The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 47

Rusty Quill presents.

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell.

First and foremost, thank you for tuning in.

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Dialed in on the thermostat.

Oh, we're pre-cooling before 4 p.m., folks.

And that's the end of the third.

Time to set it back to 78 from 4 to 9 p.m.

Clutch move by the home team.

What's the game plan from here on out?

Laundry?

Not today.

Dishwasher?

Sidelined.

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what?

Say it.

Can't say those detectives look all that convinced by her story.

At least it had the distinction of being mostly honest.

The honest parts were the least convincing parts.

I went as close to the actual truth as I could without sounding crazy.

It's all I could do.

I wonder who they intend on consulting on the Mephitica stuff you mentioned.

There's still some good people in the field: Sam Childs, Lisa Murchoff, Andrew Maccabee.

I wonder what they'll think once word gets out that I've become involved in a murder investigation.

I think that's the least of your problems.

They said Bill's apartment was ransacked.

Looks like they're...

the tradition is really interested in everything we know.

And now we have nothing of interest.

I imagine the church has already claimed the pages.

Yeah, I'm sure they'd like that folder they gave you.

I don't think they'd turn their noses up at a peek into what the church knows about them.

I suppose, but it's a bargaining chip I'd rather not use.

I'm hoping that if we can earn the church's trust, they might be inclined to extend more help.

Well, the traditionists sure think you've got the pages, and that still counts for something.

So now you think they just didn't want to slow us up?

My thinking now is that they still want their cake and need it too.

They killed Bill and

did what they did to him to show us they mean business.

To make us picture ourselves in his place.

Really think about what's at stake if we don't hand over the pages.

And yeah, the murder investigation keeps us in a holding pattern.

Keeps us vulnerable.

I wouldn't be surprised if they they send a counter-offer soon.

A second chance to save our skins.

If we just turn the pages over to them, I'm afraid they're going to be sorely disappointed.

That reminds me.

Before we head back to the hotel, I need to make a few stops.

What for?

Guns.

Lots of them.

We're staying in one of the hotel's finest suites, and we can't even enjoy room service.

I'm afraid we'll have to make do with my cooking until we're clear of all this.

We can't take any chances with them screwing with our food.

I'm quite capable of cooking, you realize.

I thought ladies liked it when a guy cooks.

It depends on the man.

I see.

Well, I had to learn how to cook real quick during my time as Merchant Marine years ago.

I was either learn or die of the slap they called food.

So if you think this is bad.

I can tell from that look on your face that you found something.

Indeed, I have.

It would appear that our friend Edward wasn't being entirely honest with me.

About what?

About there not being a sure way to dispatch these creatures.

Well, don't keep us in suspense.

What is it?

The Water of God.

Well, that should be easy enough to come by.

Do you remember when I suspected something was amiss when I read that the cage for the damned had been prepared with blessed water from a cistern?

Yes, you said that blessed objects and such generally didn't work against the damned.

Well, that was before I read about the Great Flood.

From the Bible?

The flood was popularized by the Bible, but there are far earlier accounts of it.

According to what I just read, the flood is believed to have been a response to the presence of the damned on Earth.

Listen to this.

In those days, the damned were legion, summoned with ease from the pit, wielding powers that set the sky to trembling and the earth's ancient bones to groaning.

Yet, there were those people who began to dream.

Strange visions wherein shadowed beings whispered of a vast storm soon to come, a deluge meant to scour the world of its near total corruption.

One child, visited by such a dream, urged the people to craft great cisterns to catch the sacred rain rain and to guard them well long after the flood had passed.

And the storm did come as promised.

Its winds howled like ravening wolves.

Its rains fell like judgment.

The damned were slain in multitudes, their flesh sloughing away like wax beneath the kiss of fire.

Those who fled the cleansing rains were not spared for long, for the floods came next, sweeping away all that dared remain.

In time, the rains lost their sting and cooled upon the earth, no longer fatal to the cursed, yet still bade not destroy the lesser damned and to sap the remaining strength of those monsters too stubborn to die.

With the storms passing, so too went the clutch of the damned.

Though they no longer thrilled beneath the sun, lording over all they pleased, They were not vanquished, only culled in strength and number.

They yet persist, waxing as mold slowly masters the sodden timbers of a great house, season over season.

Yet so too remains the reign of God, hidden and guarded, for when the damned must be culled once more.

So

does that mean that

there is a God?

No more than Diabolon means there is a hell, I suspect.

This text predates the Bible by quite some time, so there's no way of knowing precisely what god it's referring to.

That's all well and good, but how and where do we get this god water?

I'm hoping that's where this map comes in.

It was stapled to the flood narrative.

It points to a place called Dasher's Creek.

It's not too far from here.

Can we make it there and back before nightfall?

If we leave right now, we should have plenty of time.

Agreed.

Let's go.

Though, it's a shame I'll have to miss out on tonight's cuisine.

Don't sound so disappointed.

I'm a tremendous fan of country drives,

but under the circumstances,

I feel like a grouse breaking cover.

All these open fields and lonely back roads.

We're more than a little vulnerable.

Not that lonely.

What do you mean?

Caught a tail a few miles back.

What shall we do?

There's nothing but this one long straightaway for the next few miles.

And there's a whole mess of roads winding through the woods.

Once we're there, I'll make things more difficult for them.

Couldn't they be police?

We're likely suspects in Bill's murder, I'd have to assume.

Maybe.

You're just taking that out as a precaution, I hope.

Always best to be prepared, Doctor.

That, and they killed my best friend.

Martin,

please tell me you don't intend to

do anything we might all regret.

I'm not planning or regretting anything.

I understand your anger, but

this isn't the way.

I'm not gunning for them, but if they get too close, I'm not guaranteeing anything.

Is that the turnoff up ahead?

Yeah, should be able to shake them.

Hang on.

I don't see anyone behind us.

That farm up there looks good and abandoned.

Gonna pull behind it.

Do you think?

Shh, just listen.

Here they come

and there they go.

No, wait,

they've stopped.

They're coming this way.

Fuck.

I should have known.

Known what?

Ah, they probably put a tracer on the car.

Rookie mistake.

The windows are tinted.

I can't see anyone.

Stay here.

Martin, no.

We don't have a choice now.

Couldn't we try to...

I'll make this real easy.

Anyone gets out, they die.

Martin, don't.

You're going to get yourself killed.

It's all right.

Just stay put.

We'll let them decide what happens next.

I'm going to count to three.

And if you aren't on your way, I open fire.

One,

two.

Well, I've got good news and bad news.

What do you want first?

I find it prudent to always begin with the bad.

The portable units are kaput.

Ah, shit.

And the good news?

I've got the resonator up and running, which is why we have no portable units.

They had to be used for parts.

That's great, but whatever that chance was they used, it seemed capable of overwhelming it.

That's not entirely accurate.

The resonator was running on low power with a flagging battery.

If she was plugged in, I think she would have held up just fine.

I also adjusted the parasonics.

I replicated the effect I utilized to get us out of that realm, for lack of a better word.

By allowing the chime to better couple to the field, I think I might have enhanced her effectiveness significantly.

How long do you think it'll take to make it more portable?

Like something we could build into a truck or something like that uh we're a good ways off for that i'm afraid

i've been working on some ideas to reduce the cooling requirements and such so i'm hoping to have something for you to work with soon i wish we knew whether that fog would follow us if we were somewhere other than here showed up for ben when he took that night drive no reason to think he wouldn't do the same for us

yeah but he never left cold sparrow we know that whatever shit happened here spanned the city but what about outside outside the city?

I mean, I gotta think this thing's got limits.

Hmm.

It may not be that the effect follows us, but that we're now...

Infected somehow.

That anywhere we go, it goes with us.

There's gotta be some way to figure it out, right?

Sure.

We travel outside the city and wait until 3 a.m.

And if we're wrong, and the fog does show up, or more specifically, the fucking solders show up again, we're a whole city away from the resonator.

Or worse, we're realms away from the resonator.

All we can do is work on condensing in the resonator and listening to the tapes.

I don't see what else is left to us.

I think you're right.

Once you get the machine mobile, we can get the hell out of here and try to work out something else.

Until then, we're stuck.

I'm.

I'm just worried, you know.

These bastards finally lost their patience with us.

They must have realized that even if we did play that tape, Resonator might shield us from the effects.

So they made a move.

I'm just worried the next move might involve hurting my family, and here I am, stuck with no options.

Oh, it's totally understandable, Mason.

But, and I hate to make it out as a good thing, they did get us to listen to the tape.

They don't need to hurt your family.

They have us where they want us.

Yeah, that's definitely a hard one to get all excited over.

But I see what you mean.

What do we do about what's coming at 3 a.m.?

The resonator will likely keep us safe, but shouldn't we lock ourselves in?

Barricade the doors and windows and all of that.

I don't think we should leave anything to chance.

And at the very least, we won't have to look at whatever's out there.

We can put up some barricades, but we'll need some strategically placed peepholes.

We've still got to be able to see outside in a pinch.

Well, let's get at it.

We don't have a whole lot of time.

How's it coming over there?

Just this last nail, and that's it for the windows.

All the doors are braced from outside, so that's all set.

I've got all the speakers, Chris.

That just about does it, I guess.

That didn't take as long as I thought.

What's next?

Well, I suppose we should get going on Ben's tapes.

It's the best way to know what to expect.

Oh, while I loathe the idea of prefacing our own descent into God knows what with Ben's, it is the most practical thing we can do.

Poor Benjamin.

He had to go through this all by himself.

Hopefully, he didn't go through it for nothing.

If we can learn something from him, that at least counts for something.

Everyone ready?

Not at all.

But when does that ever stop us?

With the realization that Rupert is indeed hiding something from me,

All this strangeness feels more palatable.

Less like the product of my eroding sanity and more the conspiracy of wicked men, my father chief among them.

This clarity has granted me a measure of composure.

It is one thing to be hunted in the night, and quite another to know from which direction the hunter approaches.

Accordingly, I've remained patient and observant, watching and recording Rupert's coming and goings with great interest.

He has indeed been spending a significant amount of time at that rather gothic-looking apartment building, though he also leaves Cold Sparrow for hours at a time.

I cannot follow him beyond the city limits, along the lone road that snakes through the pitch-pot wood.

I would be spotted immediately.

However, the apartment building proved far easier to investigate.

I had wondered whether it would be locked to non-residents,

but when I checked it this afternoon, I found the front door both unlocked and unattended.

Rupert would be staying at the mansion tonight, and so I planned to visit his home away from home.

There's no one here.

The place is huge, on par with my own home.

The walls are marbled white and grey.

There are streaks of something

greasy and black all over the walls.

It almost seems like some kind of putrescence.

And And the smell is...

pungent.

Two large paintings hang high upon the wall opposite the entrance, each depicting darksome grotesque scenes.

One portrays a ghoulish figure standing atop a jagged mountain peak, its arms stretched wide in grim exultation.

eyes glowing red as flesh-blood, with a pale full moon rising ominously behind it.

Another evokes auras reminiscent of the witch trials.

Four young figures, barely more than children, bound tightly to stakes, consumed by flames.

Yet their expressions are disturbingly serene,

each smiling eerily through the roaring blaze.

I took the elevator to the top floor.

The black putrescence is here too.

Thicker now, and the stench is almost overwhelming.

Some kind of mold or fungus, perhaps.

Though I'm not entirely sure

there's a massive room at the end of the hallway flanking its entrance are two bizarre statues angels I think

or something meant to resemble them

they're they're carved from what looks like coal with wings that curve inward like broken ribs.

Their faces are

horrific.

The chamber is vast, cavernous even.

At its center sits a meticulously detailed scale model of Cold Sparrow.

Suspended above it, about five inches off the surface, is a web of criss-crossing red strings.

Deliberate.

Geometric.

The threads converge directly over the mansion.

I'm no expert, but this looks like some form of occult lattice work.

Symbols woven from thread, forming a sinister map of intent.

What in God's name is this supposed to be?

At the far end of the room stands another statue, larger than the ones outside.

More monstrous.

It shares the same strange inverted wings, wings, but it's missing its right arm.

The face is animalistic, almost feral.

Around its base spreads a shallow pool of that viscous black rot.

This isn't just some ordinary tent building.

Just as Rupert is no mere servant to my father.

I'm taking pictures to prove what's here, though I have no idea who I intend to show them to.

What the hell?

Hello?

I'm locked in.

Is anyone there?

Not a single window.

I'm.

I'm trapped.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Anselone and voiced by Stephen Zivik, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, Kelly Baer, and Matt Van Hove.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Anselone and script editing was conducted by Walker Kornfeld.

Be sure to rate and review us on iTunes, Spotify, or your favorite podcast platform.

And follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter at Meltopia.

If you want unique art and animations of Meltopia's stories, visit our YouTube page or click on the link in the show notes.

And for more exclusive content, such as additional lore, stories, and art, be sure to check out our Patreon at www.patreon.com forward slash Meltopia.

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

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

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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.

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