's back, climbing it like a tree, his voice rising in a piercing siren of a scream, a sonic assault like nothing Jonah had ever heard before as he rained blows down upon it with his fists.

Jonah clamped his hands over his ears, his eyes watering, his thoughts a whirl of confusion and pain.

He needed to help them.

But to do that, he needed this pain to stop.

He needed.

He needed.

And somewhere inside him,

Jonah Helbender felt a familiar

stirring.

From the depths of his jumbled, half-formed memories, an image surfaced, or

more of a feeling, really.

He had a need,

and it would be answered.

Whether he was hungry, or his diaper needed tending, or he was just bored, all he had to do

was call.

All he had to do

was reach out.

All he had to do

was unlock a door.

Boy,

what are you doing?

The thing that wore the trappings of a man bellowed as it slung Skeeter off its back.

The skinny boy flew across the clearing, landing in a heap at the base of a gnarled oak tree.

His cacophonous wail was cut off abruptly.

Rachel slumped to the ground as it released her, its prey all but forgotten as it turned toward Jonah with a bellow of rage and maybe

something else.

Some other emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Was it

fear?

Jonah turned to face the thing.

Whatever memory he'd stumbled into slipping away as the ringing in his ears faded and his thoughts began to clear, the creature loomed over him.

Jonah bawled his hands into fists, ready to fight when the creature

screamed.

He looked down and saw that Rachel had clamped a hand onto its ankle while it was distracted, its focus solely on Jonah.

Her deadly hands forgotten, shuddering and screaming, it fell to the ground, kicking, trying its best to sling her off, but Rachel's grip was tight.

And beneath the tattered black coat, disjointed shapes buckled and writhed.

And then suddenly it exploded, a burst of tattered rags and dust and

bursts.

A screeching cloud of tattered ink-black wings burst from what had been its body, and most of them arrowed off into the trees.

A scattered fuse circled the clearing, cawing resentfully down at them before vanishing after their brethren.

Neither Jonah nor Rachel said anything for a moment.

Shocked and catching their breath in the ensuing silence.

And there was a soft soft moan as Skeeter began picking himself up from where he lay at the base of the tree.

Skeets, you okay, buddy?

Skeeter flashed Jonah a thumbs up as he rubbed his sore head.

Remembering his manners, Jonah hurried over to Rachel and offered her a hand up, which she accepted.

Dusting herself off, she stared up at him sourly.

You see what I mean now, Jonah?

These things.

All they want to do is to to use us.

You can't trust a word they say.

I never said nothing about trusting them.

I'm saying we have something they want and they can give us things we want.

But, Joe, Joel.

Admit it, Rach.

Didn't it feel good just for a minute to hold that sort of power over him?

Look at you.

Look at what you did.

He wasn't wrong.

You do have potential.

Just think of what you could do with that if you could learn how to use it.

Rachel didn't have a good answer for that.

For once, she didn't have anything to say at all.

The three friends regrouped at the center of the abandoned churchyard.

Looking back at the ruined church, Jonah noticed that its door had swung shut again.

Rachel glanced at it grimly and then turned away.

Come on, let's get out of here.

I got got an idea about somebody else out of Granny's book we might want to talk to.

Rachel sighed and nodded, and they headed back across the bridge toward the road.

After a moment, Jonah realized Skeeter had fallen behind, and he glanced back and saw their friend lingering just on the other side of the bridge, staring back into the rapidly darkening woods.

Skeeter?

The skinny boy startled, turning back to them and flashing another thumbs up.

Jonah peered into the trees past the church,

but he saw nothing.

Near as he could tell, the woods were silent and still.

He shrugged,

and the three friends turned back toward the road.

We laid my mama to rest.

The ridge bowed its head and I tattooed her name on the top of my wrist.

Well, six feet too low when her heart becomes cold.

We'll sniff out her bones and say how bright she glows.

See, I hear that time is a cold hammer's blow,

and the days in this holler are caskets to close.

Well, I watch the sun sink and pray it may rise,

and hope in the tales I keep buried in my mind

Of panthers on

the mountains inside

the freedom that comes and knowing you're by

Well I sharpen my teeth, pray my nails become close

to finally dig out of this hole

we've always called home

Well, hey there, family.

Well, that was a big old bite of a road trip courtesy of our mistress of the ever-loving darkness, Cam Collins.

Give it up for Cam.

Now, you can count on these last few episodes to be on the deluxe side of things, size-wise, just because we only have two more episodes remaining in season three.

What waits in the distance for our young wayfaring strangers?

What forces have been set into motion to meet them?

I guess you're going to have to come back next time and find out, ain't you?

Family, we want to thank everybody here who's completed their social media ritual by following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Because y'all did some serious real-world good by donating to the Eastern Kentucky Mutual Fund when we pushed out requests for mutual aid the past couple of weeks.

And those folks are ever so grateful for your assistance.

Cam and I are so proud of the family that this show has cultivated.

And we love that y'all look out for each other as much as you've looked out for us by supporting us on Patreon, via our merch store, or coming out to the live shows.

Thank you all for being decent, folk.

We see you and we appreciate you.

And this is your saying it real loud so the people in the back can hear us.

Reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of and is owned and operated by Deep Nerd Media, distributed by Rusty Quill.

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

Our intro music is by Brother Landon Blood.

Our outro music is by Brother John Charles Dwyer, and it is available on our band camp.

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.