RQ Network Feed Drop – Hi Nay: Ep 1 – Bulok

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exciting stretch goals. Go to www. RustyQuill.com/ Mysteries to get involved. Hi everyone, I'm Jehan Hamza, voice of Sam in the Magnus Protocol, and today we're featuring a feed drop from a brilliant show on the Archie Network. Hi, Nye. Hi, Nye is an atmospheric analogue cell horror audio drama featuring folk horror, mythology, and chilling supernatural terrors in an urban setting. Hi, Nye, literally translated to HiMom, follows Marry, a Filipino immigrant

who lives in Toronto. Marry first gets roped into Toronto's supernatural crises after saving

Laura from being killed. From then on, she assists detectives, Donna and Murphy in dealing with supernatural threats using her upbringing as a bye-bye-line, Charmin. Marry finds herself dealing with a multitude of supernatural issues in Toronto. She is a great aptitude for magic, so her ability seemed to have a price she's not forthcoming about. She calls her Nye, mother, often, and recounts her experiences over the phone. This exciting audio drama is filled with

mystery, suspense, and most importantly, horror. Listen to HiNye on the RustyQuill website, on Acast, or wherever you get your podcasts. All learn more about HiNye on its official website. . You're listening to HiNye by Monsidapur episode 1. Bullock. HiNye. I know it's been a while since you last talked. I've been

busy. Yeah, that sounded way worse out loud than in my head. I know it's bad excuse, and I've made too many excuses not to call, but it's not like you're in any state. Anyway, I guess I have to start from the beginning. Last week, I mean, I guess that's the beginning. I didn't call them, because I really didn't think it would go anywhere,

“but after what happened, there's no denying that you. You need to know what's going on.”

As far as I know what's going on anyway, it's far to last Thursday. You know I've got a home office, a perks of working with your own editing suite, and having a decent set up means I don't have to go enough for meetings. My apartment isn't exactly in the quietest part of the city, but it's big,

it's comfortable, and the rent's dirt cheap for the size, which probably should have been my first

clue. Well, after my last place was at a crap shoot, I wasn't going to complain about the question we cheap to bedroom apartment in downtown Toronto, where everything's so new. It made sense that they weren't done building the place after all, renovating, I guess,

entire first month of them testing the fire alarm at odd hours in the morning was worth it if I could

“just live in the finished floor for as long as I wanted after that. I love my new apartment”

and nothing short of a fire will get me to leave. But, but I don't think I can say the same for Laura. Laura, by the way, is my downstairs neighbor. I don't know if she's going to be my neighbor for much longer, but I don't know her situation well enough judge. Like I said, it happened last Thursday. I was working from home then, like usual. I don't know if it was luck or Providence, that I had my headphones off at the time. I was having a lunch, I made for myself, and a nice little

milk tea ordered in, and I know what you're going to say. It's not good for me too much sugar,

“but we've been having this argument for 10 years, and if I haven't stopped already, I probably never”

will. So, sorry, I'll stop it. I was having my lunch, and my milk tea, when I heard the screams,

I thought maybe at first it was a TV show, someone on another floor, opening a video and

forget to turn volume down, but then I realized it was coming from the echoing stairwell from across the hallway, a long carpeted hallway. The kind you'd expect to see creepy twins at the end of, asking you to play with them as an elevator opens up behind them to spill blood all over the carpet. Since the building's new, it fortunately doesn't have the usual creepy blinking light,

“nobody ever bothered to fix, but it does have its own more modern creepiness. Motion activated lighting.”

How is the weird part, though? The motion activated lighting should have kept the halls and stairwell dim until someone moved through it, but the stairwell remained pitch black, which was

impossible, it was never perfectly dark. Safety reasons, you know? But then, but I couldn't see a thing

in that black box behind the door. All I could do was hear her, her desperate gasping screams, and the sound of stumbling footsteps. Then, she broke out of the darkness. Laura, her light hair, covered in blood, gashes all over her arms. She saw me looking at my door and took off at a dead sprint toward me, and right behind her, breaking from the darkness, grabbing at the place she had just been, was a hulking figure. No, not a figure. A mass, a massive, stretched, gray skin,

human skin, but from someone long dead, stretched so thin, you could see something rotting and roiling beneath, but somehow keeping it shape, keeping itself together, a flimsy flesh sack, dragging itself across the floor. I caught Laura when she all but crashed into me, dragging her into my room and locking my door, a nice solid dead bolt that I suspected wouldn't stand against whatever this thing was. But it gave me enough time to grab what I could. Salt, spices,

vinegar, candles, and whatever religious iconography I could grab from my little altar near the door. Then, then the knocking started. Well, I say knocking, but it'd be more accurate to say, it was throwing itself against the door. Laura kept screaming. I don't think she could stop if she wanted to. But at some point, just as I'd locked out the incessant false fire alarms. In the first month of living year, I was able to tune her out, focusing only on the heavy dull footing against my solid

silence, stopped. I thought maybe that was the end of it. I hoped. And then it started flowing

under the door. Like whatever it was, had begun to melt, not completely. You know, when this

“thin film forms over chicken fat though, breaks right apart when you poke into it, that's what”

it reminded me of. A filmy slick liquid going between the cracks and reforming right in front of us. I didn't wait for it to come back up before I started throwing assault. It didn't stop it, but it certainly had a reaction. Where touched the skin sex art bubble, and you could smell the

scent of deep rot. Then I threw the spices, and the skin began to smoke. It roiled and twisted.

It seems startled, almost. Like it didn't expect someone to start fighting back, especially not like this. Not with folk magic and intent. It really didn't like when I grasped the

“ending and thing around my neck and started up alone, whispering my prayers, prayers to believe”

that holds the minds and hearts of billions, and prayers to an older, kinder ear that still cares for its people. It hadn't yet fully reformed when it melted again. This time, seeming to disappear into the floor, no longer as solid as it was. The smell that was so strong and clean, dissipated, and soon it was gone. Not destroyed. Gone. Laura called 911 and I stayed with her until they arrived. Made sure her wounds were as clean as they could be, though she started screaming again when I walked

over to the sink to get some water. I had to use some bottled, and then I used my first aid training

“to disinfect the wounds and wrap her arms and gauze. She didn't protest when I started up alone”

over them. With a candle melted the wax over a bowl of water, looked over it with a critical eye

to see if she had anything else wrong with her. If that rot had set into her skin, police came and checked the building for any wild animal intruder, and they, alongside her compungious concierge, guided me and Laura out of the building to the paramedics. Laura begged me not to leave her alone. She seemed to think I was the only reason the monster hadn't come back, and they couldn't get her into the ambulance while she was cleaning

me, so I rode in the back of the ambulance with her. They said I did a good job with her arms, but when we got to the hospital, she needed more than a few stitches anyway. She didn't let me go until she was sedated, and I gave my statement in the waiting room. I knew how this worked, so I told them I saw her running and bleeding and got her into my room, but I hadn't seen who or what was chasing her, and it had stopped trying to get into my room

after a while since I'd locked the door. I wasn't sure what they'd find in the CCTV. I wasn't sure if they'd see the pitch black stairwell, or the thing made of skin and rot. What I was sure of was that Laura hadn't been infected by it, as far as I could tell with my Taoists, presuming I could know the nature of it with old Filipino candle-scrying anyway. Maybe I just couldn't see what it was. Maybe it was already inside her, and nothing I did would

change that. But when I got to call the next day, it telling me Laura was safe, and seemed to be healing nicely, I was hopeful. I was expecting some kind of follow-up in the police, and that eventually came in the form of two detectives, asking me to come down to the station to give them another statement. The building itself was an architectural marvel, all sharp and

that Toronto way. I'd never seen real actual police detectives outside of TV, so to see them

“not in uniform, but nonetheless, wearing light coats and dark colors over officeware,”

made me realize the image of a trench coat wearing investigator wasn't too far from the mark. The older one introduced himself as Donna. He didn't look remotely friendly, watching me with narrow suspicious eyes, but for all that is resting anger, face had me cowed, I didn't feel anything truly hostile coming off him. The opposite, in fact, I thought maybe the wrinkles between his brows and the frown that he wore way down by what I guess were years of practice made him seem older than he was.

The younger one seemed his polar opposite. He exuded friendliness and with his bright eyes and

easy smile and exceptionally good looks, he looked more like a supermodel than a policeman.

“The kind you'd see go viral on its way to post. This one introduced himself as Murphy.”

You know, like that movie with the robot cop, yeah, that one. I gave him the same spiel, knew she was chased and see what chased her, but Donna looked at me like he knew I was lying or leaving something out. Murphy just looked friendly. Looks like they had the good cop bad cop routine down to a tee, 10 out of 10 excuses. Donna asked me then if I knew what lying to the police would get me. I asked if there was any reason I'd lie about protecting someone from an animal or a maniac,

especially when I spent most of my night accompanying her to a hospital to make sure she was okay. The two looked at each other, had an entire silent conversation in matter of seconds with some pointed facial expressions and it was Murphy that spoke up next, leveling me with a warm but firm expression. Turns out they got exactly what happened from Laura, which either made her look crazy or made me look like a liar. I knew which one was more likely, but I didn't like either option.

When I asked what the CCTV showed, they said they just got in the building to release the footage from the day of the attack. I asked then a bit pointedly if there was anything else. I was definitely pushing my look beyond what might have been considered wise if I didn't think Donna's impressive scowl was just for show. He didn't ease up on the look and I was beginning to wonder whether I'd read him entirely wrong when he gave me a phone number to call if I remembered anything else.

Like he knew exactly what I'd like about. I mean, anyone who looks at me will see a lot of round edges. So Malice didn't exactly an aura I let off, but it was still strange for detective to feel like he knew I was lying and let me go anyway. And for a few days, there was nothing. Laura wasn't moving back until the investigation was done, doing her recovery with her family

down in Oakville. For the first time she called me was when she wanted to introduce herself properly

and she wanted to talk more about what happened, but I held off. I promised I'd talked to her when we were face-to-face and she agreed. I'm glad she saved and far away from whatever it was that wanted to get her. I tried going down to her room a few times, but it was locked up and under investigation so I didn't get far. I did try to get a feel of the hallway outside of the door. I felt her fear and the malice and rage of the thing that chased her three flights up,

but I didn't get much more than I already knew. There was something else. Something I couldn't quite get the shape of. After my half-back attempt to figure out what was going on and doing some extensive cleansing and protection rituals over my front door, I had to get back to work. Deadlines, you know. For a while, I lost myself in the rhythm of editing until allowed wrapping on my door

“penetrated the thick layer of foam over my ears. I was wary. I remember the last time”

somebody knocked on my door, but this time I didn't sense any wrongness. And after I look through the people, I welcome detectives Donner and Murphy into my home. Murphy complimented my little space

as well as a little paper talismans I stepped in the wood and evoking the names of old gods with little cups of rice on either side of the door. As they both accepted when I offered them drinks, a sugary black coffee for Donner and unsweetened, but drowned in cream for Murphy. Donner asked me if I could read minds on top of killing monsters. And I told him the truth.

“The only thing I was better at than guessing how people took their coffee was making instant taste”

halfway decent. They told me they look over the footage and found interference. Video cutting off right when Laura made it to my floor. Donner told me this wasn't surprising that it was like this with the other ones. He then asked me if I tell him the truth this time. Off the record. He had yet to take a single sip of his coffee. I asked him then, "How could I tell you about a monster that melted into the floor when I prayed and have you

not think I was crazy?" Donner looked me in the eye for what felt like ours.

Our eyes were the same color, but couldn't have looked more different. People always told me

“mine were soft, warm even. His eyes seemed to deep and dark for light penetrate,”

so that light reflected in a way that made them flash. The sharpest eyes had ever seen. Like they saw as much as I did, even without the generation spent preserving the sight in our bloodline. Eventually he took us up into cooling brew and complimented me on getting it perfect. Turns out the only reason I didn't sound the fool was because I was talking to the two detectives who had dealt with cases similar to this one. One's where everyone involved turned up dead.

Laura was their first survivor and I was the reason why.

They grilled me on what I saw, the methods I use, and I tried to answer them as best as I could, but a lot of what I did had been guesswork based on past experience that I couldn't be sure applied here. I told them in as much detail as I could manage without gagging what the thing looked like. The skin sack, the smell of it. The more I said, the more skeptical they looked, but when I emphasized this was the exact reason I didn't want to tell them what I saw, they relented.

I told them about my trip down to Laura's room to check out whether something there might have triggered the attack and Murphy asked if I wanted to assist in a long-running police investigation. Donner asked if I was sure that the thing going after Laura didn't now have my scent. I told him about the cleansing rituals. It told him I was protected. The one he asked me by what? I told him love and good vibes, which he very clearly didn't believe,

“but he didn't ask again. He muttered something I think sounded like Jamaican patwa. I think the word was,”

don't know what he meant, but it didn't exactly sound open and accepting of my clearly honest answer. And it was honest. Maybe not extensive or detailed, but it was honest. They unlock Laura's room and I could feel the wrongness in the air like the scent of nearby garbage, a rot that wasn't clean, but noticeable. They spread out to check the area and I began to feel my way around. Eyes closed trying to get a sense of the space and what didn't belong in it.

I almost bumped into the table when I felt it. I touched something, small and round on the table. And I immediately had to run to the nearest sink to vomit. You know I hate it, the feeling of it in my throat.

I've gone through some minor surgeries fully awake and it's never been as bad as the feeling of

vomit. Luckily, nothing had come up, but spit off to the side of the square sink. And I could barely hear Donna shouting, I mean not to contaminate the crime scene, and Murphy asked him if I was okay

black mouth of the drain pipe. Donna wasted no time getting gloves on and taking a sample while

“Murphy tried to keep me standing. Donna presented the evidence to be anoplastic bag, confirming”

that it was like the thing I'd seen. There was worries that the thing had gotten to the pipes and was long gone by now, but that didn't feel right. I went back to the table and found what looked to be a sewing project, a lovely vintage looking dress that Laura had been working on. Half way done sewing these beautiful carved buttons into fabric. I didn't have to touch them again to know they were wrong. I asked the two to bag in for evidence and with the look on his face,

I expected Donna to question it, but between the two, he was quicker to act. I don't know if I

imagined him pausing when he picked a couple up with gloves hands. Like maybe he could feel what I felt

“but that's unlikely. I think Murphy looked like he wanted to ask, but seemed to think better of it.”

On the subject of the thing that had apparently come up through the pipes, I had a theory but I couldn't go it alone, which is how I ended up between two arms men taking point and watching my back as we made our way down to the unfinished basement level of my building. I could smell it now, stronger than ever, and from the look on Donna's face, as he turned to me, he could too.

Murphy asked if this was where all the garbage in the building was going, so three for three,

the rotting thing was here, a present strong enough that I wasn't the only one to feel it. Well, smell it anymore. The smell got stronger as you got closer. If we'd asked building security, they'd have told us construction was delayed in the section, since they were waiting for someone from sanitation to find the source of the awful smell, but we didn't, we didn't really talk to anyone beyond the one guy who let us through with a flashbed

when we descended one of the few areas in the building residents were under no circumstances to enter. The smell and the sick feeling I got were my stomach felt like my ubell gets my throat again. It was strongest by this one stretch of concrete, where the only break in the gray was at the end of one drain pipe, that was to nobody in our group's surprise, dripping this thick, dark, slick looking liquid from which the smell seemed to be emanating. It was here, but it wasn't showing itself.

And if we had any chance of stopping it now, we had to force it out. I asked for the bags of evidence, and I spilled the buttons out into the little puddle, that had begun to form. And it happened all of once, a human scream and an animal snarl, and the sound of melting, bubbling, blasting outward, something else I couldn't name, but it sounded horrifyingly familiar. I saw the gray face of a dead man screaming right in front

of mine. His teeth were made of animal bones, the ribs, and skulls of rodents, the fangs of a cat, opening to bite my face off, had dawned on drag me back by my collar, the force of it enough to throw me down to the side. Got a few bruises, ended up toppling over a few sparse interblocks in

“lumber, but it was better than the alternative. I think he tried to shoot his gun, but the gray”

rodding thing wrapped around it and the gunshot was lost in the thick of it, like shooting bullets into ballistic gel. I heard two more loud shots echo in the enormous basement level, and saw that one of them caught the thing in its face, shattering the cat skull and causing the rotting thing to turn attention to Murphy, even while it had dawners arm wrapped in its melting grip. That's when I realized its tension wasn't on me. Grabbing one of the heavy cinder blocks

and dragging myself closer to the fray, I found what I was looking for, and raised the block right over my head. And I slammed it down onto one of the Ivoid buttons, shattering the bone white patterns and warping the metal base, and like a garbage bag cut through the knife. The rotting

and spilling what looked to be the half-gone remains of animals, rats, raccoons, and even dogs and cats.

“Still, it retained much of its form as it lunged toward me. It sharpened claws”

slicing to my back as I crushed the second and third button, much of the same way.

It hurt so very badly, sharp and debilitating, but there were only a few more to go, and I knew I had to destroy them before the rotting thing did us in when another couple of loud shots filled the basement, and I saw two more buttons shatter from the impact of well-aimed bullets. Donner, I learned later, with his sharp eyes and steady hand, was one of the best shots in the force. The rotting thing was spilling out in all directions now, covering us in the remains of things

long and recently dead, and before I could break the last button, what sounds like the bones of an all-too-human hand caught my wrist, and I looked into the empty eyes of a dead man, a jaw long since unhinged from the skull. I felt it's rage as it tried to stop me from letting it rest. Then, Donner and Murphy pulled it back, with the last vestiges of the rotting thing that could

so hold itself together, with the center of the rot. Finally, I could raise the cinder block with

the last of my strength, and I threw it down, shattering, cool-ass button, and slowly, but surely, all the remains we saw scattered around us melted away, and I could finally breathe again. But for what I understand, the story was that they found a rabid coyote and had to put it down,

“which is apparently a thing in Toronto, at least, that's what they told building management.”

After the rotting thing melted away, the three of us found the narrow little space between the building and its seven-story neighbor, and the hole where animals seem to fall into, suffocating half underground. They got permits to dig, and they found a bit of a horror show, with a bunch of torn-honey and wildlife piled on top of what they eventually discovered was an unidentified human corpse, half-baked into the cement of the old building, as it had been built over.

I was made to sign a statement by building management, not to tell a soul about what I knew, and now I don't have to pay utilities ever. So, something good came out of this, and it looks like I'm going to be sticking around here for a lot longer now. I didn't get to see the dig, though Donner and Murphy were kind enough to get me some gruesome pictures later on. But they brought me to the hospital to have my scratches looked at, and Donner was

apologetic about putting me in danger and giving me the few bruises, blooming on my thighs, money through me. It was silly from the worry. It's please save my life. Well, maybe I could have survived having my face ripped off by a cat skull, but I'd rather not think about it. Murphy offered to accompany me home, and I accepted maiden coffee, and we had a nice afternoon talking. A weirdly normal afternoon, until I remembered to ask him about the buttons, and he told me,

Donner took care of that evidence. I asked them if they did this often, but fight monsters, I mean. Murphy was uncharacteristically gun-faced when he answered. We've only ever found their remains.

“And that's what happened. I, oh, well, once again.”

Hello, Donner? Yeah, no, I'm just, I've got work, but Saturday?

Yes, I, ooh, wait, one second. King Chin Town. Okay, yes, of course, you're, you're, you're welcome.

I have a theory, none. They didn't feel right. I know they didn't. I, whatever it was,

“that was under this building, whoever it was that was left there for so long. There's a reason”

it didn't wake up until now. Donner asked me to help, said he needed me to

feel the place out in case I caught something you couldn't see beneath surface.

“I said, yes, I know this has nothing to do with me and I know you wanted me here,”

but with everything that's happened and with all the questions we still haven't answered,

I have feelings just at the beginning. You're listening to, hi, Nye. Bye, motsie, dad, boy.