The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 23

Rusty Quill presents.

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell.

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Every night I awaken at or

just before 3 a.m.

And every damn night the fog seems thicker, more ominous.

And these nightmares, my god,

I didn't think they could get any worse.

While this last one was certainly the product of Miss McKay's bizarre claims and behavior, its accounting made it no less horrific.

I found myself wandering through a maze of beaten bramble paths, vast and forsaken tracks of twisted thicket.

The forest loomed fierce and dank, its limbs like warped bolts of wooden lightning clawing into the gloom.

Soon I arrived at a suspension bridge of impossible length and perilous width.

Far below lay some shrouded presence murmuring and mumbling across the yawning chasm.

Stepping onto those thin planks, each one seeming ready to give way at the slightest misstep,

I heard objects whistling overhead.

The darkness masked their shapes, but not the unearthly shrieks and furious curses that trailed behind them as they plummeted like living, howling comets into the abyss.

All of them lost to that consuming void below.

Then the reign of souls seemed to slow, as if the darkness had thickened to the consistency of tar.

A hand gently grazed my face, and I looked toward its source.

The gloom parted, and the eyes of a woman showed through.

I...

I don't know how, but

I knew she was my mother.

She was crying.

All she said, whispered, was...

Run.

And even though I had never met her, heard her voice, the sadness and fear in her eyes filled me with such dread.

Well,

I woke up drenched in sweat.

And now, predictably, I'm headed downstairs to fix myself a good stiff drink.

While I'm sitting here staring at the glass doors at all the fog rolling about,

it reminds me that I have yet to write about another connective tissue binding together the many paranormal categories, mist.

While detractors may claim its ubiquity as merely proof of its ability to confuse the sight and thus explain why odd things are glimpsed within it.

Actual reports don't seem to bear that out.

In fact...

Good lord.

What in God's name was that?

It's.

What the hell?

It's a bird.

A sparrow, I think.

But it's.

It's impossible.

It's...

it's alive

it it only possesses a fleshless skull for a head

and its body is decayed almost entirely this

this can't be real

it just can't be Rupert are you there are you home

Rupert

Sir Something must be wrong with me.

This can't be real.

What do I do with it?

It just...

My God, it just flew away.

It was decayed to mere bones and withered skin.

Hardly any feathers, and it just flew back outside.

Perhaps.

Perhaps I didn't see it correctly in the poor lighting, but I...

I can...

I can hear them.

More of them.

Singing.

I recorded over a good deal of last night's events.

My analysis of them.

If only for my own sanity.

It allows me at least the option to posit saner alternatives to what the night and fog and drink allowed for.

The drink especially.

The glass of the door is still broken.

That much reality remains behind

from the nightmare of dead birds moving and singing en masse.

But what does one do when confronted by such things?

I will not speak of it, not even to Dr.

Raglan.

There is little point.

I know all too well the fate of such tales.

Tales of the damned, as my good friend Charles Forts might have called them.

I don't feel ill, decompensated, delusional.

My only hope is the drink.

Too many hats have been hung on that hook, to be sure.

There's no question in my mind that the sparrows Ben saw were exactly the same as those in my vision.

They were swarming all around that woman, that creature.

It's also fairly obvious that those little monstrosities are what the family symbol are designed to look like.

I've heard of witches, ghosts, vampires, and werewolves, but not zombie birds.

Is that a frequently reported paranormal thing?

best to ask one of our resident experts.

I think they're still downstairs getting those portable resonator units ready.

I get the feeling they want to throw themselves into their work after last night.

I didn't want to mention that we had our own brush with Whittle.

Having been on the receiving end of one of his little spiels about the paranormal, I can see why they might have had mixed feelings about the man.

God rest his soul, but Albert Whittle knew all too well how to get under a person's skin.

I thought Mace was gonna drive straight to his house and punch his lights out.

Bless the man's soul.

He does try his very best to look after us, doesn't he?

I think that's why he told the sisters we were thinking about pulling up stakes just before they showed up.

And honestly, I still think it's the best idea.

Leon,

I'm not sure that's even a possibility anymore.

What do you mean?

Well, I did a lot of thinking after the tunnels, specifically about what happened to you in Portafoy.

Trust me, you weren't the only one.

I wasn't focused on what happened to you, but how far away it happened to you.

Portafoy is almost an hour from here.

This thing, whatever it proves to be, we know it wants us here.

I don't think it'll let us go.

It can reach far past this city.

Lord only knows how far.

And this business with Whittle,

I can't help but find it all a little too coincidental.

You think it killed Whittle?

This thing wants to torment us, make us relive the worst moments of our life.

And like we've learned the hard way, it knows our secrets, our...

our sins.

It knew exactly how to hurt those young ladies, even if it meant killing a man all the way in Las Vegas to do it.

Couldn't that have been the cult?

And that's only if Widdle was murdered.

I don't see what difference it makes.

Leon, if we leave now, went back to our old lives, we'd be alone against this thing.

Defenseless.

Are you finished yet?

Yeah,

just about.

I didn't want to repeat the same mistake as before, so I used the same approach with the portables that I did with the resonator.

I turned down the initial field strength and let it rise gradually, and added a manual adjustment slider.

This should prevent their fields from slamming into all the discarnate energy here and avoid a repeat of whatever happened yesterday.

At least we know she had an effect.

I just wish I knew exactly what kind of effect.

Any ideas?

The resonator enhances the sway consciousness has over reality, allowing it to manifest what's hidden within layers of reality we normally can't detect.

Up till now, however, the resonator has only encountered this carnal energy.

Residual, almost passive consciousness.

But there's something else here: an active will.

I believe that will, that consciousness, fought back against the machine, refused to be prevailed by it.

In short, we experienced the equivalent of a talk of war.

It's mine versus ours, and we lost.

Well, that's encouraging.

Nothing about this place is encouraging.

I don't even know if what's happening here is really paranormal.

At least not like we're used to.

For Christ's sake, we saw

a monster?

For lack of a better word, throw dismembered arms at us.

Our own goddamn dismembered arms, Patricia.

Margaret, you need to calm down.

You heard what Phyllis said.

This thing wants to break us.

We've got to be smart now.

Smarter than we've ever been.

You know, we're always telling our clients to stay strong while we work out a solution.

Well, it's time to practice what we preach.

Christ, Pat.

We told the dumb bastard he could pay with installments.

Whatever worked.

We just wanted what we'd earned.

Does that make us monsters?

No, it doesn't.

Whittle made the bet, and we won it, fair and square.

He's the one who refused to pay, who dragged our names through the mud, publicly shamed us.

No,

he did this to himself, start to finish.

I am sorry about what happened, but I'm not taking the blame for what Whittle chose to do.

Period.

Okay,

this chest is the last of the stuff you left in the van.

Oh, here's a ton.

What's in this thing?

More equipment for the resonator thingy?

That, my friend, is my research library.

I never work without it.

You mean like regular books?

Indeed, they are.

Regular, hardbound books with pages and bookmarks and scribble notes in the margins.

I'll not be hunched over a computer when there's serious research to be done.

At least, not whenever I can help it.

Then you'll be happy to know that Ben's entire library's still here.

All packed up neatly in the basement.

We've gone through some of it.

The stuff I showed you upstairs.

But all the rare books he inherited from Ed are all there.

FBI even left the handy packing catalog.

Are you joking?

When you mentioned the books you were looking into, I thought you meant whatever you'd found in the hidden stash at Benjamin's.

I had no idea we'd have access to Edward's entire occult library.

And I think we just lost my sister for the foreseeable future.

So how does all that work exactly?

I mean, you two are scientists, but you're in all this occult stuff.

I was I was, you know, one way or the other.

We're inclined to think that both science and the occult can be useful for understanding the paranormal.

I guess you could kind of compare it using your own profession to the difference between forensics and a psychologist putting together a killer's profile.

Forensics gives you the external physical evidence you need to catch someone, while the profile gives you insights into the internal mental side of what's going on.

So I take it the profile is like the occult stuff, the view of the paranormal from the inside, yeah?

You hit it right on the head.

Okay, so I got one more question, and I'm betting you already know what it is.

What's with the different accents?

Bingo.

That's a fairly innocuous answer to that question.

After my mother passed away, my father left Ireland for the States to pursue his passion.

Paranormal research.

But not the standard variety.

More like the John Keel version.

The not even the paranormal is as

Once he got here, he enrolled at Duke University, back when it had a parapsychology department, which is where he met our mother.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

How goes the fight?

Yeah, we found a tape where Ben encountered the same dead bird creatures as the ones Phil saw in her vision.

So we know that whoever or whatever this woman is, she was around long after Ed kicked the bucket.

I'm curious about Rupan.

He was there for all that bullshit.

Makes you wonder if he wasn't in on the whole thing, too.

Just like Ed.

It certainly wouldn't be surprising.

The what is at this point.

How are those portable units coming?

Just gotta tighten a few bolts and then they're off to the races.

So, who gets to be the lucky ones to use them?

Well, I have to go.

No one else knows how to adjust them if something goes wrong.

Count me in.

I'm generally pretty good in a pinch.

I guess that leaves the rest of us to monitor the camera and whatnot from the van.

Right, outside the van.

I've got it set up so we can open the back and sit right outside.

Did you transfer our computers over?

Yep, all set and ready to go.

And I promise not to smash them like the last bunch.

Should the same shenanigans happen like last time you folks were out there?

Smash away?

Well, right then.

Let's go roll coffees and teas and get going.

Just remember, we need to be ready for anything out there.

You can say that as often as you'd like, but I have a feeling we'll never be ready for this place.

No offense, but I'm hoping the resonator can prove you wrong.

No offense taken.

I've never been so thrilled at the prospect of being wrong.

You know, it's one thing to read that a whole town just vanished overnight.

It's another to see the place for yourself.

All the houses that were once occupied.

Jeez, the scale of the whole thing.

It's even worse when you start to get an idea what might have happened to them.

Even with all the phenomena, the strength of the manifestations,

it's still hard to justify how over a thousand people got spirited out of existence in a single night.

Are there any parts of the city that stick out to you more than others?

Like I told the boys, there's an ever-present dreadfulness to everything, but no one place more outstanding than that.

Stop the car!

Phil, what's wrong?

I need to get out immediately.

Sure, whatever you say.

You picking something up?

Something...

Something terrible happened near here.

Recently.

You getting a fix on it?

Just give me a moment.

There, right there.

The derelict school.

It happened there.

Okay, let's get the portable units out.

Right.

Like I was telling these two, we need to wipe these scenes while they're hot.

Are you getting any sense of what might have happened?

It sounds like...

like someone being attacked.

Ripped apart by a beast.

You don't think it could have been...

the hyena?

It's a distinct possibility.

Mason, me will go in first.

The rest of you wait here until we get the all-clear on the walkie.

Not a chance.

I'm going with you.

I'll wear one of the portables, so we have a chance of detecting this shit before it's right on top of us.

I've seen that same look on Phil's face plenty of times, so I'm not even gonna bother arguing with you.

There's a smart man!

I know this thing shrugs off bullets, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

I'm already getting it.

You're packing?

What?

You've never seen an old lady with a Glock before?

I never knew I wanted to.

Okay, let's hit it.

Christ,

we were gonna have to come in through the window.

Dawn must have swept shut or something.

Or maybe it got bowed out from someone kicking the shit out of it from this side.

Look.

I'm no expert, but those boot prints look recent, don't they?

Sure do.

And there's two sets of them.

Looks like they hammered away at it for a good while.

Door wasn't locked, though.

They should have been able to open it up.

You mean like how the doors in the van were supposed to open?

Good point.

Okay,

before we do anything else, I'm gonna start up the resonator.

Just be ready.

It might feel kinda funky.

I could use some funky right now.

Ask and thou shalt receive.

You ain't kidding.

Feels sort of like a good buzz.

You know, like out of the first few beers.

A lot of people claim to like the sensation.

I'm digging it.

Is it digging anything up?

It doesn't really work quite like a scanner.

You'll actually see the X matter materialize within the field if there's something nearby.

Or, at a minimum, you'll hear a disturbance in the cadence of the field.

X matter?

That's what we call the paranormal manifestations, on account of us not knowing precisely what the stuff is made of.

X X-Men, got you.

Everything all right in there?

We're good, Phil.

It's all clear.

Come on in.

Look here.

Looks like wherever these two were, they made a fire.

Phil said it was recent, so I'm thinking last night during the storm.

Coldest night we've had since we've been here.

Yeah, most likely.

More boot tracks over here from the space that I'd say they took off like rockets

Now I feel a bit more in my element this place has the look and feel of a right and proper ghost hunt

Have you found oh my goodness.

Does anyone else feel that?

It's okay, Phyllis.

The portable para-funky buzzamina.

Yeah, it's just the portable unit, Phyllis.

The field can be a little much

at first.

No, not at all.

I.

I sort of like it.

My mind feels so...

clear.

Quite a few psychics we've worked with have said the same.

In other news, based on the size of the footprints on the back of the door they tried, and failed, to kick open, it seems two men were here, likely last night.

They built a fire and then, for some reason, bolted in that direction.

Any tracks of whatever might have spooked them?

Not seeing anything.

Let's see where these prints go.

All right, everyone, stay close.

Right there, the unit's showing us something.

Jesus.

That foggy stuff in the middle of the hallway, that's X matter, yes.

Something happened here.

Something horrible.

Are you all right, Philip?

Be fine, Philip.

Let her do her thing.

I can

see you

fill.

I think she's coming out of it.

Phil.

Phil, can you hear me?

Yes.

Oh, yes, I can hear you.

I

saw

it.

Was it the hyena?

It's no hyena.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Meltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Anzalone and performed by Stephen Zivik, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, Kelly Bear, and Mark Anzalone.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Anzalone, 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.

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Three-year price guarantee applies to then-current base monthly rate only.

Additional terms and conditions apply for all offers.

We get it.

It's more important than than ever to get the most out of your money.

Options are key.

Options like Lyft, where you get great rewards, especially with partners like Dash Pass by DoorDash.

If you're a Dash Pass member, just link your DoorDash account and you'll get 5% off on-demand rides, 10% off scheduled rides to the airport, plus two free priority pickup upgrades every month.

New to Dash Pass?

To sign up for a three-month free trial, check Lyft.

Terms apply.

Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

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

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams Scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly.

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

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