S14 Ep22: S14E22 - "Youthful Innocence" - Horror Hill

starts a shopping trip at full cost.

“I'll tell you when the shopping trip is already the first day.”

And the platform makes me no problem. I have a lot of problems, but the platform is not one step away. I feel that shopping trip is a platform that can only be obtained. Everything is super integrated and useful. And the time and the money that I can't invest in there is nothing else.

For all in vaccination. Now, the shopping trip is about the point of the day. With the checkout with the world for the best conversion. That's right. The checkout with the world for the best conversion.

The legendary checkout of shopping trip is just on your website. It's a bit too social media and it's over. Well, that's a music for your ears.

“How would you like to go to the shopping trip with shopping trip?”

Let's take a look at one of the most important things in the shopping trip.

Let's record it. The following program is a production of chilling entertainment and the creative team at chilling tales for dark nights and the proud member of the Simply Scary Podcast Network. Visit simplyscarypodcast.com to learn more about this and our other weekly storytelling programs and become a patron today to show your support and get instant access to our extensive

archive of downloadable tales of terror. Thank you for listening and enjoy the show. . Blamer Horror Hill is a horror anthology podcast bringing you scary stories from all corners of the internet and beyond.

As such, certain stories include content that some listeners might find offensive. Listener discretion is advised. Hello listeners and welcome back to the horror Hill podcast.

As always, I'm your host and narrator, Eric Peabody.

This evening, I've got quite a weird story for you from a favorite author of mine, J.R. Hammontoshan. This tale is called "It's Always Time to Go." Our story opens with four young boys having a sleepover, candy, rough housing, horror movies, all of the staples of a successful elementary school get together.

For Jason, the uncle of one of the boys and the designated chaperone, it's both a refreshing reminder of his own younger days and a good trial run at some day being apparent himself. But in usual J.R. Hammontoshan fashion, there's a lot going on under the surface here, and true darkness is sometimes found where you least expect it. And I've got some news to share as well.

“As many of you know, I'm a musician and audio engineer, as well as a self-important podcast host.”

I've been cooking up something special with some friends of mine, chat, fiverr and lil' Erickson from the band "Pitch Black Manor," and it should be hitting band camp on May 1st. In a prolonged moment of shared insanity, we have written an entire album inspired by the Brian Lumley horror novel, Neckroscope.

Think of it as the soundtrack to the movie rendition that never happened, with guitars, keyboards,

vampire atmosphere, and the romantic airs of a sex scene involving a sater. For our impromptu band, we're going with the name "Draculator," and the album is titled "Scope Creep." Head over to ChadFyford.bandcamp.com to take a listen, that's CHAD, F-I-F-E-R dot bandcamp.com. And as a bonus, if you pick up the whole album, it includes a full discussion of the novel

by the strange studies of strange stories podcast, including narrated excerpts by yours truly. Go sync your teeth in, friends. Your listening to the free edition of this program, if you'd like to help support horror Hill, and also remove these pesky ads, head to Chilling Tales for Dark Nights dot com and click Patrons

You'll get instant access to hundreds of ad-free stories, so what are you waiting for?

“Also, if you're watching on YouTube, do us a favor and drop a like and subscribe.”

Become part of our Dark Circle, Listeners.

And now, from J.R. Hammond Toshin, here's, it's always time to go.

Aaron Sleepover resulted in a veritable takeover of Grandma Ison's household. Aaron, age 10, and his three pals and classmates, Anthony, Eric, and Bruce, sat in the kitchen and ate from a smorgasbord of dips, chips, and candies. His friends chowed down, Aaron remembered there was a half-filled bag of York peppermint patties and a cupboard, and a big carton of twizzlers in the food pantry.

The York peppermint patties were his dads. Grandma Nini kept them at her house because she knew his dad liked them. He knew if he called his dad and asked if he could have some, he'd say yes, and he debated in the ill-formed and solid-psistic fashion of 10-year-old inner turmoil, whether he should get the patties and present them for his friends.

Maybe his dad would be tired one day and drive over to Nini's and want a patty, and he'd feel bad if he took them for himself. But then again, he'd invited his friends over and wanted them to have fun. Anthony's earlier comment, that the mild salsa had no taste, and then Bruce's a dendom that it tasted like moldy marinara sauce.

Give Aaron a scare because he thought maybe his friends were let down by the options, but they'd all laughed good-naturedly in a way to let Aaron know that they didn't hold the poor salsa against him.

“That's why it's good to keep Eric around.”

He always just seemed appreciative that Aaron included him and never said anything negative.

Eric didn't say much at all, really, but he was a reliable and dependable playmate, a new addition to his pantheon ever since he moved to Aaron's block some months ago. Aaron got the twizzlers, but made no mention of the patties. He got twizzlers too, he announced, though Anthony and Bruce didn't respond as enthusiastically as he'd hoped.

Eric, with a mouth full of so many mass-dicated peanut M&M's that it tasted like he'd licked a scoop of skippy right off a butter knife, offered the following practical endorsement. Twizzlers will be good for when we watch the movies later because they last long. You can also drink through them if you bite off their tops. Bruce and Anthony looked at each other as if considering a business proposal, then

nodded nonchalantly, evidently satisfied with Eric's conclusion.

“After they'd migrated to the living room, Bruce tripped harmlessly, the combined sugar rush”

and the promise of a night of tom-foolery conspiring to overcome his senses. The boys all laughed, and while he was down, Anthony ran over and tagged him, yelling, "Robbers!" and both boys yipped and ran around. Aaron became giddy too, buoyed by his growing confidence that his sleepover would be a success. Robbers?

Eric asked, as if annoyed that the boys were conflating tag with cops and robbers, which had different unarticulated rules, and it didn't matter anyway because they were all going to end up running around in circles. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there guys, calm down, alright?" That was Jacob, Erin's uncle, who was in town with his long-time girlfriend Emily.

Erin's aunt. Emily and Jacob were back from grad school and staying with Erin's parents for a few nights. Erin's parents were back home, enjoying their rare night alone, with Emily and Jacob earning

their keep as backup security and reinforcement for hosting Erin's first sleepover at

nines house, and shepherding four rowdy boys. Erin, Jacob thought, really had grown. Jacob had been with Emily since before Erin had even been born, and had seen the kid grow from a sweet natured, fat-headed toddler, who loved mimicking others, and doing funny dances for the affection of his family.

To this, dividend little boy, still sweet natured, but who kept largely to himself, unless pushed into sociability. Satisfied in his own world of trucks, trains, cars, video games, and YouTube videos. Away at grad school, they didn't see Erin nearly as much. Now when Jacob saw him, the physical changes seemed apical, as if coming out of nowhere.

Jacob liked Eric. Jacob had met Eric at least once before, and liked him because he seemed stern and respectful, which at his age could be evidence of early neurosis, but was still appreciated as a nice feature when you're trying to calm and dear for little boys. Even Erin wasn't listening, which was unlike him, as he was swept away into pandemonium

But I take you boys to the library, then you ignore me.

“I'm chomped liver back here, stop running around, it's getting late.”

The boys all stopped. "Hey, I said hello, claimed Anthony." "Me too," inserted Bruce. Erin repeated what Bruce said in a low, wavery baritone. "Me too," because repeating stuff is apparently the height of hilarity to ten-year-old

boys, liar, Jacob responded, then gave Erin a jocular bump on the shoulder. "You see, Eric here, he's the only one who acknowledged me, be more like Eric." Erin wished Jacob hadn't said that. He'd been worried about having Eric hang out with the other two boys.

They'd never all hung out together.

Anthony and Bruce played on the same intramural soccer team as Erin, but unlike Erin, they hadn't been forced to take up the sport by their parents. Eric didn't play sports, and Erin worried that he might not be able to keep up with their energy and general ram bonksiousness. "Worse," once in social studies, Bruce had told Eric he smelled funny, which wasn't true.

Erin had no idea why Bruce said that, other than Erin suspected that Bruce sometimes felt the need to just say something, and usually that something was impulsive and regrettable.

“Eric never responded, and Erin just hoped he hadn't heard him or just didn't remember.”

Erin remembered the vicarious embarrassment he felt for his friend, and told himself next time he'd stick up for him. Bruce asked earnestly, "What's chopped liver?"

Chopped liver is when you take out someone's liver, chop it up, and eat it.

In the medieval times like when there were nights and dragons, when the town folk didn't like someone they used to rip out the person's liver and eat it while the victim was forced to watch. For Jacob, it was fun being alone with the boys, had Emily been around, she certainly would have said, "Shake up."

In that closed, teeth meter she used, just below an exclamation, to let him know he was taking his anarchic tendencies a bit too far. "You!" While the boys expressed in varied laughing permutations, while he would someone

“need chopped liver, Erin asked laughing, "I'm just joking with you, kids."”

Jacob added automatically so they wouldn't get him in trouble later.

He didn't need one of them repeating that to Emily.

Uncle Jacob's with my aunt, Emily, and they go to school together. This was well-trained territory, but Erin apparently felt the need to repeat it, in case Anthony and Bruce forgot all about the library trip, and thought there was a stranger watching over them. If someone was going to give them gruesome fake history, they may as well know the source.

"I am indeed with her," Jacob said, to know audible response, Eric smirked. "We go to school together, but we're back to watch over U-Rap's scallions." He had a line anticipated if one of them asked what a rap scallion was. You know those scallions you put on a bagel, like that, except one that can wrap songs. But none of them registered this unique word, or "gave" to shits.

He considered prompting them if they knew what a rap scallion was. He liked the gaulis, gambling, question-and-answer sessions. Tracking the boys' eyes, Jacob realized someone had just come down the stairs behind him. That's Anne Emily. Erin said, "Dryly."

And Emily, Eric ran over to her and hugged her upper legs so she pretended to strain and fall backward from his on-rush. She was wearing a white t-shirt and short shorts and preparation for bed, and had Eric been a bit older, Jacob thought he'd have to watch where he was grabbing. Jacob reminded himself not to stoop to correcting a little boy, especially not when the

kid seemed to be coming out of his shell. If Jacob wasn't careful with what he said in front of these kids, Eric might be stuck with the moniker "grabby hands," or something much worse, maybe rape fingers, until he graduated high school or something. "It's Eric, Erin, why does your friend seem happier to see me than you?"

Erin shrugged. "He sees you less often?" "Oh, geez, thanks." Anthony and Bruce said hello in the plotting, perfunctory way, that little boys interact with older girls.

How much candy are you guys eating? Emily wrapped her lips around each word and exaggerated her interest in surprise, Eric still fastened to her leg. You trying to take her to the ground, Eric? That, Jacob figured, was a casual way of getting Eric to restrain his roving hands.

Eric let go immediately and put his hand behind his back like he'd been caught in something. "No," he said, "but didn't smile or laugh away an accusation like the other boys.

You couldn't take me down anyway," said Emily, assuming a wrestling position.

“"Ah, no, maybe that's not the best idea, M's.”

It's late and they're just calming down to go downstairs and get him sleeping bags and watch movies." Jacob didn't really care about all that. He just didn't want to watch Eric, however, innocently, paw over his girlfriend. It was a disconcerting image.

And a hem calling me "mean Old Jacob," I told them what movies to get and took them to the library to get them. Anga Candy at the store, Bruce added, "Thanks for defending me, Bruce." Bruce appeared surprised that his comment was acknowledged, looked up at Jacob, and nodded formally.

"If Eric was doing something weird, seemed like he was, as Jacob obviously didn't want

“him wrestling Emily, Bruce wanted to distinguish himself with civility."”

"Okay guys, and Emily pushed Eric delicately on the shoulders back to the other boys, for which he looked happy solely for the duration he was in physical contact with Emily and not a moment longer. You all have fun downstairs, I still can't believe how much candy you all have." You boys probably don't know about Type II diabetes.

You get that when you get older and need a lot of sugar. The boys are working on like Type III diabetes right now. Placed her hands on her hips and flexed her eyes, as if each alone wasn't clue enough not to pursue this joke any further. "I'm just kidding, they don't know what that all is anyway."

I think my grandma has diabetes, she can't eat chocolate, Anthony said without a fact, and smiled as all the boys laughed as if he'd said something really funny. He wasn't sure why it was funny, maybe because of how outsized Emily's expressions became. Of course, Jacob deadpaned, just his luck. Enough of all that, Emily added, "For a moment, Eric thought Emily might embrace him again,

maybe in a sudden raucous takedown, to distract the group from the awkwardness of morbid topics, but he instantly knew that was only a foolish, nothing of a wish."

“Alex the one who's been eating all the candy, you should see how many peanut M&M-CA”

it already, he's the one who's first to get diabetes, Bruce Bellowed, his smile not

fooling anyone about his intentions. No one likes a rat, Bruce, that's a lesson you've got to learn one day, when Emily wasn't around, Jacob would teach the boys the valuable adage of snitches get stitches and let them guess what it meant. Emily crouched at the knee to Eric, "Is that true, Eric? You? You're the smallest of them all.

What's your secret? I wish I could eat like you. I eat anything I want." Eric spoke as if Emily was the only one in the room. Enjoy it while it lasts. I have. Jacob figured it would be best to get them all downstairs out of Emily range before he got himself in trouble again.

Good answer, kid. Alright, say good night to Emily. Downstairs gang. Okay, Ramblers. Let's get rambling. It was fun making movie references they wouldn't get for years, and the catchphrase,

Ramblers, let's get rambling, was repeated first by Aaron as they gathered up some candies.

Then, Bruce and Anthony chimed in as they were picking up their overnight bags. Eric looked unamused, as if reservoir dogs was glib refashioned hackwork, and he was more of a pal Thomas Anderson. Jacob had made them a killer list of starter horror for a sleepover, but the cloved in public library only had two of them. Grimmlins and crampus.

Trimmers, the monster squad, and the gate would have to wait. Two movies were too much for them in one night anyway, but good to have options. Although, really, there wasn't any option. He'd make sure they damn well watched Grimmlins first. And then, if they were up for it, could fit in crampus. He was half tempted to watch Grimmlins alongside them.

Jacob knew the importance of the first sleepover.

Shit, even throwing a party now gave him anxiety. He could only imagine how he'd feel an errands shoes, having three friends over and making sure everyone stayed entertained.

they'd spent a lot of time hanging out, and he could also tell that Aaron and Anthony seemed

preoccupied with gauging Bruce's mood before they chimed in. The pecking order of popularity started earlier than he'd remembered, and that was a tragedy. Kids can't even get through elementary school without the machinations of status suddenly pulling the sociological strings. Let's give Eric a leg up in this popularity game. I just want to officially give it up

to Eric, by the way, who found crampus in the library. Good work, kid. And it was true. There was no crampus in the case section, even though the librarians said it should be there. Eric walked off without a word and found it misplaced, apparently in the "C" section. Smart kid.

What? Did some library staffer restocking the film's section, misreaded as crampus

“with a "C"? Figure it was a movie about a girl terrorized by a PMS demon?”

Jacob even lightly clapped as if to officially coronate Eric as the sleepover MVP, with the other three boys, Bruce, begrudgingly, following his lead. Bruce doing really nothing more than just tapping a forefinger against an opposite thumb. That being said, "Do you all promise me?" Gremlin's first, right? They all agreed.

And please remember, if you don't like this movie, you are never allowed to step foot in

this house again. OK, assemble your chosen candies. An ensuing riot of movement, all the boys, except Eric, pouncing, scrambling, and attempting to scoop up as much candy from the floor as their little arms could pin against their chests. Chill, chill, more than enough for everyone. Don't make me play breadline later.

Who would wait on a line for bread? Bread is so boring, and you can get bread everywhere. Aaron yelled while laughing. Anthony, on top of him, and both tugging at opposite ends of a box of milk duds, as Bruce, unchallenged, threw a few bags of peanut M&M's up in the air, and laughed as they fell wherever gravity dictated.

Jacob snatched the milk duds in the middle, the force making Aaron fall back and laugh even

more at his thud.

“First, calm down. Second, milk duds are disgusting. You should fight over who should”

be forced to eat these things. Breadlines were when there wasn't enough food to go around. Eric explained dispassionately as he assembled a nest of candies. Eric's withdrawal corresponded proportionately with the other self-absorbed boisterousness, Jacob could sympathize, and hoped it augured well for the kid. One needed to take stock

of the company you keep. What further demonstrated that Eric was wise beyond his ears, was his nest of Reese's peanut butter cups, the most decadent candy, and his twicks and kick cats, the two most sonnically and mouth-feel satisfying candies. Eric again speaking straight facts, "This is a kid to listen to," said Jacob.

Jacob calmed them down, making a breadline of sorts to distribute candies without everyone causing mayhem, and, as a silent thank you to Eric's composure, allowed the kid to hoard most of his looker. "Everyone in positions?" All the kids had assembled their sleeping bags and tight formation around the television. "Okay, he not that close, guys. Come on, you're going to burn your eyes out. Aaron put his

hands to his face and flopped around as if he just had his eyes flash burned with acid, as the other kids smiled. Before Bruce and Anthony joined in on the squirming, Jacob pushed them all back a few paces. "Kill out. I don't want you smashing your heads against the table. If you crack your skulls open, I'd really get in trouble with Aunt Emily. So, if you kill yourselves,

do it on your own watch. All right. Okay. Aaron agreed. That seems fair. Anthony nodded without thinking. And Bruce and Anthony seemed to get into a brief competitive nod off. Heads bobbing like hyperactive parakeets, as Jacob slid the DVD into the player." "Remote?" Jacob stated, and held his hand back as if ordering a scalpel. When a beat passed and no remote appeared in his hand, he turned around and again asked, "Remote?"

“"Should be on the table, I think." Aaron turned to the table behind them. "Dude, clearly”

it's not on the table. Is it on the arm of the couch? Where's your grandma keeping?" "Number but," offered Bruce, and giggled far in excess of what his witnesses him reasonably afforded. Aaron stood over the couch arm. Evidently, it wasn't there either. It was kind of under the couch. Eric handed Jacob the remote. I kind of saw it like poking out when we came down. My man with the X-ray vision. Kid paid back for his little grabby hands before.

each other through the table. But why worry? It wasn't his house. Hell, wasn't even

“his nephew, really. And wasn't a touch of chaos part of the fun of a sleep over anyway.”

Rockin' Ricky Rialto and the tune Christmas, baby please come home, kicked off the opening to the sleep over classic. And Jacob left them to their devices. Which do you think was scarier? Gremlins or crampas? Aaron asked, as the four boys huddled in their sleeping bags. They weren't scary. Bruce responded. Yeah, they weren't that scary, but they were good, I thought. Anthony offered, ever the conciliatory peacemaker.

Yeah, they were good to watch. And the obscuring dark. Bruce felt less incentive to take a stark position and see who would follow his lead. It was almost freeing not to feel attention thrust upon him, and he closed his eyes and felt relaxed. They were both good movies. I liked Gremlins more. I liked the effects better and the main characters.

“Opine to Eric. Bruce made a grunting noise that could be either a challenge or a concession.”

It was as if he was too tired or lazy to speak, but couldn't let Eric say something without some notation in the ledger that he'd officially responded. The crampas DVD had a big point of no return scratch in the back, and the film had frozen about a quarter of the way into the movie. Eric had taken the DVD to the bathroom and done something with it, rubbed it with a pad, maybe, doing a good enough job to make the DVD work again. Bruce let Eric have his crowning moment

without comment. He could see why Aaron kept him around, if only for selfish reasons. Eric made up for his lack of personality or interest with administrative efficiency. A few beats of silence later, as Bruce pondered what to say, and Anthony opened the floor back up with, anyone know any scary stories? Anthony flared and squirmed as if electrocuted,

a second wind of excitement for what was to come. But no one had anything.

Candyman? No one had seen the movie, just knew that you had to say the name three times in the mirror and he'd appear with a hook for a hand. It could be fun to try, but they were riddled with candy, stomachs grossly, saddled with junk. All except Eric rolled around in their sleeping bags to find that ideal resting position that didn't put too much pressure on their swollen stomachs. One time, a woman went to a gas station and there was a creepy guy who worked there who was trying

to tell her something, and she got scared so she drove away, but what he was trying to say was there's something in your car, and when she got out of the car, she saw there was a hook left on a door handle. That was Erin's confused contribution, and the closest approximation the boy's head to the creaky old urban legends they felt should be shared around imagined campfires, or, more realistically, in darkened basements filled with discarded candy wrappers and fart fumes.

"I know one," said Eric, in a suppressed husky voice, as he was resting flatly on his chest. "Is it a good one?" asked Bruce. He wanted to go to sleep. He had hoped that Jacob would come down after gremlins and do that thing adults do, where they say it's time to go to bed for some arbitrary reason, as if all four kids had the same natural bedtime. But no one did. To raise the stakes high enough for Eric to reconsider the propriety of unspooling his no-doubt stupid tale,

Bruce continued, "It better be a good one," as I'm saying. "No idea if it's good. I never told

it to anyone, so I'm probably not." "Uh, I don't know about that then. It's late. Only time for good ones." Bruce only sighed again, and said, "How up is a good one?" as the other two boys whispered. "Tell it." There's not much to tell. Eric sounded almost short of breath, as if fighting internally about weather to bother. There was a man about Jacob's age,

“your uncle Jacob. He was very smart and could do very important things if he thought about it enough,”

but he was unmotivated. And here, Eric struggled a bit for the correct wording, and fell in with the wrong crowd. He decided upon, as the other boys not entirely able to parse what that expression meant, nodded in the dark or said, "Okay, if only to show they were still listening, if not entirely understanding." Meaning he followed others, many shouldn't. Bruce rolled onto his back, eyes closed, and was already losing interest in where this was going.

Andy knew better, and he was very smart, a smart in a way that others didn't know what to do

really figure out a good way to do it. His parents, they cared about him a lot, but they were at a

loss, like they didn't know the best thing to do for him. People were always looking for him.

It's hard to explain. It's all a bit different than what we're used to. Some of these people looking for him were really mean, and could do terrible terrible things. What kind of things? Aaron interjected, "goating Eric and to filling out the story with the requisite macabre details needed

“for a stinky basement yarn." "Oh, bad things." You have to say what kind of bad things. That's how”

the story's work. Anthony offered helpfully. Yeah, that's what's supposed to make the story's good. Bruce said to the ceiling in his backstroke position. Okay. When they'd caught some of the boys' friends, they'd tried to make them talk. I thought he was an old person like Jacob. Now he's a boy. Bruce scolded. They went after the boys' friends to find him when he disappeared. They tied up his friends and put them all in a chamber and made a voodoo, kind of glass that

you could see through, but never break. And each glass wall in the chamber had all these small

holes. When they realized the friends really wouldn't talk to reveal the boys' whereup, where the boy was, they'd let out an animal, like a raccoon, that would stick its nose through the holes and would stick its nose in their bodies, wanted to time, so everyone else could watch.

“And after someone had their insides sucked out, the people looking for the boy would tell the”

remaining friends, we'll sift through their insides and find out what we need. We'll find out what we need eventually, just tell us what we need to know and save yourself. But they wouldn't do it. They wouldn't tell. Wow. Said Aaron. Cool. How could a raccoon do that, though, raccoons don't eat people? Anthony posed it more like a question. He said it was like a raccoon, not actually a raccoon. Bruce said sternly. "Yeah, he said it was like a raccoon. Maybe it

looks like a raccoon, but it's like a raccoon that people experimented on, so now it's like a crazy raccoon that can eat brains." Aaron explained with mounting excitement. And there were other things too. As Eric continued with a distracted sort of sadness, the din died down so they could all listen, and they prompted him to articulate each illusion.

“Like the frogs with the nails who didn't know any better, but if you left them with a person”

for long enough, they'd make a nest out of their stomach. Or the gasping skinny people, all veins and pointed angles, hanging by their shoulders somewhere in something like a dungeon. The only moisture they retained left in their desperate eyes. When Eric gave a name to one of those skinny people, he stopped speaking and curled himself up in his bag. And the boys, all in the same spirit, covered their faces like it was all so

gross and giggled too, even if they weren't entirely sure what he meant. Aaron was excited for his friend, he had become the center of attention. But Eric seemed to lose his luster for the tail, and as he was prodded to continue, and Aaron felt bad that the others pressured him so much, because Eric obviously hadn't been able to think of an ending. So, his family shepherded, I mean, got him away from all that.

The boy was too special to be caught by the type of people looking for him, it would have been terrible. So, his family learned to trick to hide him and themselves, make the man, boy, whatever, look different, not even the same age. He was trapped,

because he could never go back to his own life. He missed the freedom of what he'd had,

but he was safe with his disguise. And he sometimes wished he'd just died with everyone else. He could feel the presence of the people looking for him, and sometimes when he got mad or sad, he almost let down his guard and let himself be found, as terrible as that would be. It was Anthony, who after an extended silence asked, "Is that it?" Yes, replied Eric. Bruce made a loud, ripping sound, Anthony laughed.

"Good try, though." Bruce added as a stinger. "There's a lot that can be added to it, I thought it was interesting. Good job." Aaron sued. "Yeah, it was interesting. We can add to it. It can be the story of our sleepovers. We can add to it each time until one day we can write it all down." suggested Anthony. "Best story of the night," Aaron praised.

"Thanks," Eric said after a pause, sounding vacant and far away.

“"I didn't expect Bruce to like it. Funny, though, I told it for him. Hoping it would”

perk his ears a bit." Bruce considered rolling back on his stomach and confronting him with a righteous "Oh, really?" but was too tired. The vaguely fun delirium of fatigue that had made Eric's story exotic had been entirely replaced by deadening innovation. "I like to just find, don't you worry, Eric. Bruce was too tired to get a consistent tone to his reply. "Let's just all go to bed. They agreed. And to bed, they went."

"A way, Aaron. It was Eric." "Yeah, I can't sleep for some reason. Maybe you're still excited about having such a good sleepover." "Maybe?" Aaron liked to think that he was the guardian of his sleepover and couldn't fall asleep until he made sure all his guests were taken care of.

“There was no doubt that the other two were asleep. Aaron was divided because he wanted to keep”

talking to Eric, but he didn't want to run the risk of waking them up. "You're a good kid." Eric said plaintively from the dark. "Thanks, you're my friend, too." Eric sniffed, a laugh. Aaron thought to say something, but didn't, as his friend seemed to wrestle himself into a suitable sleeping position. Some time passed, impossible to tell how long at the deep blackness.

"Hey, Aaron. How do you know I was still awake?" Aaron was so tired he wasn't even sure if he was talking.

"Your auntie seems really cool." Eric said quickly, too quickly for Aaron to at first understand him.

"Yeah, she's cool. She's good at kickball. Have her see her changing clothes?" "What?" "You know, that's gross. You're gross." Aaron said, "Giddly." "I'm sure she looks really good changing clothes. Just really good. Great legs." She plays kickball. She can kick the ball pretty far, farther than I can, not as far as Uncle Jacob, but still pretty far. Yeah. Eric stayed motionless for a few minutes.

"Have you ever seen your naked at all?" "No. That makes sense." Aaron sensed his friend twisting and tussling in a sleeping bag, like someone having a bad dream, but he knew Eric was awake. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even said that stuff. I don't know why I did. I guess maybe you'll understand when you're older, but that's not really an excuse. I just don't have, uh, I don't know.

"It's okay. Go to sleep. Well hang out in the morning." "No. You want to understand, and that's nothing to do with you as a person. You're a good kid. I just can't do this anymore. I need to take my chances. I, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was because of Bruce. He wouldn't shut his fucking mouth and it got me upset. That's no excuse. I should know a lot better. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I'm getting out of here,

“and you should come with me. Anthony too, really all of you. I don't know what.”

And Eric stopped speaking. "Can you not sleep because of your story?" Aaron found Eric's curse words disturbing because whenever Aaron heard one of his parents say them, the other either laughed up roaringly or yelled sharply. "Cursed words provoked a reaction, and Aaron was too tired for all that." Eric stayed silent, but leaned up, like he completed a setup.

"I'm sorry, Aaron. I wish you'd never met me. I don't want to be here. I shouldn't be here.

I'm stuck. I need to get out of here. He might be even worse if I stayed." A moment of silence, and then, I fucked up. Eric shook his head. It was hopeless. Despair spread through his chest, but it was a forced anguish as if ritualized, the meaning behind it lost to time. Eric clenched his midsection, gripped and twisted a curly cue of fat on his stomach, to lurch himself down the path of the proper self-abasement and shame he knew he must be compelled

to feel. But it wasn't there. Just anxiety. The overwhelming urge to flee.

self-torment and guilt, Eric knew he deserved. How quickly that metastasized and furious self-pity,

that sterling companion, and he thrust his mind back to the self-hatred, shame, and guilt that was his debair. But too little, too late. That was the rub, wasn't it? Only so much he can take before the inputs don't register. The wig was too frayed and spent to ignite the eager candle. Eric fled up out of the basement, and out of the house. Jacob leaned against the door that led down to the basement. He closed his eyes, eyeballs reverberating wildly behind his lids, and then opened them

up again abruptly, and, while not moving, swore he was losing his balance. It was morning, and he was at a loss as to what he should do. He and Emily had woken up together, and she would

be coming down any second after brushing her teeth and throwing on some clothes. To think about that,

she was upstairs, just brushing her teeth, picking out what to wear. She should be there forever, permanently getting ready. His chest caved and ached at the thought of that quotidian world, lost to him forever. He wished to return and hide under it like a dog scurrying under the bed when fireworks blasted nearby. Emily came springing toward him unrapped Tutsi roll in her mouth. I see you judging. Yeah, that's right. I'm eating a Tutsi roll for breakfast.

“Gotta get rid of all this candy eventually, anyway. He blinked. They getting dressed down there?”

Emily immediately realized it was a weird question, as little boys wouldn't be dressing and undressing together, until she remembered there was a bathroom down there, so maybe they were taking turns. Jacob shook his head. Emily shrugged, then shrugged more dramatically as a clue for Jacob to speak. She mentally shrugged as she turned away from him and went into the fridge to scrounge. Oh god, yeah, there's half a nice coffee from yesterday. She ducked her head into the fridge and

came back slurping from a straw. Natural Swedener, she tried to say about the rest of the Tutsi roll she'd stuffed in her mouth. Jacob, had thought it would be fun to wake the boys up. Maybe kick them away, smash them with a pillow. He had expected to go downstairs and have it smell

“grimy like a turtle tank. They awake? You know if they want food or anything?”

Jacob blinked and shook his head slightly, at least now in her general direction. Please stop talking. Please remain here with me forever. Following that thought, "Oh god, it got worse. He was the last one to see them all, wasn't he?" And what was he doing now if not delaying? But no, that's not what he was doing. He was, he had to explain himself to this imaginary but conceivable future interlocutor.

What? No, what was he expected to do? Tell someone, but how could he? What could he say to make them understand to prepare them? The few minutes span from when he'd gone down to check on them

and Emily's arrival wasn't enough time. It would never be enough time. Years wouldn't be enough

time, from when he went down to check and felt the hot house humidity. Just stay up here with me. He implored before she got the next words out of her mouth. Run away with me, he wanted to say,

“"Run away with me, just let's leave together. I didn't do anything you have to believe me."”

He started sweating. Thoughts of cinching police lights, the lightheadedness of exhaustion, of being taken away, handcuffed and hungry and alone in a police waiting room. What? Call 911. That's what he needed to do. Call 911 and just tell them something terrible it happened. Professionals will come and see I had nothing to do with this, nothing to do, couldn't possibly have, and he despised himself for succumbing to thoughts of self-preservation.

But what else could he do? That was a life raft he understood and Emily, their relationship with something he must cling to. Downstairs, that hot house dankness, the sticky presence in the air, the three irregularly pyrametical, puse-colored heaps of crumbling, powdery flash.

Got a grip? No, it wasn't like that. Down there for less than 30 seconds could be wrong,

“could be wrong, didn't get a good view. Somehow he knew Eric was unaccounted for.”

Find Eric. Find Eric. Find Eric to find out what happened. It's okay, he said to himself, to her, to know one, to the world, to manifest that into truth. He hugged her, and wouldn't let go.

That was, it's always time to go by J.R. Hammontoshan. J.R. Hammontoshan is a writer of

short stories, having released several collections, including a deep horror that was very nearly awe. With a voice that is often still confused, but is becoming ever louder and clearer, and you shall never know security. J.R. also co-hosts a horror podcast called "The Horror of

“Notchos and Hamentoshan." You can find collections of his work at Velix Books.”

Once again, J.R. Hammontoshan leaves me feeling quite unwell after finishing a story of his,

and that is high praise listeners. It just goes to prove a point I've been trying to make for years.

You can't trust someone named Eric. J.R. thanks for another chilling story. Before I go, I'll remind you to head over to ChadFifer.bandcamp.com on May 1st to check out our Necroscope inspired album Scope Creep. It's 100% guaranteed to safeguard you from vampiric possession, or to ensure vampiric possession, whichever floats your boat. Again, that's Scope Creep at ChadFifer.bandcamp.com. C-A-J-D F-I-F-E-R.bandcamp.com.

“And with that, I vanish into the midst myself. But don't worry, I'll return next week with more”

horror Hill to slake your sanguine thirst, until then dear listeners. Stay spooky.

You've been listening to The Horror Hill podcast a production of chilling entertainment and the creative team at Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. Tonight's episode was hosted, narrated, scored, and finalized by yours truly, Eric Peabody. Additional music by Nicky Mixorley. Got a terrifying tale of your own that you'd like performed? Email it to us at submissions at simplyscarypodcast.com to have your work considered for future production. Note that any

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