Episode 19: Where the Sun Never Shines

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Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

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

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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.

Hey, I'm Paige DeSorbo, and I'm always thinking about underwear.

I'm Hannah Berner, and I'm also thinking about underwear, but I prefer full coverage.

I like to call them my granny panties.

Actually, I never think about underwear.

That's the magic of Tommy John.

Same, they're so light and so comfy, and if it's not comfortable, I'm not wearing it.

And the bras, soft, supportive, and actually breathable.

Yes, Lord knows the girls need to breathe.

Also, I need my PJs to breathe and be buttery soft and stretchy enough for my dramatic tossing and turning at night.

That's why I live in my Tommy John pajamas.

Plus, they're so cute because they fit perfectly.

Put yourself on to Tommy John.

Upgrade your drawer with Tommy John.

Save 25% for a limited time at TommyJohn.com/slash comfort.

See site for details.

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

So listener discretion is advised.

The sun was just peeking over the mountains and Marcy Walker was already up.

Had been up in fact for a good while now.

She'd fed the chickens and collected eggs.

She'd turned the horses out in the backfield and mucked out their stalls.

She'd walked the property line to check the wards.

And just now she was settling in at her kitchen table with a biscuit, a cup of coffee, and the newspaper.

Thus began every morning at the Walker house, barring some sort of special circumstance, and Marcy liked it that way.

She liked this quiet time to herself before the day really got going, and she never knew what life might bring to her door.

This day brought trouble early, just as soon as she opened the paper, in fact.

There on the front page was a face she recognized.

Corale Tilly, juxtaposed next to a photo of the monster she'd married, underneath the headline, local woman questioned in husband's murder.

Corale?

She couldn't possibly, Marcy thought.

A year or so back, Bonnie Ward had brought Corale to the Walker house for sanctuary.

Surely no one really thought that young woman had murdered her husband.

As she read through the gruesome details of the crime, a grim suspicion began to form in Marcy's mind.

When she finished reading the article, she folded up the newspaper and went to the phone and dialed the sheriff's office.

Andy, this is Marcy Walker.

I just read in the paper about what happened to Frank Tilley.

Terrible crime, yeah.

I assure you the Sheriff's Department has the matter firmly in hand, Miss Walker, Sheriff Hodge replied.

I'm sure you think think you do.

The reason I'm calling is I'd like to know the current disposition of Miss Tilly.

Excuse me, ma'am?

Corale Tilly.

It says here that she is, oh, how do they phrase it?

Oh, yes, being questioned as a person of interest in the murder of her husband.

I don't see how that's any of your concern, Marcy.

You know very well that the well-being of the women in this county is always a matter of my concern, Andy Hodge.

Is Miss Tilly in your custody at this time?

I

well,

you know I'm not at liberty to give out that sort of information.

I'll take that as a yes.

Has Miss Tilly retained an attorney?

Why?

Damn it, she ain't asked for one, and she's not under arrest.

Not not yet, anyway.

Now you see here, Marcy, you just need to stay out of this.

This is police business.

I thought that might be the case.

Thank you, Sheriff.

I know someone who can help.

There's a lawyer over in Boone who I think I could convince to represent her.

Owes me a favor.

You should expect a visit later today, tomorrow morning at the latest.

You tell Coralie not to worry about a thing.

so I'll follow

No time to rest these weary balls

I hear

a song

And my heart goes hollow

Best not to walk these boards alone

Best stick to the roads out of the shadow

Best get on home

Let's go

and go straight.

It would take the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon for Melvin to drive over to Boone, North Carolina, and fetch the attorney Marcy hoped would come all the way to Baker's Gap to represent Corale Tilley.

DL was an accomplished criminal defense lawyer who also specialized in divorces.

And Marcy happened to know that DL was also licensed to practice law in Tennessee because she had called upon that esteemed barrister a number of times to assist the women who passed through the Walker House in divesting themselves of their unwanted husbands.

But although Marcy had provided a fairly steady stream of clientele, their relationship was

not on as solid a footing as she would have liked.

There was history there, and she didn't especially look forward to their meeting today.

There was nothing for it, though.

Frank Tilley had managed to inflict one last indignity upon his wife with his death, and now Corale needed the type of help that only skilled legal counsel could provide.

And so Marcy aired out one of the spare bedrooms, changed the linens, and brought in some fresh firewood.

She swept and mopped and generally kept herself occupied so she didn't think too hard on this meeting until she judged Melvin would be returning with the lawyer soon and started making lunch.

Ham and biscuits, soup beans and cornbread.

She timed it right as she always did.

Everything was ready and warm on the stove, and Marcy was setting the table when she heard Melvin's truck pull into the driveway and around back of the house.

A couple minutes later, she heard Melvin's heavy footsteps on the stairs as he and their guests came in the kitchen door behind her.

We're back, Miss Marcy.

Where do you want these bags?

Put them up in the blue bedroom, please, Melvin, Marcy told him.

I've got it all ready.

The attorney,

known as D.L.

Walker, which stood for Douglas Lillian, one of Sheila Walker's three youngest girls, followed Melvin into the kitchen.

Having no interest in the family business, D.L.

had gone off to read the law with an attorney who had once been a client of their mother's as soon as she was old enough to leave home.

Sheila was only too happy to see her daughter into a career in the legal profession.

In her business, one occasionally had the need of a skilled attorney and one who wouldn't try to refuse her cash in favor of an alternative means of payment.

Sheila firmly believed in paying for services received and operated a cash-only establishment.

As she always advised new customers, this is not a lending institution, honey.

We do not offer credit.

You pay your tab before you leave, or you don't leave.

Not on your feet, anyway.

By the time DL had passed the bar, of course, times had changed for the Walker sisters, but Marcy found she still had need of her sister's services from time to time

relations between the two had grown somewhat strained in recent years but it was good to see her all the same

today dial had pinned her long red hair up under a brown felt hat and wore a tweed vest and tie over a white blouse brown skirt and sensible shoes under a fashionable cape jacket From her hat to her shoes to the serious expression on her pretty face, she looked every inch the stern legal professional And Marcy, being her big sister, couldn't resist teasing her just a bit.

Marcy grinned.

Hey, Dougie.

DL narrowed her eyes at the use of the childhood nickname, but she didn't rise to the bait.

Instead, in typical Dougie fashion, she got right to the point.

She lifted the newspaper she was carrying.

a copy of the same paper Marcy had been reading that morning, which she had helpfully sent along with Melvin.

Marcy,

what is this?

Why am I here?

Marcy held up her hands in surrender.

Won't you sit down?

I'll explain over lunch.

DL rolled her eyes, but she took off her hat and coat and hung them up on the coat rack in the corner.

She fetched herself a glass of sweet tea from the icebox and sat down at the table.

A few minutes later, Melvin joined them, and Marcy began to tell her sister about the young woman she had brought her here to represent.

Corale had been born Corale Trent to a small and very poor family with a tiny farm out in Lee County, Virginia.

Frank Tilley was a local man who worked in the rail yard and ran moonshine up north on the side.

And if it weren't for the bootlegging, he never would have crossed paths with that unfortunate young woman.

But Frank had met her daddy buying grain for some of the moonshiners he worked with.

He saw the man's pretty young daughter on the farm the first time he visited, and after a few visits, he'd asked for her hand.

Coralee's daddy knowing nothing of Frank's reputation back in Johnson County and possibly thinking the match might help improve his business connections had given his blessing.

Corale hadn't exactly been forced to marry Frank.

Her parents weren't that sort of people, but she'd keenly felt the relief it would provide them to lift the burden of one more mouth to feed.

So she'd gone along with what her daddy seemed to want.

The two were married.

And Frank had brought his 18-year-old bride back to Baker's Gap with him seven years ago.

It had been seven years spent in hell for Coralie.

Frank Tilly had dropped any veneer of civility or decency by the time she crossed the threshold of the ramshackle farmhouse on the edge of the pine woods.

She had lived in constant, well-reasoned fear.

Frank rarely allowed her to leave the property, only to attend church on Sundays, which they did without fail, carefully carefully layering makeup over bruises or wearing a hat with a veil, not that it did much good.

Everybody knew what was going on in that house, but no one said a word to Frank or lifted a finger to help that poor girl.

At least not until last year when Corale didn't appear at church one Sunday and Bonnie Ward, the wife of the man who ran the local illicit drinking establishment, had taken it upon herself to drive up to the Tilley farmhouse and check on the young woman.

To her great fortune, Marcy was sure Frank was not home at the time.

Who knows what might have happened if he had been?

Bonnie found Corale in a terrible state, bruised and battered and sore, barely able to leave her bed, and she had convinced the girl to allow Bonnie to drive her to the Walker house.

Marcy and Ellie had taken care of Corale for a day or two, tended her wounds, and dried her tears, and over the course of that time they'd heard the whole long, sorry tale.

It was a story with which they were already quite familiar, if not in its particulars at least the broadstrokes.

They'd heard it from many of the women who passed through their doors, some of whom DL had also helped obtain divorces, which was no easy feat.

But she went back to him?

DL asked, frowning.

Marcy sighed.

Coralie was not one of our success stories, I'm afraid.

Frank found out where she she was and somehow come looking for her.

She didn't think we could protect her.

She didn't understand about the wards, and I guess she thought all we could do was shoot him.

She shrugged.

You have to understand, Coralie was raised a real good Christian girl.

She didn't understand the other ways we could protect her.

And she didn't want any part of killing a man, even him.

She was quite clear on that.

And he told her what they always do.

It'll be worse for you if you don't come now, and threatening me and Ellie, too, and all that.

And so she went.

I hadn't seen her since I saw her picture in the paper this morning.

Well, Marcy, no matter what she might have said then, it wouldn't be the first time a woman reached the end of her tolerance for a bad man and just

snapped, DL suggested gently.

Did you read the details of the crime?

The man was 6'4 ⁇ if he was an inch.

Not to mention, it sounds like his head was ripped clean off.

There's no way that little gal could have physically done this, no matter how mad she was.

Much less make the rest of his body and most of a train crew disappear.

I'll give you that.

The circumstances are strange.

It's more than just strange, Dougie.

DL held up a hand.

Stop.

I've told you before, Marcy.

I don't want anything to do with haints and boogers and other mystical nonsense.

I deal in things I can prove.

I know, and I've done my best to respect your wishes, but listen to me, Dougie.

You need to hear this.

I don't think you can help your client if you don't understand what's happening here.

I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was important.

DL rolled her eyes again and sighed.

Fine, go ahead.

It's the seventh year, Dougie.

Not just of Coralee's time in Baker's Gap.

It's the seventh year of the cycle.

And this year, we're told the ritual failed.

She walks.

I know you haven't forgotten what I'm talking about, and you won't find this in the newspaper, but Andy Hodge's sister told me the witness they mentioned, the one who said he saw a dark-haired woman kill Frank Tilley, was babbling something about the dark earth when they found him at the scene.

So was Corale when she stumbled out of the woods.

So gossip and ghost stories, that's supposed to help me in some way?

Marcy sighed.

Just keep it in mind.

It may help you and me.

Make some sense of the things you hear.

I need you here to help Corale stay out of prison.

I know this town, Dougie.

This is an ugly matter that's brought to light a lot of things they don't want to talk about.

They just want to sweep it back under the rug, and if they have to railroad this poor girl to do it, they will.

She's got no family here.

We're the only ones who will help her.

Fine.

I'll go speak to Miss Tilly, but I can't make you any promises, Marcy.

She may refuse my help, you know, and that's her right.

Fair enough.

I appreciate it.

The Johnson County Sheriff's Office in late autumn of 1927 was not a large affair.

It was situated in a former storefront with wide windows facing the road, two desks out front, and a small cell in back, which functioned mostly as a drunk tank on those occasions Andy Hodge deemed necessary.

Mainly when somebody got too rowdy over at Bill and Arnie's and Andy reckoned they were better off not inflicting that foolishness on their poor families.

Frank Tilley had spent some time there,

though maybe not enough in hindsight, as had the witness to his last moments Jeremiah Silcox

it was late afternoon

golden light and long shadows slanting through the street facing windows when D.

L.

Walker stepped through the front door

the sheriff sat at his desk painstakingly filling out a report regarding everything Corale Tilley had told them which didn't amount to much.

That would later be typed up for him by his wife, Sherry Hodge.

She sat at the second desk where she answered phones, assisted with paperwork, coordinated schedules, and generally kept the office running in semi-organized fashion.

DL walked up to the receptionist desk and presented her business card.

Excuse me, DL Walker, to see Mrs.

Tilly.

I believe I'm expected.

Sherry Hodge raised her eyebrows at the business card and then called out, Uh, Sheriff, that lawyer you said to expect for Core Lee is here.

Andy Hodge glanced up from his paperwork and blinked.

DL had gotten used to this reaction.

Even if people knew to expect a woman, it seems they never quite expected her.

She wasn't sure what they were expecting, but it clearly wasn't confident, iron-willed, pretty Douglas Walker.

More fool them.

Pretty was a weapon.

And growing up in Miss Sheila Walker's house, DL had learned that it was one of the strongest in a woman's arsenal, even if her chosen field of battle happened to be a court of law.

Um, can I

can I help you, miss?

The sheriff stammered.

Yes, you can, a DL Walker, attorney at law.

I'm here to see Coralie Tilly.

I understand you have her in your custody.

Concerned friends have asked me to represent her.

Andy Hodge frowned.

I'm not sure if what, Sheriff?

If a woman can practice law?

I assure you, we can.

The first woman was admitted to the bar in this country in 1869 and in yours, fine state, in 1897.

Although y'all didn't let her actually practice for another decade.

And although I live in Boone, North Carolina, I am, in fact, a member in good standing of the Tennessee State Bar myself.

I I was saying I'm not sure I can let you see her now.

It's getting late in the day and we gotta head on home.

Are you denying her counsel, Sheriff Hodge?

I assure you, I'm how long has Miss Tilly been in your custody?

When was the last time she was offered food or water?

Finally, in a rare public display of impatience, Sherry Hodge intervened.

She was usually careful of her husband's position.

She never wanted to be seen to undermine his authority, but this was ridiculous.

Oh, Andy, stop being so obstinate for the sake of it, she sighed.

To D.L., she explained, I'm going to assume you're Marcy's sister, right?

He just thinks she stuck her nose where it don't belong.

The sheriff gave his wife a sour look, but he sighed and reached for his keys.

Fine, he said.

Yes, Miss Tilly is in her custody, and you can speak with her if she agrees to speak with you.

She's not asked for a lawyer herself, mind, and if she says no, that's it.

Her friends can send you to offer, but they can't make her accept.

Yes, of course.

Is Miss Tilly under arrest?

At this time, Sheriff Hodge.

She is not.

She's merely being held for questioning and for her own protection.

If Miss Tilly is a witness to this crime, I'm concerned that the perpetrators might seek to do her harm, ma'am.

I understand her friend's concerns.

I truly do.

But believe me, when I say I'm doing what I think is best here.

DL could understand his position, though she certainly didn't agree with it.

From the sheriff's perspective, in keeping Coralie locked up, he was either protecting the community from a vicious killer or protecting a valuable witness who might be eliminated by a vicious killer or killers.

That didn't make what he was doing right

or legal.

And she planned to do whatever she could to get the young woman out of here as she followed Andy Hodge back behind the desks, past the cell, and down a narrow set of stairs.

The room Corale had been confined in must have served as storage at some point.

It was small and cold with no windows and only a bare bulb overhead to provide light.

It held a table, two chairs, and a cot.

And when Andy Hodge opened the door, they found Corale curled up on the cot under a quilt.

At least they provided her that, DL thought.

Miss Tilly, this is the lawyer Marcy Walker said word about, the sheriff told her.

Are you willing to speak with her?

Coralee surveyed DL from her position on the cot.

Her dark eyes were haunted, and she looked exhausted, but she smiled.

A lady lawyer, huh?

Well, ain't that a kick?

Sure, I'll talk to her, Sheriff.

Do you need to use the lavatory, or need a drink of water, or anything else first?

DL asked her, wondering how long she'd been locked up down here alone, but Corale just shook her head.

You're sure you're all right alone, ma'am?

the sheriff asked, but DL assured him she'd be fine.

All right, then, just knock if you need anything.

And Andy Hodge backed out the door, closing and locking it behind him.

DL held out her hand.

I'm DL Walker.

I'm an attorney from Boone, but I'm also licensed to practice in Tennessee.

Marcy Walker is my sister.

She asked me to come speak with you.

Corale nodded and shook DL's hand hesitantly.

Then she pulled herself from the cot, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders before settling into one of the chairs at the small table.

DL took a seat across from her.

Coralie was very pale, and DL could still see the ghost of a bruise on one of her cheeks.

She could also see why her sister had argued that Coralie could not have physically committed the crime.

She was too small, too thin, and not with the wiry sort of strength you found in farm girls.

Coralie looked like she might blow away in a strong wind.

DL didn't like to speculate about why, but she knew she might need those details and more before all this was over.

How are you holding up?

Coralie chuckled.

Well, they haven't been at me with rubber hoses, if that's what you mean.

Well, that's good to hear.

Although, Miss Tilly, if they haven't charged you with a crime, they can't hold you indefinitely.

I'm not sure if you know that.

If you'd like me to represent you, and that's your choice, you don't have to say yes just because Marcy sent me.

I can work on getting you set free.

I don't think you want to represent me.

I don't see why I shouldn't.

I don't like seeing innocent people sent to prison, and my sister assures me you wouldn't have murdered your husband, and I trust her judgment.

Why don't you tell me what happened?

Corale gave another sad little chuckle.

You wouldn't believe me if I did.

DL settled into her chair and turned on the charm.

It was her own special gift.

Perhaps not as exciting as those of some of the Walker women, but it had served her well over the course of her career.

You see, Douglas Walker was the kind of person people just loved to spill their secrets to,

and she always knew if they spoke the truth.

Oh, I believe a lot of things, Coralie.

You know who my sisters are.

I know you know the family reputation.

Why don't you try me?

Coralie looked at her for a long moment, seeming to search her face for something,

some confirmation that DL could be trusted.

And then

she told her

everything.

There is a curse upon my everywhere

and I cannot

escape

the darling.

Hey there, family.

And thus concludes the second chapter of Act II of season two, wherein we meet D.L.

Dougie Walker, attorney at law.

We told y'all on the Discord in a few different places y'all would be meeting a new Walker sister this season and lo and behold here she is.

I'm not sure if she's what you're expecting but promise you she's one of my favorite characters to roll out of Cam Collins' evil head in a minute so I'm really hoping y'all are enjoying this so far.

We have a whole lot of exciting things almost ready to emerge into the light.

And if you want to keep up with those, head on over to old godsofappalachia.com where you can join us on Facebook, instagram twitter even jump on that discord server which is not limited to patreon patrons it's open to everybody and if you want to become a patreon patron you can unlock secrets on the discord And speaking of the Patreon, if you would like to toss your tithe upon our altar of birch and elm in the darkest woods, you can do that over at patreon.com slash old gods of Appalachia.

We just dropped the second part of The Door Under the Floor, an exclusive brand new two-part series written by Cam Collins, featuring the voice talents of Aaliyah Johnson, Brandon Sartain.

Episode one has those two fantastic folds, plus Allison Mullins and Betsy Puckett as well.

And speaking of all those folks, all 17 episodes of Build Mama a Coffin are still available on Patreon for patrons subscribing at $10 and more.

We are working our hardest to create new digital programming, some new nonfiction programming, and exciting things coming to the Patreon.

And we are now partnering with some suppliers who you're going to hear about in the very near future to help us get some goodies into your hands in the very near future.

If you follow us on Twitter, you know about Squirrel and Grub, who you can find at squirrelandgrub.com, who are going to be making some snazzy custom stuff for us.

And then another partnership that you may or may not have heard about earlier in this episode that has some exciting things coming for you.

That's all I'm going to say there.

Patreon.com/slash old gods of Appalachia.

Any amount helps.

It all makes this dream possible.

possible.

Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media.

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

Our intro music was by our brother Landon Blood.

Keep feeling better, Landon.

And our outro music is, of course, by those poor bastards.

We'll see you soon, family.

See you real soon.

you

for

our

straight

darkness.