Episode 90: When the Darkness Comes

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Old Gods of Appalachia.

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

So, listener discretion is advised.

Inside a darkened music hall in Knoxville, Tennessee, bass throbbed and bodies swayed as a band from about an hour and a half east of the city poured their hearts into a set that they knew could land them bigger and better shows outside their small-town home.

If they played their best, if the right people just happened to be in the crowd that night, who knew what could happen.

The night was young and the crowd was hot and anything seemed possible to both the talent on stage and the young folks dancing to their tune.

Down in the pit, Denise Raimi closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift, lost in the music.

In the sweaty press of bodies against her own, the lingering scent of clove cigarettes woven into lace and velvet and denim, her constant nagging anxieties about the looming specter of an unknowable future receded to the back of her mind, carried away on a tide of something like bliss.

Or as near to that feeling as a teenage girl from rural Appalachia had ever known at any rate.

Pressed against her shoulder, her cousin Micah's body nearly vibrated as the energy of the show washed over him.

The shared breath of what seemed like a thundering horde of kids just like him swept all his worries and troubles away like a dark and glorious river.

The band, Foxhole Atheist, was not his favorite.

He'd heard a couple of their songs on a mixtape one of Denise's friends in Paradise had mailed her a couple of months back.

The parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper, had included several zines from the Tri-Cities in Knoxville and two clear cassette tapes that were packed with songs from both local and nationally known underground artists.

The guys in Foxhole were older and represented a grimier, glammier era of the scene that seemed to be on its way out as the 90s rolled in.

Their frontman, Kurt, never wore a shirt on stage and slung his long, thinning, perpetually wet hair around like a windmill between bursts of vocals that sounded like a cross between Iggy Pop and Glenn Danzig.

As far as loud garage rock went, they were fine.

But they were also three dudes who had obviously started a band for the oldest and most stereotypical of reasons.

To get laid.

The crowd at the Mercury were eating them up.

Micah held on to the edge of the stage as the pit surged around them.

A dozen or so punks with varying degrees of body odor had spun up a whirling dervish of a circle pit.

A big boy with a towering Elmer's glue mohawk stumbled backwards into the Raimi cousins, and together they pushed him back into the action, laughing as he vanished into the maelstrom.

Micah caught Denise's eye and she grinned back at him, and he saw the fierce joy in his heart reflected in her shining eyes.

In that moment, Micah had never felt more grateful for his cousin.

Dee Dee had never failed to accept him for who he was.

When his mom didn't understand him and his dad called him every slur you can call a boy who isn't into girls, Denise had offered him a place to sleep, a place to be safe, and most importantly, a place to belong.

Here in this seedy little box of a club, he could see his people all around him.

And for once, the skin he was born in actually felt like his own.

There were other kids like him, dressed in tight black final pants, mesh and fishnets and lace, boys and eyeliner and black lipstick.

Among this crowd, it didn't seem to matter that much whether you were straight or gay or something in between.

Over by the bar, a girl in a Joy Division T with a mass of dyed black hair teased into a stunning death hawk was holding hands with a pixie-like blonde in a long velvet dress, the air between the two girls all but crackling with the electricity of their flirtation.

Just past them, two of the prettiest men Micah had ever seen lounged casually against the bar, both shirtless in black leather pants and heavy boots.

The taller one in studded wristband stood behind the shorter man, his arms wrapped around his partner's waist, the two of them swaying to the music like they were slow dancing at prom.

Micah blushed and tore his gaze away, his mama's voice in his head admonishing him that it was rude to stare.

He'd just never seen people so open about who they were and who they loved before.

He knew who he was, and if you listen to his daddy, how he was, and that flew in the face of every bit of raisin that had been drilled into him at church and at home.

Micah had tried to be who his parents wanted him to be.

He'd gone to church, said his prayers, and hoped one day he'd wake up as somebody different,

somebody easier to be,

somebody his his parents would actually respect and love.

The older he got, though, the more he realized he was who he was, and that was that.

His parents would never accept it.

His Aunt Debbie might be able to stomach it if she didn't have to see it or think about it.

Denise and her older brother Bradley, though, they had always loved him just as he was.

Had Lori and Brendan to the mix, and he had a whole family of people who were willing to stand between him and the judgmental hypocrites of the world until he was able to stand on his own.

And speaking of Lori and Brendan, Micah was beginning to wonder where they'd gotten off to.

Just as he craned his neck to peer into the crowd, the kid with the Mohawk cycled through to collide with them again.

This time he and Denise saw it coming, and the two of them stepped aside, allowing the Liberty Spike Comet to spin off into the crowd.

Micah glanced at Denise in wide-eyed surprise at their unplanned cooperation, and the two of them burst out laughing.

Before she could stop him, Micah hugged Denise hard and yelled into her ear over the thrumming bass line, Thank you!

Denise was taken aback for a second.

He knew she wasn't the hugging type.

She opened her mouth to tell him to get off her, but then thought better of it and hugged the little gooseball back.

This was going to be a night to remember.

She just knew it.

When the walls close in

and the light gets swallowed

And there ain't no place that feels like home

The ones you love

turn into strangers

And you cast your eyes to the winding road

Keep your foot on the gas, your eyes straight forward Clear your heart and mind

Best leave them ghosts behind

When the hearth grows cold and home is nowhere Then you might as well

When darkness calls run like hell

On the opposite side of the crowd from her new friend, Miranda Coffey felt more alive than she had since she was turned.

In the outside world, even when they were dancing their bloody way across the city like spilled wine on a linen tablecloth, her daily existence was an exercise in remaining unseen by the living world.

The parties, the ritualized feeding, the hunting and procuring of fresh prey, all of it had to be carried out cautiously, hidden in the shadows.

It was exhausting.

Here at the merc, the room was alive with vibrant, pulsing darkness, and no one would notice notice another girl who looked a little too pale, her teeth a little too sharp.

They would all assume it was just fashion, and for a few hours, she could relax.

In front of the stage, a small sea of black leather, velvet, denim, and latex whirled in the frenzied ritual of the mosh pit.

As she watched, a kid they all called Moondog whirled into Denise and Micah where they stood near the stage, and Miranda grinned as the two teenagers shoved the Mohawk menace back into the frame.

They looked like they were having the time of their lives.

On stage, the singer howled his guts out while his bandmates, on twice his size, laid down a nasty groove.

She'd never seen Foxhole Atheists live before, but my kid loved them.

They had that leather pants, hip-shaking swagger that was alluring when they performed, but downright gross when they tried to get your number after the show.

She bet the singer smelled like skull and beer sweat.

In the pit, Moondog made another pass at her new friends, and Miranda cackled with delight as they dodged out of the way, sending the bigger boy sprawling into a gap in the crowd where he collided with the man who was clearly not looking to join in the fun.

Her smile faded as he tossed the young Krusty aside with an ease that most folks would probably attribute to the skilled use of momentum.

Miranda knew better, though.

The subtle flick of the wrist that sent Moondog tumbling to the floor wasn't the result of training in martial arts or even the military.

It was the preternaturally fast reflexes of one of her kind.

The vampire stepped forward with a scowl, scanning the room.

In the strobing, multicolored stage lights, Denise saw his face shit.

She didn't know him personally, but she'd seen him around.

Most recently when he'd been working the door at the boiler room the night she went to the underground to confront Cyrus.

He was tall and lean with ratty shoulder-length blonde hair.

And though she couldn't see from this vantage point, she knew he would be wearing the whitest acid-washed jeans money could buy, blindingly white, and so tight they looked like they were painted on.

She and Mikey had always giggled about them wondering how he even moved in them and had privately nicknamed him Britches.

Miranda pulled up her hood and moved deeper into the shadows on the other side of the PA, willing herself to stillness.

When Britches looked in the other direction, she sped past the bouncer, watching the door that led backstage, little more than a flickering shadow in its peripheral vision.

The second the door closed behind her, the stench of blood and death slammed into her like heat from a freshly fed furnace.

She froze, taking a moment to listen and assess the situation.

Hearing nothing, she carefully made her way up the stairwell, nostrils flaring at the coppery aroma that both roused her hunger and alerted her to danger, searching for the source.

She didn't have to go far.

The door to the smaller dressing room at the top of the stairs stood slightly ajar, and the smell of wet pennies wafted from it like an apple pie left unattended on a windowsill.

Miranda knew what she'd find on the other side of that door, but she wasn't prepared for who she'd find.

The sweet girl who'd first spoken to her at the gas station, Lori,

that was her name,

lay crumpled on the dressing room floor.

Her throat was a butchered landscape painted in shades of scarlet and gray.

Chunks of her soft neck were just

gone,

as if ravaged by a wild animal.

If a bear had suddenly found its way into the nightclub and started mauling people, though, there would be more blood.

Lori had been torn apart and drunk dry.

The overwhelming smell came from the blood that had sprayed across the carpet and soaked into the love seat behind her.

Whoever had done this had been sloppy.

Her skin was the shade of icy blue-gray that Miranda knew all too well from her short time living on this side of sunset.

This teenage girl, who had been so excited to get to go backstage, so proud to see her cousin's band play in the big city, who was so unfailingly kind to a stranger she found crying at the Amoco, was now nothing more than another husk that her kind left behind after sating their hunger.

She hadn't been dead long.

Her body was still warm.

And the sudden urge to bury her face in the wound to see if she could lick up any scraps left Miranda feeling sick to her stomach.

The shame,

guilt, and fear she had felt earlier crashed back over her in a tidal wave that threatened to send her spiraling into despair, but there was an undercurrent of anger pulsing in the undertow that helped her keep her head above water.

Her eyes stung, but no tears came.

Her mind raced as she tried to piece together what was going on.

She should not have come back here.

Someone had seen her, or had guessed she'd turn up here.

Britches was in the crowd, no doubt looking for her, and if he was here, other members of Cyrus' crew couldn't be far behind.

One of them must have done this, but

why?

Had they seen her talking to the kids from over the mountain outside the club and decided they might know too much?

But then why wouldn't they clean up after themselves?

Cyrus had always insisted on discretion amongst his crew.

There was no time to ponder that.

Somebody had to do something.

And Miranda didn't know what that something was, but she was pretty sure that somebody was her.

She had no idea what she could do against an elder like Cyrus Robertson, but enough enough.

She ducked out of the dressing room, closing the door behind her and peering down the hall, then back down the stairwell.

She was debating whether she should try to slip back through the crowd on the main venue floor or to go down the fire escape that zigzagged down the back of the building from the green room window when a familiar voice interrupted her thought.

Hey, Randy!

Miranda turned, recognizing the voice as she did.

Jess,

what are you?

The blow came out of nowhere, and Miranda Coffey's world

went dark.

If she wasn't Boots' child, the energy at the merc would have been damn near unnerving.

Despite the sensory overwhelm, Bird continued playing the part of stoic staff member, patrolling the edges of the room and scanning the crowd like a bouncer, allowed her to both blend in and keep an eye on her target.

The baby vamp moved as unnaturally as the rest of her kind here.

Had Had Bird blinked a second sooner, she would have missed her slip toward the stairs.

Before she could follow, a new hum

surged.

But this time, the intuition came with a wave of disgust.

The last time she felt revulsion this intense and unsettling, she'd walked upon a decomposing body left to bloat and swell in the sun for a week.

Bird narrowed it down to a vampire sporting some interesting paints.

He looked like he wanted some attention, and she couldn't deny herself the opportunity to warm up.

She moved through the crowd, keeping her focus trained on him as he made his way toward the back of the venue.

He turned left down the narrow aisle of restrooms, and Bird caught the bathroom door behind him.

Hey, can I get a light?

Fuck off.

Bird shoved the butt of her palm upward into the vampire's nose.

He stumbled back as she pulled a blade into each hand.

The vampire's first mistake was his mouth.

No need to be rude when a simple yes or no would have sufficed.

And his second mistake was overconfidence.

The ones who think they're untouchable tend to move just a little bit slower.

This gave Bird time to enjoy herself and keep count.

She took a few steps to close the distance and dip toward the floor.

Before it registered that she disappeared from his line of sight, she'd taken a blade to each of his Achilles' tendons, sinking him to his knees.

She plunged a knife into each of his upper traps, snatching them out as she kicked his body forward.

By the time she reached for her stake, she'd counted to 20, about five whole seconds past her usual threshold.

Before she delivered the final blow, the sound of flesh mending stilled her arm and it swayed.

Vessels, muscles, and tendons squelched as blood and some darker liquid began to string the vampire's neck and ankles back together.

Bird leapt back.

Beasts twice her size and touched by the dark had fallen under her blade, but none of them could heal themselves.

All her years of training failed to cover regeneration.

She theorized that immobilizing him would make decapitation a hell of a lot easier.

She padded one of the garots, tucked into the pocket of her cargo pants, grateful that she'd imbued them with a mineral oil mixture of crushed hydro root, brick dust, rosemary, and some soil from her mother's grave.

In some circumstances, she trusted a root-worked weapon more than her own instinct.

Guess I'm taking his then.

She pinned the vampire by his throat and pierced his navel with her stake, putting her full body weight into it to make sure it went all the way through.

She wrenched and tucked up, inching closer to the vampire's rib cage.

Between every rip, she made her intentions plain.

Before the night ends, I will gut each and every one of you from asshole to appetite.

She traded steak for wire saw and wrapped it around his neck twice, pulling back and forth.

And as she worked, her mind settled into a clear-eyed calm.

The energies bird's senses had registered earlier persisted.

What she felt must be the presence of vampires like this one.

Their power amplified somehow by the dark.

There might be a dozen or two in the venue.

She toyed with the severed head and pondered her next move.

Come the fuck on, man.

Just how many of you leeches are there?

Her saw cut through the last quarter inch of the spinal column and the head came free.

Bird plopped it in the toilet, scribbled out of order on the back of an old flyer that she stuck on the door, then locked it and broke the handle on the way out.

No one would walk in on that scene.

At least not for a while.

She took a moment to assess which direction the energy that had called her all this way was leading her, then made her way toward the door that led backstage.

A narrow staircase led up to the second floor.

Bird could smell blood wafting from beneath a closed door at the end of the hall, an odor that strong could only mean a kill.

She worked the lock and opened the door to a large one-seater bathroom.

Its walls painted in blood.

The remains of what might have been a body at one point sprawled across the floor.

Up to this point, she'd only known parasites to kill with a purpose.

The only credit she could give them was their efficiency and lack of waste.

They killed because they had to eat.

She killed because she had to protect.

And at least there was some measure of twisted sense to that system.

But this.

This was careless and indulgent, frivolous and spiteful, the act of an animal that slaughtered because it was bored and it could.

Bird checked the remains.

Carefully painted nails, both hand marked with X's by the bouncer.

His kid wasn't even old enough to drink.

She took more of the scene in and recognized a piece of a nine-inch nails t-shirt amidst the crimson pools.

One of those nice kids from the Amoco crew had been shredded.

Bird set her jaw and made up her mind.

Regardless of numbers or strength, she'd face down the horde.

If her time had come, she'd damn sure have taken as many of these fuckers out with her as she could.

Disgust filled every inch of her body, and the hum pointed her toward a door tucked away in the right corner of the hallway.

So small and nondescript it could have been mistaken for a janitor's closet, if not for the tiny placard reading, Manager, screwed into the scarred wood of its face.

As if on cue, that door swung open and a dead-eyed bloodsucker in a winter coat strolled from the room, flanked by two good old boys who weren't huge, but had that lean, stringy mama raise me outside look to them.

Their leathery biker's tans were evident even through the pallor of undeath.

One had a mullet and a bushy mustache, while the other was bald with a goatee matted with clotting blood.

He must have been the one that turned that poor boy into leftover, she thought.

The one in the coat was giving giving orders in rapid, low tones, and when he caught sight of bird, he turned to her with a pleasantly surprised smile.

Well,

if it ain't Miss Bird Bonite come knocking on my door, what an unexpected pleasure.

It's Bird,

and keep my name out your mouth.

You wearing a wool coat in the middle of July on purpose.

A benefit of our

condition, as it were.

We need not look to Mother Nature to guide our choice of fashion.

You know the boys here have been telling me about you

and your daddy.

They say he was a fine hunter.

A man to be feared.

You though?

You don't look like much.

See, y'all talk a good game, but Boots never needed to wag his tongue.

He spoke with his hands.

What you heard about my daddy ain't a fraction fraction of what you'll feel for me.

Oh,

so fierce.

But while I'd love to stay here and entertain you, Miss Bonn, I'm afraid I have other matters to attend.

Gentlemen, if you will, Miss Bird,

it's been a real pleasure.

Oh, don't worry, Peacoat.

You'll see me later.

The two bikers stepped slowly apart, clearly trying to flank her.

The one with the mullet came in hard with the haymaker, but Bird easily dodged and caught him with a kick to the kidneys as she passed.

He grunted in pain, but spun around, a switchblade dropping into his left hand from somewhere up the sleeve of his leather jacket.

Oh,

I actually felt that.

She might be Boot's daughter after all, eh, Marco?

Marco with the goatee didn't respond.

He rushed at Bird, attempting a double-legged takedown, but Bird jumped back, timing a kick to the top of the bald vampire's skull as he hit the ground.

His head bounced off the wooden floor, breaking his nose.

As he clutched his bloodied face, Bird turned her attention back to Mullet and his switchblade.

You should have stayed in the holler, little girl.

Ain't nothing for you in the big city.

Your big city should have stayed out of my holler if he didn't want his ass kicked.

Mullet slashed at Bird's eyes, attempting to distract her while he went for her guts.

Bird could tell he was just trying to play with her, but this one was probably better at dragging unsuspecting folks into alleyways or creeping through windows to feed on them while they slept than he was at actually using that knife.

Bird bent her knees and lowered into a ginga, the hilts of her knives in each fist.

The charge first and ask question later types were the easiest to kill, and Mullet Boy had a death wish.

Bird swung her lug back off the floor, torqued her hips, and landed a kick to the temple.

She sank two knives into his spinal cord.

That would put him down for a minute at least.

Gotee followed with a hook that hissed past her ear.

She crouched, spun behind him, and climbed up his back with her garach.

She squeezed her legs around his ribcage, wrapped his neck in wire, and pulled the saw.

Goatee bucked and then ran backwards into the closest wall.

The first impact knocked the wind out of Bird.

The second cracked her skull on the brick.

Stars swam in her vision.

But Bird only tightened her hold, allowing the barbed strand of root-worked metal to cut deeper into the vampire's spinal column.

She kept twisting the garot until the thing's body went limp, and she seeth a sigh of relief and exhaustion at the sound of his head hitting the ground.

Bird rolled off the back of the bald vampire, breathing hard.

Her head felt like somebody had been keeping rhythm with a ball peen at the base of her skull.

Her vision swam and the room sounded like somebody was messing with her internal volume knob as her body toyed with the idea of unconsciousness.

She tried getting to her feet, but her legs refused to obey and she stumbled, catching herself on the flats of her hands, the wood grain of the old building's floors hovering in and out of focus.

She spat and there was blood in it.

The sound of heavy footfalls dared her to raise her head to see what was coming next.

Bird looked up and saw an enormous pair of work boots standing inches from her face.

Craning her neck hurt like hell, but she managed it.

And lo and behold, the largest bloodsucker she'd ever seen was staring down at her.

He was thick in the way a mountain was thick.

His chest was bare, a flimsy black shirt hanging open to reveal not the shredded physique of a bodybuilder, but the heavy belly and slab-like muscle of a man who swung a hammer or turned wrenches for a living.

But there was something wrong with his face.

Bird wasn't sure if she had a concussion or if it was changing before her eyes.

His mouth seemed wider than it should be, and while all of these walking corpses had fangs, this one had way too many of them.

Bird struggled to her feet and eyed the monster with an exhausted determination.

She was hurt.

She was slow, but she was not going down without at least trying to take this fucker with her.

Easy now, girl.

This can go real quick.

If you let it

do whatever you feel big enough to try.

My shoulders are broke.

Bird's own voice sounded thin and weak to her ears.

Her vision began to tunnel.

the strain of the previous fights burning through her adrenaline.

From somewhere in the distance came the roar of a motor firing to light.

Then the pounding of footsteps on the stairs.

A voice that seemed at once a million miles away and right in front of her called out, Look out, y'all!

Big Daddy Corporation coming through!

The blade of a chainsaw came slashing down on the undead giant's neck and shoulder.

The screaming teeth of the blade ripped through the dead flesh as easily it would an eastern white pie.

Roach Airs pulled it free with a wet tearing sound and then went after the other arm.

The vampire fell to his knees bellowing.

Even partially dismembered, he lashed out at Roach, who plunged the blade through the vampire's chest, struggling to control the saw as the body fought to heal around the horrific damage being inflicted on it.

His older brother Bug sprang into the fray with a machete and with a few quick chops the dark-touched Titan's head and body parted ways.

The pile of shredded meat collapsed into the floor.

Miss Bird, I mean, Bert, are you alright?

Bird looked up in groggy fury at the Ayers brothers, who apparently had fought their way to her in this nest of vipers.

Roach looked like he was having the time of his life, grinning like an idiot as he shut down the chainsaw.

Bug looked less so.

He moved stiffly as he knelt on the floor.

What did I say?

What

did

I say?

If I needed help, I would have called.

What was we supposed to do?

Just let you run in here by yourself and get killed?

These ain't no normal vanks.

If you'd listened to us for just a minute, you might.

I ain't studying you, Roach.

I'm sorry, Bird, this big dummy ain't right about much, but he is about this.

These things got the dark in them.

Like him hangs up near dry gulch, remember?

We brought Mamma's good flatware with us, specially prepared for the occasion.

Bug held up his gore-stained machete, and Bird could see the sigils etched around the curved of the haft and along the edge of the blade.

The handle was wrapped in some sort of dark animal hide that had molded to his grip.

Bug saw her looking at the weapon and held it up for her inspection.

That bull leather grip puts a little extra oomph in your swing and an edge will cut through damn near anything.

Mama says, the better the hunter, the stronger the swing.

Bird took the machete from Bug's hand and tested its balance and weight, then walked over to the molded vampire she'd left pinned to the ground with her knives sunk into his spine like the fangs of an angry copperhead.

She swung the blade down in a single hard stroke, and she could feel the working etched into the blade, amplifying her own considerable strength with the motion.

The biker boy's head separated from his shoulders just as easy as you please.

Though Bird did not usually care for working with witches, she had to admit that was a damn nice piece of spell work.

She wiped the blade on the dead man's shirt and handed it back to Bud.

Not bad, not bad.

Y'all might as well stick around.

Hey.

I do appreciate the company.

Did y'all's mamma do her thing with that chainsaw too?

The younger Ayer's brothers spattered in gore grinned.

No, that's just good German engineering courtesy of the good folks of steel.

Mama got it for me for Christmas last year.

Compact model.

She's right handy for indoor work.

I got me a hatchet.

It does about as good as Bud's bushwhacker there.

Dark makes these fuckers strong, but it also makes them vulnerable in ways that sometimes they ain't expecting.

This whole city can be rotten with vamps on the weekend.

Ain't no telling how many of them there are in this building.

We got to get people out of here.

Bird thought thought for a second, her eyes darting around the room until they landed on a beat-up red and silver box mounted on the east wall.

She stepped over and pulled the fire alarm.

That should get things moving.

Let's go.

The throbbing bass and pounding drums of No More Light fell suddenly silent as the Mercury's fire alarm began to wail.

For a heartbeat, everybody in the crowded venue simply froze.

Then the singer, thinking fast, raised the mic and addressed the crowd.

Fire alarm, everybody out?

Y'all be careful now.

Don't.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, don't run over each other.

Let's get out quick, though.

Orderly.

Let's go, y'all.

Respect your local venue.

Down in the pit, Micah Raimi grabbed his cousin Denise's hand and started to head for the doors, but she grabbed his arm.

Wait, we gotta find Lori and Brendan.

If there's a fire, Denise shook her head.

Do you smell smoke?

It's probably just some asshole pulling a prank.

It happens all the time.

But we haven't seen them since we got here.

I'm starting to worry.

Micah followed as Denise began weaving her way through the crowd, making her way slowly upstream against the current of bodies exiting the club.

The singer had been smart to give the fans instructions like that.

Rock and roll history was chock full of examples of what could happen when a fire alarm triggered a panic in the middle of a show.

So far, that wasn't happening here.

Folks were just heading for the door in a reasonably orderly fashion.

Denise kept her head on a swivel, scanning the crowd, but she didn't see Lori or Brandon anywhere.

She hadn't seen them all night.

Were they still backstage?

Pulling her cousin along in her wake, she fought her way through the teeming throng to the door that led upstairs.

When she reached for the handle, though, she felt a hand on her arm.

She raised her eyes to find two men blocking their path.

Excuse me.

I think our friends are still upstairs.

We had backstage passes.

Oh, yeah.

Aren't you Miranda's friends?

Uh, Miranda?

Oh, that girl from the gas station.

I mean, I guess, but but we're looking for...

Sure, sure.

You're friends.

Come with us.

We'll take you to them.

Denise and Micah exchanged a nervous look, and before they could make another move, the man grabbed Micah by the collar.

The other put an arm around her shoulders in a gesture that probably looked friendly from the outside, but felt like a vice.

He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, Hush now.

And everything went dark.

Bird and the Ayers boys were finishing off another wave of the tainted bloodsuckers, three female vamps with weird shape-shifting abilities who'd surprised them on their way back down the stairs.

It was a vicious fight and all three had sustained injuries.

Bird had fallen wrong, dodging some slimy tentacle thing one of them had shot at her and pain jolted up her leg with every step.

That knee was going to take weeks, if not months, to heal.

Bug had a wrist that might be broken, but his younger brother was worse.

Roach had taken a couple of nasty shots to the head.

A gash over his left eye was bleeding like a stuck pig, but that wasn't worth the worry.

Head wounds were like that.

No, the problem was his eyes, the way one pupil had narrowed to a pinpoint, while the other swelled wide like it would swallow all the light in the world.

Roach was concussed at the very least.

Maybe worse.

She couldn't be sure.

She could tend her own wounds when it came to it, but she was no medic.

Bug had carried Roach out through the back door and loaded him into the truck.

Bird stood by the open passage, watching their backs and handing the tools they'd brought with them out to Bug.

Finally, she handed over the witchwork machete he'd loaned her for the night's work, and Bug stuck out a hand.

With grudging respect, she shook, and he stepped out into the muggy alleyway behind the Mercury.

Pleasure working with you, Bert.

Wouldn't mind to do it again sometime.

Bug glanced past her into the dark, now silent venue.

Don't sit right with me just leaving you here.

Are you sure you won't come?

The door slammed in Bird's face with a clang.

She pushed against the bar that should have opened it, really put her shoulder into it, but it didn't budge.

Someone or something had just sealed the exits.

Behind her, she heard quiet voices coming from the venue proper.

Quiet as a cat, she slipped into the shadows and edged her way into the wide room, crouching down behind the bar to observe.

Old Peacoat stood on stage, flanked by two other vampires, a fussy-looking dude in pressed jeans and a button-up who still wore a pair of little round spectacles perched on his nose, an affectation left over from his mortal life, she assumed, and a lanky blonde man in a jean jacket.

A curvy, petite young woman in a skimpy black dress and heels that must have cost more than bird's rent frog marched the baby vamp up onto the stage.

Her dyed black hair and heavy eyeliners suggesting she was a type of girl who would have welcomed becoming a bloodsucker like it was her dream come true.

A sour taste filled Bird's mouth and she spat.

On stage, Miranda trembled as she stood before the vampire Mr.

Shelby had introduced to her as Troy.

His mouth widened into a grin.

Miss Miranda, well.

You sure have caused us a heap of trouble, ain't you, boys?

Me and Franklin and Mobley here had to drive all the way from that little trailer park up in the hills to find you.

You're a naughty girl, aren't you?

Troy snapped his fingers, and the two vampires Miranda vaguely recognized from Windsor Court dragged a pair of bodies onto the stage, their heads draped in paper bags, arms, and legs bound with gaff tape.

As she watched in horror, the taller of the two men pulled off the hoods, and the wide, terrified eyes of Denise and Micah Raimi stared back at her.

But we like naughty girls.

We like folks who think for themselves instead of doing just what they're told.

And seeing as how you brought us a couple of new recruits,

I think all can be forgiven.

Let them go.

Please, I'll go back with you, and I swear I won't make no more trouble.

Just

let them go, Mr.

Troy, please.

You misunderstand me, Miranda, darling.

I don't want to make you go back to that shitty little shack in the woods.

I want to set you free, girl.

What do you mean?

You're not here to take me back?

Take you back?

We're here to take over.

These so-called elders?

Who are they to tell you where you can and can't go?

What you can and can't do?

They ain't your mommy and daddy.

Hell, they ain't even your maker.

The way Glenn tells it,

they killed your maker.

What was his name?

Miranda's gaze dropped to her feet, stung by the sudden reminder.

The last time she'd come to the Merck, they'd been together.

Mikey.

His name was Mikey.

He was...

Your boyfriend.

Is that right?

His voice was strangely gentle.

Miranda swallowed hard and shook her head.

Yes.

Yes, they had taken Mikey away from her.

For no reason she could see.

and then packed her off to bumfuck like she was some little kid they could send off to Juvie.

It wasn't fair.

It never had been fair.

The way I see it, Miss Miranda, they done you wrong.

They took your people.

So why should you do what they say?

You don't owe them nothing.

I...

Well, it's just that they're stronger than me.

They just grabbed me and I couldn't fight back.

I can show you how to fight back, Miranda.

But they're

older.

They've got so much more.

Power?

That has always been the problem.

But not anymore.

I can show you real power, Miss Miranda.

Even better,

I can give it to you.

And you won't ever have to be scared of them again.

Why should I believe you?

You said yourself you come all the way from Baker's Gap, track me down here, cause all this trouble, kill my friends.

And now I'm supposed to believe you want to help me?

That you can make me strong.

That was an unfortunate misunderstanding, and I apologize for it.

I can help you,

just like I've helped these fine folks.

Mr.

Willett,

if you don't mind, Show Miss Miranda what true power looks like.

Mobley Willett bowed his head in concentration, his shoulders heaving.

Tendrils of shadows rose from the floor, wrapping around the vampire as his left eye began to burn with a sickly orange light.

Soon, nothing of the man who had occupied the same trailer park as Miranda a mere day before remained visible.

There was a deep pulse of violet light from within the cocoon of shadows, and the barrier dissipated in a gauzy black haze.

Where Mobley Willet had stood, there now perched an enormous raven.

The bird flapped its wings and flew a circuit of the room, landing gracefully at Troy's feet.

There was another flash of purple, and the vampire stood before them once again.

He gave a theatrical little bow, and the assembled undead applauded politely.

And you can teach me that.

That and so much more.

We have such sights to show you, Miss Miranda.

All you have to do is take my hand.

Before Miranda could respond, she caught sight of a shimmer of movement on the stage behind Troy.

Something so subtle that a mortal eye could not have perceived it.

The faintest breath of a whisper followed on its heels,

and then chaos erupted all around them.

A veiled woman in a white dress carrying what appeared to be an ancient umbrella materialized behind Mobley Willett, seized him by the scruff of the neck, and tossed him into the nearest wall with the force of a meteorite.

His body all but exploded against the brick.

The blonde boy who had first questioned Troy at the warehouse was borne to the ground by a mustachioed man in a finely tailored suit who appeared to step from a shadow with the force of a crashing wave.

The sound of breaking bones and squelching flesh rang across like gunshots to the near-empty venue.

Franklin Rutledge turned as someone tapped him politely on the shoulder.

He found himself face to face with the most striking person he'd ever laid eyes on.

A being the color of tumbled onyx, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut and eyes that glowed like fireflies.

He was struck dumb by the sheer magnitude of their soul-silencing beauty until they seized him by the throat and drank him down.

One moment an apex predator stood on the stage and the next there was a flash of bioluminescent light, and a desiccated husk that might have been buried a hundred years before crumpled to the floor where Franklin once stood.

Jessamine Rogers' face was a mask of terror as she recognized these new arrivals.

She glanced around desperately for a means of escape, reaching into the well of darkness her new master had imbued her with to change shape, and then screamed as a hand closed in her hair.

The voice that had not so long ago welcomed her to the path of endless night hissed in her ear.

Why, hello, my traitorous little.

Cyrus Robertson never got the chance to finish what he planned to say to her, as Jessamine's body seemed to dissolve into shadow, his hands closing on air.

The shadows writhed, pirouetting in the air, and a heartbeat later she was back, solid as a bullet, her mouth a distended horror filled with rows of dagger-sharp fangs.

Faster than the human eyes present could follow, she tore out his throat down to the bone and wrenched his head from his shoulders.

Jessamine fell to her knees, seized with the sudden searing pain of the ties she'd just severed with her maker.

Whether she'd forgotten the cost of what she'd done or simply assumed that her newfound powers would protect her from it, the distraction spelled her doom.

A black female vampire carrying a bulging green leather satchel almost as big as she was stepped from the shadows.

Bird recognized her from Boots's lessons as Annabelle Moss.

She was a hair under five feet, but moved with a grace and confidence that belied her stature and wielded the bone saw she pulled from the bag with a strength and speed that were terrifying.

In moments, Jessamine Rogers' head rolled to the ground to rest alongside her makers.

Between the constant surging hum, her injuries and adrenaline, Bird's body had gone numb, but she knew she had to act now.

Sheer pig-headed will propelled her forward, bursting her from her hiding place behind the bar, to sprint across the length of the room and leap up onto the stage.

She couldn't let them take anything else from her.

Couldn't let them destroy the tiny shred of humanity the babyfaced vamp still had left in her.

If she killed the kid now, she'd be doing her a favor.

At least that's what she told herself as she ran a stake clean through Miranda's sternum, stunning her long enough to take her head.

A scared, bug-eyed expression met Birds as she tightened the garot and pulled.

She was surprised to find her own vision blurred with tears.

and flashed back to one of the first lessons her old man taught her and thus repeated his words.

A youngin's blood stains forever.

The chaos around her faded, and she sat back on her heels, staring down at the girl.

She wasn't looking at the body of a blood-sucking parasite, but the sad result of a life cut short when some selfish prick had turned a young woman into a monster.

She'd robbed the kid just as much as her maker.

In the center of the stage, a group of vampires birds surmised must be the elders of Knoxville had surrounded Peacoat.

She recognized some of them, either from her father's descriptions or by reputation.

She'd already clucked Annabelle Moss, who descended from a long line of undertakers and put those skills to good use, cleaning up any unfortunate messes that might result from a feeding gone wrong.

The others included an androgynous beauty that had to be Casam Oda.

which was a terrifying thought.

And the white dude who looked like a banker must be Moses Harp.

As for the woman with the umbrella, who had since vanished, Bird had a few guesses, but couldn't be sure.

The man that followed her from Baker's Gap struggled against whatever invisible hold the other vampire seemed to have over him, his arms pressed to his side, feet dangling an inch off the floor.

He was all but slobbering as he cursed at him, bloody drool flying.

Moses Harp sighed and shook his head.

Stand down, son.

Have the good sense to know when you're beaten.

Oh,

you think I'm beaten, beaten, old man?

You have no idea what you're dealing with.

The power I found that you fools just gave away.

I have new masters now.

There's not one of y'all that has authority over

the door leading from the back of the venue to the club proper hit the wall with a bang, and Troy choked.

His voice strangled by some new binding.

Be silent, boy.

A short, pudgy man in a wrinkled blue plaid button-up and khakis shuffled into the room in the shadow of a woman in a long, old-fashioned white dress made of layers of some gauzy material.

Her bare feet were silent on wood floors that had creaked with every step the rest of them had made.

Her long white hair hung loose down her back, and her skin was bloodless, white and waxy as a magnolia in the moonlight.

Her mere presence seemed to suck air from the room.

Troy's eyes bulged in shock at the sight of her.

The elder vampires of Knoxville dipped their heads to the blonde woman in greeting, and she returned the gesture.

Then she turned to the bound vampire and made a subtle swipe with her hand.

He sucked in air and started babbling.

Rose,

I thought you were a mad old woman,

an invalid,

Senile, perhaps.

Or just stupid, Troy.

No, Rose, I...

Love,

I did this for us.

So I could help you.

Help all of us.

With the power I found under the mountain, there's no need for us to cower in the cities.

To get permission from some hillbilly minder anytime we want to go from one place to another.

We can do whatever we want.

We can go where we want.

And...

My dear, sweet child,

your greatest fault was always that you thought yourself above everyone else.

Braver,

smarter,

cleverer.

We know very well what lies under the mountain.

what it can do for us,

and what it does to us.

Power corrupts.

And that power must be kept well away from places where it would have so many hosts it could take.

But why?

Why not master it?

Learn to use it?

It spreads too easily through our bloodlines and from us to the cattle.

So the green stands against it in the wild country, and the night defends the settled places.

That is our pact.

It is our duty to uphold it and to punish those who violate it.

I'm so sorry.

I never explained this to you.

We were separated, and you thought me dead.

You were my responsibility,

and I failed you.

Oh, Rosie, no.

Hush now.

Hush.

Rosalie leaned in close.

Her forehead pressed to his, and Troy closed his eyes.

Her delicate, pale hand rose to stroke his cheek.

It was the closest they'd been since the night of the fire.

How he'd missed this.

Missed her.

When he'd found her, she'd seemed little more than a shell, an abandoned house with broken windows through which he'd caught only an occasional glance of the ghost of the vibrant woman who'd once lived there.

But now she seemed revived.

And perhaps with time, she would come to see he was right.

They had time, after all, all the time in the world.

Rosalie kissed his cheek and then his lips.

And Troy gazed into her bright blue eyes.

She favored him with a small, sad smile.

My poor Troy,

you always were my favorite.

And with that, Rosalie gripped Troy's chin in one hand and the back of his head in the other.

And in a motion too fast for the naked eye to follow, she wrenched it from his shoulders.

Blood sprayed across her elegant white dress and seeped across the polled stage from the hollow stump of his neck when his body slumped to the floor.

His head thunked down beside it, and the room fell silent.

Miss Rosalie closed her eyes and stood still for a long moment.

Then she turned to the elders of Knoxville.

You have my sincere apologies for the behavior of my child and the trouble he and the young one you entrusted to my care have caused here.

As they both received justice, accepted, Moses Harp said.

There is the question of the Weir Guild.

Both your people and I have lost progeny today.

The blonde woman turned her gaze on the Raimi cousins, who still lay bound on the edge of the stage, huddled together in terror.

Realizing what they intended from her place on the floor, where she had not quite been able to leave Miranda's body, Bird surged to her feet.

Look around.

There are dozens of dead people attached to every single vampire lying here.

Hundreds of lives grief-shattered on top of that.

We ain't done enough.

Let them be.

The vampire with the firefly eyes whipped its head around to face Bird.

Hummingbird Bonite,

steal your tongue or swallow it.

What do you know of humanity with hands sorked in a child's blood?

Boots taught you balance, yes?

You'd be wise to recall his lessons.

Annabelle Ma stepped forward.

When she spoke, her voice fairly rang with authority.

I see your mind turning, Bird.

And no, we did not work a root on you.

Your guilt has cemented you to that spot.

Kasim tells me they once found your kin the same way, hunched over a kill he could not name as good or evil.

I watched Boots gather all the flora he could to give his quarry a proper funeral.

Mourned until sunrise took the body.

There's an order to be kept here, child.

A push and pull greater than right or wrong.

Duality does not need your understanding to exist.

Birds stilled at the mention of her father and gave their logic some consideration.

A treaty was in place.

Rules are rules, but all of that paled in comparison to the captive human shivering in terror.

Being a bystander in the face of a wrong was never in her skill set.

She'd rather die with her morals intact than step aside and bear witness, and she turned to sprint towards the kids, but her body stuttered and seized as if every cell had been called to attention

oh she'd been mistaken in assuming the elders' demands were optional bird's body slowly spun to face the council one of whom's eyes blazed a seething green bird's world fell dark and silent around those eyes and then finally blacked out entirely

Annabelle Moss turned back to Miss Rosalie.

I would consider it a a favor if you would be so kind as to see the hunter safely home when our business is done.

Rosalie nodded her assent.

With the matter of Hummingbird bonites settled, the elders continued their negotiations without further interruption.

Under most circumstances, the Raimi cousins would simply be glamoured and returned home with only rosy but vague memories of a fun-filled evening at a concert, the holes in their recollections easy enough to chalk up to a free-handed bartender willing to ignore their age and too much to drink.

The problem was, the cousins were only half of a group of four who had traveled together.

Their friends would be missed, and there would be no easy way to explain their disappearances.

No,

better for all four to simply vanish.

Their families would hang up flyers, perhaps there'd be a segment on the news in the local paper, but all too quickly the fates of four kids from out of town would be forgotten.

At least here in Knoxville.

Do we really want to take on more children?

Yes, we need to replenish the ranks of our progeny, but

as this situation amply demonstrates, young folks lack the discipline required for our world in this modern era.

Children can be educated.

Have we not seen enough senseless death this night?

If you are unwilling to take them on, I'm happy to welcome them.

I have, after all, lost both my sole remaining child and my ward tonight.

And we have lost a dozen at your child's hands.

Your house best at blame for this, and you expect to be rewarded?

The bickering went back and forth amongst the elders for some time, while in the background their various underlings went to work setting things to right, or as right as things could be made under the circumstances.

In the end, it was decided that Rosalie would be granted one new child, and the elders of Knoxville would decide amongst themselves who would turn the other.

At a gesture from Annabelle Moss, one of her progeny bent to untie Denise and Micah Raimi, where they're huddled on the floor.

What the fuck?

You all think you can just decide our futures and we have no say in it?

Who the hell are you people?

And what did you do with our friends?

Dee Dee, hush.

I don't think they can.

No, I want answers, Micah.

They're gonna kill us anyway, or turn us into whatever they are.

Whatever Miranda was, I guess.

The elders paused in their negotiation, and Khosum Oda stepped toward the humans, crouching down to address them at eye level.

Fair enough.

Khosum gestured to the others.

We are the Elder Council of Vampires of Knoxville, and she is Miss Rosalie, who governs a way station of sorts for our kind in Johnson County.

As for your friends, I assume you mean the two young people we found upstairs, a young man and a woman.

Unfortunately, they did not make it.

Victims of the malcontents we were forced to deal with tonight.

Beside her, Denise heard Micah let out a sob.

Her head swam and there was ringing in her ears.

The elder kept talking and she forced herself to pay attention.

As to the question of your future,

well, you have ears, girl.

You've heard our discussions here tonight.

If you like the way in, your options are limited.

If we can bring you into our fold, you'll be expected to follow certain rules and obey the laws that govern our kind and our interactions with both the living world and

other factions.

The life you know will be no more.

You will not be allowed contact with your family or anyone else you knew before.

It will be as if you disappeared.

Or you can die with your friends.

If you make it look like an accident, for teenagers on the highway late at night, a sad statistic for that happens every day, and your families families will at least have that closure.

The choice is yours.

The blood drained from Denise's face and recoiled from the elder's words.

Micah gripped her hand.

Dee Dee.

Denise turned to her cousin.

His eyes were wide and scared.

His hands were shaking.

Dee Dee, I...

I don't want to die.

I'm not ready.

And just as she'd always done, Denise Raimi stepped in to take care of her cousin, to do the hard work their family had so often failed to do.

She pulled her cousin into another uncharacteristic hug and nodded to the elders of Knoxville over his head as she soothed them.

Shh.

It's going to be okay, Micah.

Nobody else is dying today.

When Bird came to, she found herself parked in her front yard.

strapped into the front seat of her truck.

Her head throbbed and her mouth was dry as cotton.

She ached all over, but it appeared her wounds had been bandaged and she still had all her fingers and toes.

Stretching her stiff limbs, she stepped out into the front yard.

The sky was going gray and she could just make out a pink glow beginning to trace its way across the mountaintops in the distance.

She cast her gaze around the yard, under the porch, into the shadows behind the shed and between the trees.

But near as she could tell, she was alone.

no sign of any disturbance more importantly the hum had gone quiet

today was gonna suck she thought today was gonna hurt

couldn't be helped though

with a sigh she hefted her go bag from the back of the truck and limped inside to make breakfast for boots

Well, hey there, family.

How'd you like that?

Was that a long enough ride for you for a finale?

Checking in at well over an hour, we bring the final arc of season five of Old Gods of Appalachia Run Like Hell to a Close.

And if you've been with us on other finales and at the end of other long roads, you know that I am seldom alone in the darkness when we come to the end of the long, lonely path.

And joining me here is my favorite witch in the whole wide world, Cam Collins.

How are you?

I'm doing good.

How are you doing, family?

Oh, I'm exhausted.

This was a monster of an episode to put together, and we appreciate y'all's patience.

We have wanted to cover the grounds of the Satanic Panic and the late 80s, early 90s in our Appalachia for a long time.

We know we dipped out to the 40s with that Barrow family storyline that we just had a lot of fun with, but mainly this season was meant to be set in a more modern setting.

And we knew that meant leaving the comfort of old-timey Appalachia and the front porch of the Walker Sisters house and Esau County as you knew it.

But had to be done, eh, Witch?

It had to be done.

And for the, we've seen it said that it's not Appalachian enough.

Well, the season that most closely reflects the actual lived experiences of its Appalachian creators, I assure you, is as Appalachian as it gets, fam.

Yep, yep, yep, yep.

A lot of life experience in this one for us because we grew up as weird, freaky, goth punk D ⁇ D playing weirdos, one of very small friend groups in the middle of nowhere.

And I know we got listeners back home, and I know we got people we went to school with who maybe we weren't that tight with.

Thank y'all for enjoying the show and not throwing rocks at our head anymore.

Yeah.

But

we know this change.

Some of you Gen Xers out there have let us know that we have touched your filthy black hearts with our Lost Boys references and call outs to all our favorite goth bands that we shared so to those of y'all thank you so much for your support and we we really thank you for identifying and seeing us as we see you

for other folks

and for those of you who hate it but are still here with us thank you for sticking around we appreciate you

and who knows what season six will hold um

and we can we can assure you it's probably not going to be people sitting around on their cell phones

yeah no it's going to be

the beautiful thing about old gods is that we can go in any direction and time we want to go.

And uh, we're not going to say anything about season six just yet, but just promise, promise you, if you love us and you like what we do, I mean, we can't say one thing about we will tell you one thing about season six

because we get this question every time, and we know some of y'all panic.

We will return in January,

that's January 2026,

So, you know, that's when we'll be back from our hiatus.

And we'll take a little time to plan and reflect and get started right and work on other projects.

So yeah.

Yep.

And there are other projects in the kettle that

we have yet to poke at in a while, so we got to make sure they're still floating.

We really appreciate everybody who's helped us make this season a reality because this season featured more actors and additional voices on this show than ever before.

I think it's a record.

I think it's a record.

I'm certain it is.

It is, yeah.

Let's do these five at a time, Cam.

I want to thank Kelson Stallard, Brandon Bentley, Cecil Baldwin, Tracy Johnson Crumb, and Dr.

Ray Christian.

Betsy Puckett, Andy Marie Tillman, Adam Kim Forest, Autumn Bogman, and Aaron Bentley.

Craig Rice, Allison Mullins, Stephanie Hickling-Beckman, DJ Rogers, Karen Stoby, and a whole bunch of extras including Jared Leonard, Jake Cass, Jack Flannery, Chad Rogers, and Liliana Bacon.

And of course, collaborating not only as a voice actor, but as part of our riding team for the final arc of the season, Nita Jade

was an absolutely thrilling experience.

And maybe you guys over on the hauler will get to hear a conversation with Nita Jade in the near future if we can make those schedules align.

No promises just yet, but I know they are anxious to meet y'all as much as y'all are anxious to meet them.

And they have been just such a delight to work with and

just

a brilliant light in bringing the character of Bird to life.

Not, you know, not only as a voice actor, but as like kind of the driving force behind

character creation and writing for her.

Like,

yeah,

they've been so amazing.

If it is touching bird, is Bird, is Around Bird, you're listening to the work of Nita Jade.

And we are thrilled to have completed that with them and welcomed them to our creative family just in general.

Y'all, this season has been a labor of love.

It has been a labor of labor.

It's been a lot of work.

Also, the music this season.

Talk about labor-intensive and labors of love.

I have missed being in a band so much, so much so that I made up a few and

got to bring in some of our best friends to do it.

Cam, who have we had?

Well, as always,

the genius behind our themes is Brother Land and Blood, John Charles Dwyer, yanking your fucking heartstrings right out of your chests, as always.

Jacob Danielson Moore, oh my gosh, like Neon fucking Dracula.

Jacob Danielson Moore came out with Neon Dracula when I told him we were doing this season in this setting.

And then when I heard it, it was just, it was exactly what he wanted.

It was perfect.

It was absolutely perfect.

And then to get to collaborate with one of my best friends, Matt Evans.

We were in hardcore bands together for the better part of a decade and a half.

To create No More Light with him and our tour manager slash audio engineer, Chris Hayes, was absolutely a joy.

And yeah, I would do that again in a heartbeat.

And then Jason Sturgil is an old friend of ours from Eastern Kentucky.

He played in bands back in the early 2000s when Cam and I used to go to shows at the Apple Shop in Whitesburg, Kentucky.

He was in Rapture of the the Meek.

He was in Pete X Rose, or I guess just Pete Rose, you don't say the X.

It was in a lot of great bands.

One of my favorite collaborators, we'd not worked together in a decade.

When I called him up and asked if I could use this old song, which you heard in this episode tonight, it was playing when Denise and Micah were down in the pit, and then we created a whole new song.

You heard that at the end of the last episode.

And Jason's just a great guy.

And I have to give one second to shout out Brad Sinters, who was a member of Pete Rose with Jason, who passed away this weekend after a long battle with cancer.

And Jason donated all of his compensation for the music he did with us to hospice care for our friend Brad.

And any work he does with us in the future will go to Eastern Kentucky Mutual Aid and other causes, because that's kind of who Jason is.

Absolute rock, solid dude.

I wanted to shout him out and memorialize Brad.

Hail the traveler.

And then always at the end of the row there, tour daddy

Chris Hayes,

the man who keeps us alive on tour.

And whenever an audio problem comes up that this monkey turning knobs can't figure out, he's happy to come in and do work for us and make sure the show sounds as good as it possibly can.

Alrighty, we also would like to thank everybody who came out to see us for our makeup tour dates.

back in June of 2025.

We had a fantastic time on the road.

It was awesome to meet y'all.

Once again, the Midwest showing up, treating us so well, as well as here back home in marion and boon

thank y'all so much uh and we'll let you know whenever we decide to head back out on the road might be a minute um but we have some other ideas cooking yep and we'll let you know as soon as those are ready to come off the stove and onto the table um

let's see and what else is on the list here which

uh Oh, flash.

Oh, flash sale.

Oh, yeah.

Flash sale this weekend in our classic merch shop.

That's running today through Sunday.

So if you haven't got your hands on our new line of season five merch, there's no better time than this weekend.

Just visit our website or check out the show notes for the link to the classic merch shop.

Now, we know when we go away for a series of months, y'all get lonely, but new material will be posted monthly over in The Holler.

If you haven't joined us in the holler, now is the time.

There are hours upon hours upon hours.

Build Mama Coffin, Door Under the Floor, Familiar and Beloved, Black Mouth Dog,

the stories involving the stranger, Steve Reads, Cam Reads, just tons upon tons of great stories.

There are many, many standalone stories.

Yep, waiting for you over there.

And there will be, in the months that we're gone, there will be regular holler postings of stories and features that will continue while we're gone.

So, at least once a month, if you're getting that Jones for your old gods fix, you can head on over.

You can be a member of the holler and at least pick up that one little taste until we come back in January of 2026.

2026.

Can I do it today?

Can I do it today?

The witch has been wanting to do this for a long time, so go ahead.

And this is your It's the End of the Season, Not the End of the Show, Calm Down, reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of Deep Nerd Media and is distributed by Rusty Quill.

Today's story was written by Steve Schell, Cam Collins, and special guest writer Nita Jade.

The voice of Hummingbird Bow Knight was Nita Jade.

The voice of Troy was Adam Kemporis.

The voice of Miranda Coffey was Andy Marie Tillman.

The voice of Denise Raimi was Autumn Bogman and the voice of Micah Raimey was Aaron Bentley.

The voice of Jessamine Rogers was Cam Collins.

The voice of Miss Rosalie was Karen Stoby.

The voice of Annabelle Moss was Stephanie Hickling Beckman.

And the voice of Casa Modet was DJ Rogers.

Our intro music was The Land Unknown, The Home is Nowhere verses, written and performed by Landon Blood, and our outro music was Neon Dracula by Violent Fear, aka Jacob Danielson Moore.

You can download that one now from Jake's Bandcamp, which is linked in the show notes.

We'll see you soon, family.

Maybe not quite as soon as y'all are used to, but real soon.

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.

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Come to the dark side.

We smell fantastic.

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