S24 Ep16: NoSleep Podcast S24E16

Your morning shower, a tranquil river bank, or the endless ocean.

It's time to dive deep into the abyss.

“From the dark waters of the Cape Fear River, immerse yourself in horror as you.”

Brace yourself for the no sleep podcast. Let's go. I was sorry about that. We were while you wasn't too high. Hello there. Welcome to the no sleep podcast. I'm Aaron Lillis. I've just emerged from the Cape Fear River waters to take a stab at hosting an episode myself.

Okay. So I can't solve fingers. If I got my numbers correct, this is season 24 episode 16. I was pond-weed. Anyway, that was gross. The new neurology is the thing you can tell me if that has any significance.

This is the first story narration for the show.

I have a second degree of interactive development.

“What I want to say is that I love a good behind the scenes reveal. How does the magic get made?”

I hope maybe it doesn't mind me sharing a little of the secret that's in the sauce here during my turn at the wheel. But I actually got to meet man and in person once. That was the connecting thread from back before. I want you to know that this is a rarity, because many of you probably think that all of us involved in the show probably know each other.

But behind the dank moldy nosesleep curtain here, we actually don't. We mostly all work separately and have never even interacted.

“Even though the producers do an amazing job of making it sound like we're in the same place.”

And the actors do an excellent job of talking to no one and making it sound believably like a real conversation. Now, I have been lucky enough to meet a handful of the voice actors and contributors in real life via the past nosesleep podcast tours, and virtually via some of the online spaces. But for the most part, we are co-workers who have never been in the same place at the same time. The nosesleep podcast team is huge, and that's not even including the illustrators who do the art for each episode.

The producers behind the scenes, some of them who are also voice actors, and the social media team, and editorial folks, is seriously impressive. Then you start including the authors of the stories without which we would really have no podcast, and it really is a whole sleepless universe. Which by the way, we would really appreciate if you joined. If you subscribe to that sleepless universe, you're going to get like 60 to 70% more content, and you'll be helping fund the ongoing A+ quality of this show.

Now, that's 60 to 70% was not an accurate calculation, I did not actually need the math, I am not a math major, please don't cold me to that. It's just a lot.

So I can't speak for everyone else, but for me, at this point, I've listened to the show for so long that I have everybody's voice and vocal mannerisms stored in the old nagging.

“Tap's head. So what I do is once I get my story assignment, and it says the names of the other voice actors, I imagine how they'll read their lines.”

Sometimes I'm right, sometimes I'm not, and I can also imagine how the producer might be adding sound effects for the scene, because each one of them has their own style too. So for fun, pay attention to those details, and you're going to start to pick up on them too. Added bonus. Okay, so that was all a tangent, and that's my number one talent, by the way, tangents, because I've got the old ADHD. And what else is supposed to tell you next?

Okay, did the hello part, I told you when I started here.

Oh, right, what got me into horror?

Okay, so, well, my gateway drug was the paranormal.

“So ever since my mom convinced me that she was the world's tallest leprechaun,”

otherwise she wasn't even quite rich, just like really into the Irish, which is why I have these Irish names. So I just have fully accepted that there was magic and weirdness in the world since I was a child. And I had Perus, the old time-life collections on mysteries of the world, UFOs, scare myself silly watching themselves mysteries, and then later the ex files. And as I got older, I started seeking out the ghost tours of the world, and then later I even worked on some documentaries about ghost hunters that led to some really out there experiences.

So, very fond of ghosts. Actually, after hearing this, if weird things start to happen to you, well, let's just say that's my little gift to you. And that's not the same with, but it sort of just happens. All right, how did I get into voice acting now? So, well, the point on this guy.

Okay, that definitely also had to do with that old ADHD and just absorbing accents and being wacky and doing voices until finally I went home from my old house.

I went home from my old job one day, and I just bought a microphone on the way home. And I'd already studied filmmaking and sad designs, so I knew a bit about audio stuff, and I thought why not make my own podcast. And I did, and that's still searchable out there. It's called Subversity Transmit, and, uh, fully a few episodes, but it taught me a lot. One of the things that taught me is that I prefer voice acting as a part of a team as opposed to producing my own show. Well, I did make that little unofficial no sleep spinoff for kids, the no-nap podcast, back during the pandemic.

Also still searchable if you missed that cuteness. I produced the first season and I helped out on the second.

“Okay, so rewind to that one day when this girl I knew from work, Shoutout to Nancy, was like, hey, you should try narrating horror, and she told me about the no sleep podcast.”

I decided to send David an email with some sort of cobbled together demo, and he, to my surprise, reply that there was actually space for a voice type like mine. And so, that's my truncated story as to how I got started in the meeting him by the docs. He administered some sort of serum and I ended up as a VA on this show. But now you can also hear me in a handful of horror video games, indie games, and your local HR videos telling you how to use your proper protective equipment. One of my favorite parts of working on this show has been all of the characters I've been able to play.

All the lives I've gotten to live, and all of the horrors I've been able to immerse myself in. I started to make a list of all my favorite stories that I've been in, my favorite no sleep authors, and others that I've just loved. It just got too long, so all of you horror writers, you're all my favorites from the minefogs I mentioned before, to the gore, which I love, to the supernatural, paranormal and cosmic, the monsters, myths, and folklore, and especially the campy, I love it all. I don't know how to take a moment to just say that I'm one of the proud no sleep LGBTQIA plus members, and I am so thankful for how this show has taken a stand to support us publicly.

So just quick to close to my number one voice acting supporters, my mom, my girlfriend Morgan, our pet boys, Mulder and Roswell, and my weekly number one fans, Lauren and Anthony. And now it's time to get to the meat of this episode. On the show this week, we have a quintuple creature feature, five stories of people up against monstrous challenges. Some choose dangerous deals, and some have their destinies chosen for them against their will. Spoiler alert, every tale ends with a say she hated beast.

Okay, I was kind of hoping one of my stories would be about dentists just so I could say braces yourself. But I got predators. Now I've got a variety of intertubes here, so you can take your pick. I've got a unicorn, dragon, turtle, purple, and a bunch more. So pick your tube, and let's hop back into this viscous lazy river that empties back out into the dark waters of Cape Fear.

In this account by Benjamin Cardos, an unknown predator has been murdering their livestock,

“and however dangerous it may be, they now need to keep a vigilant watch and prepare to take down this creature.”

Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson, David Cummings, and Mary Murphy, and it's produced by Phil Micolsky. So be prepared to hear how this duo works against the forces of nature. The front doors slam shut, my father stormed into the house, his face set for war. Get your boots on son. What's going on, Pop?

I jumped from my chair in front of the TV and rushed to the closet to do as he ordered.

Pop was never one to give frivolous commands.

If he told you to do something, you could take it to the bank he wouldn't tolerate any questions. I pulled my leather boots over my feet as Pop loaded his shotgun, violently snapped in the barrel shut. A predator of some kind got into the barn, killed some of the livestock. Grab the rifle too, we're under attack tonight.

“I seized the rifle from the gun rack and followed Pop out into the warm summer night.”

The full moon cast long shadows behind the barn and grain silo in the field as we marched forward, like two soldiers set now to protect our country. I was checking the water level in the well. When I heard the livestock bellowing in the barn,

I ran over and got in there just in time to see a creature disappear through an open and high in the wall.

Whatever it was, it killed several. Good thing I was outside or we might have lost more. He strode towards the barn with solid confidence, shotgun tucked in his arm. Protecting the farm from predators was nothing new to him, just another night for a full-time farmer. I struggled to keep up with him.

My 10-year-old legs stumbling through the tall grass.

“Pop considered all predators as enemies.”

Wolves, bears, mountain lions. They were all opponents in what he called our war against the forces of nature.

We got a fight for our place at the top of the food chain.

He was fond of saying, "It's the war we fight, and we'll continue fighting for as long as we live." Nature is competition. Forget this simple truth, and you won't last long in this world. He threw the barn door open and flipped the light switch on the wall. In the dim flickering glow of the swinging light bulb,

we saw the stiff bodies of four of our best efforts played out on the hay covered floor. The rest of the livestock was huddled against the far wall. Their eyes huge with fears they gawked at their deceased companions. With just one look at the dead, it was obvious whatever did this was not a wolf, bear, or mountain mine.

The bodies were almost completely untouched except for a large, ugly gash in their throats. Whatever attacked them had latched onto their necks and didn't let go until they were dead. Pop knelt down by the nearest of the bodies. Look at this. A knelt down beside him as he held up the heffers head, showing me the deep wound.

I noticed immediately how little blood there was, not only on the heffers neck, but on the floor surrounding her body. She had the blood sucked right from her throat. What kind of animal would do that? I felt as sickness sinking to my guts as I gaze down at the nasty laceration.

Pop shook his head. Whatever it is, we don't want it around here. Turning toward the back wall, he pointed at a hole near the ceiling through which a shaft of moon night beamed in. It escaped through there. I didn't get a chance to get a good look at it before it got away, but it crawled right up the wall like a damned cat.

The very image made me shiver. How did it make that hole? Come around back. Pop led me around to the back of the barn where a pile of boards were displayed about the grass. It pride the boards right out of the wall.

Whatever it is, it has to be strong as hell to do that. Now looked up at my father and saw the fire in his eyes. It was him against the forces of nature. Farmer versus predator, and the competition needed to be eliminated at any cost.

We also set traps and hunted the property for any signs of the mysterious animal. We uncovered nothing. No tracks, no fur, no excrement.

“Whatever the creature was, it was a defted stay in hidden.”

Pop was undeterred. In his battle against the forces of nature, there was no link he wouldn't go to protect his livestock. His property. The livestock was our food source. Our income, our identity in this world.

He wouldn't tolerate anything taken that away from him.

A few nights later, two more heifers were killed in the same manner as the first four.

The creature had managed to break past our reinforced walls, peeling back the metal paneling we'd spent days installing. The metal was covered in deep claw marks where the creature had pride at loose. Pop was out, Ray. I'm coming for you.

He screamed toward the sky. The heifers' bodies had his feet. Nobody kills my livestock. It's you versus me. From that night on, he spent every waking moment hunting the forest around the farm.

“The nights were spent guarding the barn with the shotgun.”

Killing the predator became his soul obsession. His eyes were constantly dark with fatigue. He rarely ate.

I found myself beginning to worry about his health.

I was in the house reading when a shotgun blasted two a.m. echoed across the field. I rushed out to the barn to investigate. My heart pounding with wild anticipation. Our livestock was once again crowded against the far wall, as far away as possible from the body of the creature

that had been picking them off one by one. Victoriously, pop stood over the strange and ugly animal. It looked like an emaciated coyote with long curved claws. Its eyes were large and bug-like. Spikes like a porcupine's quills grew from its back,

and its long snout was full of nasty fangs. For several seconds, a stared speechless at the odd animal. What is it? Ah, it's called a chupacabra son. Oh, what?

“It's a creature of Latin American mythology.”

It's known for sucking the blood of farm animals. Countless animal killings have been blamed on the chupacabra. Sightings are damned rare. Basically it's a big stupid vampire dog. Good riddance.

Pop spent on the chupacabra's shotgun blasted corpse. A big stupid vampire dog. A grinned. Pop said some funny things sometimes.

Never thought I'd see one of these bastards in my lifetime.

Pop kicked the body with his foot. So what do we do with it? Pop thought for a moment. Well, we're going to bury the body, boil the skull, and then put it up on one of the fence posts as a warning to any others

that try to invade our farm. This is Warsaw. It's us against the forces of nature. Pop smiled and padded my shoulder. Very good.

Well then, now that the enemy has been vanquished, what do you say we celebrate our victory? Yeah, how should we celebrate? Pop rubbed his stomach. Oh, I don't know about you, but I'm famished.

What do you say you choose dinner tonight? Anything you want? I jumped up and down excitedly. My mouth watering. I looked over at our livestock still huddled in the corner.

I eyed one particular tasty-looking heifer. As if knowing what I was thinking, she cowered down behind the others, trying desperately to hide. I pointed my finger. That one.

The blonde and the blue t-shirt. Pop bobbed his head in agreement. Good choice. Nice and plump. Together we slowly advance on the heifer.

The others part of the infere, leaving her exposed and trembling against the wall. Please, I know. Pick someone else. I open my mouth,

allowing my fangs to slide out of my gums. Pop did the same. The heifer cried for mercy as we closed in. Please don't kill me. She repeated it over and over

as if she didn't understand the reason pop had kidnapped her.

As we drew closer, she tried to pull away.

“The heavy chains around her wrists only allowed her to move so far.”

Don't kill me. Her eyes closed as she slid to the floor, to feed it. We lunged. I sunk my fangs into her neck. Pop chomped into her arm.

She screamed as we feasted. Her body twitched as the hot blood spurred into my mouth, coating my tongue and throat in the rich. Coppery couldn't hiss. Her struggles weakened as we drained her of every last drop.

When dinner was over, we rose up, wiped our mouths and stepped away from the heifer's body. Pop glanced at the others, watching us from various corners of the barn. As far away from us as their chains would allow,

he pointed at the corpse. Go ahead. Immediately they fell upon her.

“Their chains clanging and tangling together as they dug their fingers into her bloodless flesh.”

Ripping the skin and lifting large chunks of meat and organs to their mouths. We watched for a moment as the lives stock ate. They grunted and pushed against each other like pigs at the trough. Pop and I rarely fed the livestock. More often than not,

we simply allowed them to finish the scraps from our dinner. Half-starved and crazed, our herd had no problem eating their own dead. And that night, they were very hungry.

We went back to the house, locking the barn door behind us.

Pop carried the carcass of the chupacabrover's powerful shoulder.

Yep, son. We got to stay vigilant against the competition. It's us against the forces in nature. And in this world, there's only room for one type of vampire.

And that's us. I felt wonderful. The enemy was vanquished, and my belly was full of hot blood. Pop-beamed.

You got that right, my boy. Let's take a short break for our sponsors, who help us keep our heads above water. For waves of ad-free horror content, join our sleepless universe by going to sleepless.com.

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must be an active subscriber to receive free dessert. Now, let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. Oh, man. I know some of you bemoan some of the horror basics, but man, do I love a vampire twist?

“A cryptid blood sucker versus a super natural blood sucker?”

Come on. Okay, I actually just went down a small rabbit hole to see if a vampire could also be considered a cryptid. Apparently not, though, I'd argue in favor of it,

but on our next story. We're about to meet a guy that's been given a strange gift

So he does what I do. He puts him on a shelf in case his friend comes over and says, "Hey, what'd you do with that gift I got you?" Then, in this tale by Alistair Ray, he starts getting what he thinks

are misdelivered packages from a shady career.

“Are the strange gift and the weird packages related?”

You'll find out when James Cleveland and Andy Cresswell perform this story that Jeff Clement produces. I don't know if I were the narrator, I might protest a little more to the bone career.

(somber music) Nemo was the one who gave me the thing. He had just returned from one of his hunting trips to Dorchester, a trip which I had by nature declined.

I've never had what might be called a killer instinct.

The idea of hunting, the alone killing an animal for sport has never appealed to me. Nemo removed the bundle wrapped in brown paper from his rock sack and quietly placed it on the table. I remained silent as he slowly peeled away

the paper-like strips of dead skin to reveal the deer's skull. I stared at the object. The skull appeared dry in brittle,

“hardly a fresh kill, I remember thinking.”

But it was the horns that attracted my attention. They were long and slender, tapering into fine razor sharp points. It didn't resemble a forest deer, so much as an African gazelle.

Nemo wrapped his knuckles on the dome of the skull.

It was for me, he said. A gift. Looking back, I'm not certain whether Nemo was taunting me or whether he simply had no other use for the thing. But by the end of the night, one thing was clear.

I was now the proud owner of this hideous trophy. Not that I thought much about it over the next week. I set the skull on a shelf in my study and there it remained, out of place among the books in little statuettes gathering dust. I might have forgotten about it altogether.

Had it not been for... It was Thursday when I heard the knock at my front door. I answered it to find a man standing on my doorstep, cradling a small box in his arms. There was nothing remarkable about the man.

He was dressed in plain clothes. A workman's cap drawn low over one side of his head. But I couldn't help thinking there was something distinct in the way his eyes fixed upon me. Like, he somehow knew me.

He held out the package. The delivery. I took the small box wrapped in brown paper and looked at the label. My address was printed in the corner, but the name scribbled above it red,

Christopher Miel. By explained to the courier that I didn't know the recipient and to my knowledge nobody by that name had ever lived at this address. The courier only shook his head and flashed a cold smile. No, that's the address.

What was I to do? I received the package and placed it on the table in my study. There it remained. I opened as if waiting for one Christopher Miel to claim it. It was only two days later I heard the knock at my door again.

I opened it to find the same man on my doorstep. As before, he held a package wrapped in brown paper between his thin hands. The delivery. This time I protested, assuring him he had the wrong house. Although I could clearly see the address scribbled on the label

just under the name Christopher Miel. The courier only shook his head and held out the box. I'm still not sure why I extended my hands to receive the gift and that is exactly how I thought of it now as a gift. But I did.

I took it. willingly, almost without thinking. Not knowing what to do, I took it to my study and placed it beside the other box. I figured if there was a Christopher Miel he would eventually find out that his belongings were being sent to the wrong address.

I was keeping them safe, I told myself. I was being a good neighbor. It was odd.

“But I remember gazing at the deer skull on myself.”

It's vacant eyes staring down at me, perhaps even judging me. What had Nemo given me, I wondered. Now I'd like to say it ended there. But it didn't. The boxes continued to come.

Not regularly, but they did come. One the following week, the next few days later.

And always the same man with the cold smile and watery eyes.

Delivery, he would say.

And I would hold out my hands ready to receive Christopher Miel's parcel.

By the end of the month, six boxes lay arranged on my table. All roughly the same size and all wrapped in the same brown paper. I was amassing a collection. But what was I collecting? It was the Thursday night and there had been some snow floories earlier in the evening.

“That's funny what you remember, those little insignificant details.”

The things that add texture without context. I had fallen asleep in my bedroom. I thought it was the wind rattling the window frame that worked me.

Like, grating noise, like the sound of something rough and dry and rubbing together.

But as I ripped myself from sleep, I realized that the noise wasn't coming from the window. It was coming from downstairs. I got up and stepped into the hall, listening. Something was moving on the floor below. A dragging sound up, rustling.

As I descended the stairs, I realized something was different. There was a strange luminosity to the air, almost like an afterglow.

“A visible kind of darkness permeating the rooms.”

And that was when I noticed it. A slight noise rising out of the darkness growing. The louder we've each step I took. A rhythmic sound drawing me forward. A sound so familiar I almost couldn't place it. It was the measured beating of a heart.

I didn't know what to think. Whether I was dreaming or about our heart's attack. But now, the sound was coming from the study. I stepped through the doorway, the beating grew louder, enveloping the air. I almost didn't want to reach for the desk lamp because I knew.

It instinctively, I knew that it was the darkness keeping me safe, concealing me. But I did it anyway.

“The boxes lay there on my desk, the brown paper stained with blood.”

Bloods that seem to be seeping through the cardboard, running out in rivulets and pooling on the floor. I had to be dreaming, but I saw it. The boxes, they were throbbing, palpitating each rhythmic beat in knitting a stream of fresh blood. I stretched out my hand, wondering what it would be like to touch one of them. When I heard that rustling noise again, something was there in the dark with me, dragging itself across the floor.

I could smell the earthy scent of the forest and looking up. I saw a shape stenciled against the night, hunched back, the deformed body and the two slender horns rising into the air. I knew that behind that thin veil of darkness those two cavernous eyes were staring at me, fixing on me with predatory intent. I wanted to scream to run, something kept me rooted there as the thing moved closer. And I could hear it.

That dropping in my ears is the thing raised its hand and extended its fingers, coiling them around my upturn face until everything went dark. And there was only the muffled sound of a beating heart in the stillness. I know what you're thinking. I thought it myself. But no, in the morning, the boxes were still there on my desk.

The brown paper torn open and crusted in dried blood. And as to the contents, there was nothing. Only pools of cooling blood and traces of viscera are answered stench in the air. A stench like meat, like an abattoir. And the floor, in a puddle of drying gaulay the skull staring up at me vacantly.

In the morning light, it looked almost at peace. I picked it up and stared into its hollow sockets. I like to think my story ends there. With me and my gift locked in an almost hamlet like pose of doubt. Certainly life-resumed its normal course.

There were no further knocks at the door no more unannounced visitors, no more packages.

But unlike a story which does have an end and experience never has that comforting sense of resolution.

It persists it changes, it assumes a life of its own.

“I would feel remiss if I didn't mention the dreams.”

I can't be certain when they began.

They feel like they were always there.

An unconscious part of me awaiting me in sleep. In my dreams I see branches and leaves smell the earthy scent of the forest. And I can see it, standing among the dark foliage. The hunched back in tapering horns wept in shadow. It looks more human now.

The skeletal frame dotted with blossoming organs. A familiar face with watery eyes and a smile. A workman's cap clutched in its claw like hand. Who are you? I always want to ask.

But there's no need.

Because I know what the reply will be.

Christopher Mule. It will say. The horror keeps flowing.

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Please support our show and tell them the no sleep podcast sentia. Now let's plunge back into the deep waters of horror. Weird? Just got a food delivery for a sea mule. It's tacos, so obviously I'm going to eat it. I mean, they just go bad otherwise.

If I end up disappearing and suddenly replaced, someone must've known sour cream is my favorite food. My money sounds serotonous or gram roll because they're in like every podcast. Actually, they may even be the same person.

“Anyway, how y'all doing bobbin long in the sludgey water with me?”

Any fish or other things, nipping at your toes? Okay, let's carry on. Now next up, and I'm going to do this one in my attempted and Irish accent. We have some Lorde about a family that's maintaining an old druidic pact with a creature on our land. An exchange for safety and security.

In this story by C.W. Stevenson, the Donahers are sick, emphasis on sick and tired of making sacrifices, but the creature they're in to steal with has become a little finicky as flate. This story is produced by Jesse Cornette, and David Alt, Eric Asanderson, Mary Murphy, Connor Larkin, Jake Benson, and that gram rowit, the whole lot of them are spinning this yarn. And I guess if I place to take away order for this tale's monster, it'd probably be more than a lamb for Sulabui.

Behind her, the farmhouse her great, great-grandfather had built with his own two hands,

soon became little more than a speck.

“And to one arm, the package was becoming awkward to carry.”

After all, she was not a large woman, and her sons were of no use at the moment, one attended university in Dublin, John, he would be coming home soon. The eldest, Michael, she hadn't spoken to him over a decade. Supposedly, he still worked at the local dairy outside of Ballydale's. The lad hadn't the stomach for what must be done.

He'd gotten away, although abandoned them would be the more appropriate term. Normally, it would have been her husband, sure, performing the task, but he was long past. And so, the task could fall into her, brother Charlie or her daughter. But Mary Kate hadn't the courage, not yet. One day, she must.

The task must always fall to a danna her, a father's surname, or that with the danna her blood.

“Overhead, dark clouds drew near coming from the west.”

It had been raining all across Northern Ireland. Therefore, hundred acres had been no exception. Directly in the path of the storm to come, she knew she would have to deliver the package early. It's recipient with no mind. She continued on her way, getting closer.

Not far off, she heard the baying of the herd behind a series of green rolling hills, marking the southern border of the property. She'd open the doors for the sheep barn beside the house that morning. It'd keep some of them dry, but the barn would not fit them all. Maeve nearly tripped over something loose and oblong beneath her feet.

Regaining her posture, she peered down. Bones. So that's where you went too. Off a luck-less. The sheep skull stared up at her.

The rest of its decomposing body carrying a rotten stench that caused Maeve to move quickly over the killing ground. Careful not to step on any more pieces of bone. Entering the thicket, the world darkened. More so than usual, as grey clouds drifted overhead. Darker clouds biting their heels.

She stopped, reducing a flashlight from her jacket pocket. Maeve stepped softer now, heading toward where the thicket met a great wall of rock.

Always best to step quietly.

Best not to disturb. Best not to let it know you were there. She stopped before a boulder with a flat top. Red rock, the altar. Dark red stained the centre, many generations of Dana has having made it so.

Many generations of Dana has would continue to see it stained further. Good willing. Setting the package on the rock, Maeve placed the flashlight between her teeth and aimed it at the butcher paper. Taking the bone handled knife of her ancestors, she cut the string, placed the knife aside,

and opened the package. The meat was fresh, taken from one of their healthier slams just the other day. The incoming storm's breeze caused the odor of the fresh meat to hit her square in the face. Earthy, the presence of Lannolin clearly evident as she could all but taste its fragrance. She tossed the ribs, a shoulder, and a half leg joint to the centre of the rock.

Come and get it. A joke for her mind only. She'd no wish for it to come out, not here, not ever. But it was a necessity that it fed on what was offered. Their very lives depended on it, as did their livelihood, their home, their health.

Such was the Dana's way, such as it had been for centuries, if not longer.

“They'd always been here safeguarding their darkest secret.”

No outsiders were welcome on the property. Only their kin only those with the blood, Dana her blood, only those who knew.

The mouth of the cave beyond red rock gaped back at her, it's more black inviting her in.

“She could see nothing beyond the entrance littered with bones, bones.”

Bones everywhere, lord it was a filthy place. Wiping her hands on the soft grass at her feet, she stood back up and folded the butcher paper neatly before sticking it into her jacket pocket. Placing the knife back into its sheath of human skin, she held it and the flashlight in one hand. She was just about to turn and leave when curiosity got the better of her. Besides the missing sheep, it had been sometimes since anyone in the family had caught a glimpse.

Anyhow, a fox could easily have stumbled upon a lost sheep if it had been sick and expired in the tall grass. Unlike me.

Either way, Maeford convinced herself of what she should not do.

“Taking a moment to build her courage, she swiftly held up her arm and aimed the flashlight toward the mouth of the cave.”

It went deep. There were twists here and there as one went further down into the darkness, but the light did not reach far. She stared eyes wide trying to catch any movement. Nothing, only the breeze gaining strength. Smiling she closed her eyes and shook her head.

Silly woman. Her late husband's words anytime she overthought a thing. Silly, silly woman.

“Sean had a way of making the bad thoughts go away with just that phrase.”

Or perhaps it was how he took her in his arms after where she could melt her worries and sorrows away in a loving instant. When she opened her eyes, the meat was still in front of her. And when she looked toward the cave, there was nothing but. She took a step back as it's yellow eyes gazed back at her from the darkness. Quickly, she shone the light back down at her feet.

It had seen her. Carmelie, she turned and walked in the opposite direction just as she'd been taught when it took notice of you. She said a prayer to God for wings to sprout from her back so that she may fly back home, but to no avail. She moved faster, feeling eyes at her back even once she left the thicket. The crunching of grass behind her, clumsy as if it were daring that she looked its way. Or perhaps she was only imagining it followed her.

Regardless of whether she envisioned it there or not, may've did not oblige. She hummed, be thou my vision until she reached the giant farmhouse,

making it to the front porch she finally turned across the field the thicket sat looking back at her.

She stood still waiting to catch a glimpse, only heading inside when it began to rain. It hated the rain. Hanging her jacket on the coat rack, she set the flashlight on the kitchen counter, and the knife on the glass case above the fiery half. Carved into the bone handle, the creature extended its claws out toward a man, one of her ancestors, who extended a dead lamb in return. Now me, I'm feeling dreadful.

Mary Kate looked it, she was paleer than her fair skin usually appeared. A fever? I think so. Mave smiled, took a wet cloth and dabed it at Mary Kate's brow. They're there, Dury. Just lay back, no.

That's it. It's time to ask him for strength and to rest. Together, mother and daughter prayed. They prayed for Mary Kate's sudden illness to vanish. They prayed for John's safe return.

Could it be gone?

“Mave blinked at its old gaelic name, yellow eyes.”

She did not bother telling her daughter, she'd seen it.

No, my dear, it will never be gone. Sometimes I heard of Lothan's entire lives without a saying.

Others? She thought of herself, a shorn, and their sons. Others may recognize it many times and go on about their business. But we do not provoke it. We give sacrifice. In return, we are given our lives.

Relatively comfortable wounds at that. What packed her druid ancestors had made was lost in the annals of time, leaving only instructions passed down from generation to generation by tongue alone. Sacrifice meat once per week, leave it on red rock. If it grows tired of lamb, sacrifice a cow.

“If it has no taste for beefs, provide honeycomb and precious things like gold and silver.”

When it has want of something you do not possess, offer a human life. Easier said than done. Shorn had failed this. Try though he did, shorn had been unable to offer a stranger, a drunk, nobody, any number of undesirables they knew of in ballet dows that may have had him choose. But in the end, after having sobbed in the barn for many hours,

he removed his clothes in the dead of winter, strode to red rock, and offered himself.

Self-sacrifice was always the most worthy of offerings to be had.

Mave still had not forgiven him. Never will. Do these things and you will live a long, prosperous life as will your kin, but it did not stay off self-destruction. For years, a decade at least, the creature had grown quiet in a deep slumber,

“so they guessed, as it had been noted to have done in the past.”

But like a thorn thought long dislodged, it had returned. Shorn had not been of Dana her blood, although it must have known that his offspring and his mate were, Dana has, the creature had returned far sooner than anticipated. The thing Mave was beginning to realize was that solar buoy was greedy. A knock at the door, Mave and Mery Kate looked at one another.

The door opened. Another knock and the door gently shut. Nanny, Mery. Mave breathed a sigh of relief. Then she rushed downstairs and took John into her arms.

Sorn. She beamed up at him. Welcome home. You keep us quite the freight. Your sister isn't doing very well, you know.

How's the train home? Be hungry. I was fixing to. The perch. She then spotted something red on his hands.

What's this? Are you hurt? None. The perch. He glanced down at his hands, then back up at her. Is not mine. Mave shook her head to sporting a whimsical grin,

confused at what the lad was getting at. Oh, the porch, the porch. What of it? Look. There was no chest on the grim face that stared back at her. Opening the door to see for herself,

she first took note of the rain falling heavier,

soaking the fields, hills and woods making up the Dunner hubby. The storm had come, but it wasn't as bad as she thought. After her left, the porch swings, swung to and fro in the wind. She was about to turn to John and shrug her shoulders. What you saw?

There are the bottom steps of the porch.

It doesn't want one.

“Mave waved a hand at Mr. Flannery's John back to the vehicle away”

with a cooler full of beef sitting in the back of the truck bed.

And not just any beef, but one of the old farmers prized cows. All of ballet dows would be hearing the Dunner has had paid a hefty penny in short notice for its slaughter. To draw that sort of attention was dangerous for them. The Dunner has had erected clumps of trees around the several stone circles

found throughout their property, not just decades, but centuries before. Mave abeamed with pride at her ancestors' outward look to the future for the protection of generations to come. Camouflaged from drones and hidden from the surrounding eyes of drivers

on the roads bordering the land, their secrets had remained.

But that didn't stop the townsfolk from wondering about the mysterious Danahas.

“No birthday parties for the children on the property growing up.”

Only well behaved friends had been allowed to play at their home and only inside. No parties or extravagantly loud Mary making of any kind were to be tolerated. No. Not for the Dunner has.

Not with solubwee lurking about the hills at night and when they weren't looking.

Pulling onto the road Mave gave a short nod and smiled at Mr. Flannery.

The old man did nothing to acknowledge her. He just stared as they left. Oh bastard. John Grant Stover.

“His mouth agape for a moment before turning upward in a rye grin.”

The lad wasn't accustomed to his mother, Kersi. He's got you riled up. Old yellow eyes lost the taste from the mountain before. If that's what's got your sorts. All will be well. I just wish the others would leave us bay.

Who is it that's bothering you? Here's some Mr. Flannery. The looks he gave us. The suspicions. He doesn't trust us. He didn't trust your dad. I need interest me. And sure, a shape doesn't trust you or I.

John laughed. His boisterous outburst causing even Mave to light up a wee bit. We do what we must to survive. It might as well have been the Dana her family motto. We must do what we must to survive. Except surviving meant blood sacrifice and lying to one's neighbor for the sake of comfortable lives.

They were wealthy. It was no secret. Their children had wanted for nothing just like she and Charlie. Generation after generation could live lives where one would not have to guess where their next meal would come from. With their wealth, the Dana has had given much to the folk of Valley Daos, which was perhaps the sole reason why the people hadn't come with their tortures and pitchforks to uncover the secrets of the ancient Dana her land.

Donations were made anonymously to the church, to the school, to the poor, but they all knew something was a miss with the Dana's. As Mave looked out the window, she took in the beauty of her country. The hills and hedros blooming with the golden glow of gorse and furs bushes. Where yellow did not catch the eye, it was green, such lush greenery for as far as the eye could see. Suddenly, John slammed the brakes on the truck, causing the cooler to slam against the back of the truck bed.

"Do you want to see me?" "Walking trunk on the road again." He honked his horn at the man dragging his feet in front of them. Mave didn't have to guess whom John was referring to. "I will leave, Colin." John honked again when he shout was ignored.

This time, the inebriated fellow turned to the side of the road. "Column O'Brien tipped his hat and raised a tiny flask as John and Mave passed him by." "Pure man." "I don't hear you're pitying Uncle Charlie like that when he's properly blustered." "Big difference, lad. He's my brother. And a danner at that.

To make job to learn about him if he's acting as scuttard fool."

They passed the exit to Bally Dows where she'd gone to school, where she'd met Sean at the docks as a last.

“The church was there too, but it felt less and less like home when the evil plaguing their land became greedy.”

Tired of secrets, tired of the lies, tired of not having a confident other than her children and of her drunk of an elder brother Charlie. But she had the Lord and in him, she trusted. But even he had been silent as of late. Charlie was waiting for them on the front porch when they returned, a glass of whiskey and one hand her cigarette in the other. Dipping the cigarette butt into what little alcohol remained at the bottom of the glass, he set the whiskey glass down on the bloody stain where yesterday's sacrifice had been left, and helped John remove the cooler from the back of the truck.

"Lanary, give your hell."

"Or at the looks, always the same from him, from everyone."

"Mmm." "Rotor." Charlie turned to his nephew.

“"We've asked you at this, out to the rock, illad."”

"Wait, have you been up to see Mary, kid?" "They swad in the sea's worth. Bill, as a ghost." Then he vomited a portion of the alcohol he'd drunk since she'd last seen him three days before, off on another binge. Miraculously, Charlie held onto his side of the cooler, keeping it from completely spilling out onto the ground. Instead, the lid only came open a crack, allowing some of the melted bloody ice water to leak out a mic.

Once Charlie had regained his composure, may've stomped toward her brother and wagged a finger in his face. "Ave told you, Charlie, dana, you're not to be a drunken master in the children. You're not a child." "You're my child, boy." "And ave not finished speaking." She glowed hard at the overweight man, Charlie dana had transformed into since his best mate's demise.

No longer was he the brick-built fellow, all the women of Bali douse swooned after. But her depressed, foul mouth to louse, only good for menial tasks around the property and tending the flunk. He'd even taken to sleeping in the shed out back. There, he could drown in his sorrows all he pleased.

"She's sick, Charlie. Mary, can't. You're only nice. Sick because of that second bastard."

She pointed in the direction of the thicket, the cave. "As a greedy, sought, you'll not be around her in such a state. Silibwe is not understanding. If it does not get what it requires, it will kill her. It will kill Mary, kid. Then it will take the rest of us." Charlie dana her stood up straight, pushing out his chest.

"Your husband was my best mate, and your children, whoever closest, I'll ever have of me own.

“But don't you go lecturing me of its needs and what it'll do?”

Don't forget, sister. Don't forget who brought its sustenance when our dad passed for decades. May in your man handle things. Only in recent times do you make sacrifice." May's icy stare remained unwavering. "Hey, only now, because my brother is only half the man he once was. Our father and my husband thought me too soft for the task.

But I've bludded my hands while you've been off to the pub or had no way in the shared with the bottle. I'm sure my son would be so bloody proud of the man his best mate has become." "I think Uncle Charlie gets the point. No more drinking around Mary, kid." She'd had good reason for the outburst, but looking at the depressing state her brother was in, made her wish she had taken a softer approach.

"Charlie, hey." "No." Charlie held up his free hand, by all still dripping from one finger tip. "You're it." Mayv was visibly taken aback. It wasn't like Charlie's character to cave in when blame had been placed on him.

"And the one who should be sorry, I will be drinking around Mary, kid, and in longer, kind on that. I'll get better."

"I'll do, better."

“Mayv squeezed her brother's right shoulder, tenderly.”

"I knew you were." "I knew."

Clearing his throat, Charlie danna heard nodded his head, and took a moment to light another cigarette.

After releasing a plume of smoke high above them, he faced his nephew once again. "Come on, lad." "Soaring the dinner bell." The next morning, the choice cuts of Mr. Flannery's prize cow were littered across the porch. The sight wrought Mayv to tears.

It was evident what the bay of her ancestors wished for, but there were still a couple of options left to them. After she, John and Charlie had cleaned up the mess, Charlie said one allowed. "Let's gather the family Jews."

"Goal, silver, and jewelry."

"Finery." She wished the danna hers of old had written down instructions in a book somewhere, offering up their horrifying experiences for future generations to mirror in times of strife. "No." "No book."

"No letters." "A cave painting or hieroglyphics carved onto one of the stone circles' boulders." "Nothing." Only instructions passed down from one danna her to the next. Somewhere down the line, it was said that fine things appeased the creatures' needs,

delivering balance back to the danna her line. What the creature did with such things, Mayv hadn't in inkling. It was not her place to understand, but to give to the beast so that they may in turn live. And so, John and Charlie went to the lone Yutri. A tree said to be older than the twin used close to the ruins of Krom Castle.

Digging at the foot of the great tree, John and Charlie labored until they brought up a medium-sized chest. An iron lock dangled at the front. Mayv strode forward, crunching the red berries fallen from the Yutri beneath her feet.

“Producing a rusty key, mayv inserted it into the lock and twisted until a lock clicked.”

By the she, Charlie, her children, Sean, nor any other danna her she had known existed had needed the chest. Judging by its half-rock and state, the wood might crumble away if handled too harshly. But they all had more respect for family relics than that, especially those that were meant to help them in a time of need. Inside the chest, she pulled out several gemstones, rubies and a small bag of silver, not bothering to look at the coins to see which Irish king had his face imprinted on.

It mattered not. What about the rest? We put it back. We only take what we think is required. In time, we will replenish what we took.

Why not just offer a cash? Charlie, smoking a cigarette with his back against the Yutri wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Jerry coins in fanery, we were never told cash lad.

“Shrugging his shoulders, John shut the chest and locked it and handing the key back to me.”

His shovel back in hand, he began piling the loose soil back on top. Charlie flicked his cigarette, taking the precious stones and coins from mayve and placing them into a small sack of wolfs for the last wolf taken from the property long ago. Another relic of the past, a fine thing to be given as sacrifice. Mary Kate screamed in bloody terror. Rolling out of bed, mayve heard glass shatter.

No, not my girl, not my girl. Have you footsteps hurried from Mary Kate's bedroom and onto the roof, Mary Kate continued to scream in terror. Running across the hall, mayve burst into her daughter's room. Glass lay in pieces across the floor.

It was fresh.

“Mary Kate was coughing now, having spent herself from all the high-pitched screaming she was capable of.”

She was paler, despite medication, prayers and the sacrifices made.

Mayve climbed into bed, kicked the lambs head onto the floor and cradled her daughter's head in her lap. She began stroking Mary Kate's chubby. Shhh, they're very dirty. It's all right, calm now, calm, none is here. John appeared in the doorway then his father's double barrel shotgun in hand.

What is it? As Mary Kate caught her breath, she pointed a shaking finger at the window. It was him, I walked and he was watching me from the window. Then he came in, I saw him, I saw him, mummy.

Then Mary Kate turned away, burying her face into Mayve's night gown.

John? Mayve motioned him toward the window.

“He approached slowly, the shotgun raised glass crunching underfoot.”

Satisfied, there was no immediate danger, he set the gun against the wall and stuck his head out of the window. No! Mayve held Mary Kate tight as she attempted to squirm her way to the floor, to retreat under the bed as she'd done as a small child during a storm. Shhh, it's okay, he's gone, he's gone.

John extended a hand outside the window and retrieved something that must have been sitting idly on the roof. In his palm, John held a bloody sack. And when he shook it, Mayve felt chills crawl up her spine at the sound of clinking metal and jewels. That morning, Mayve found Charlie on the porch steps, a new bottle in hand. Mayve looked out across their property, unsurprised at what she saw.

The sheep, torn to shreds. The new deer, another horror.

“At first glance, it appeared it was nearly a quarter of the flock, over 30 of them dead for nothing.”

Dead because she hadn't just cut to the chase and done what they knew they must. "We know all yellow eyes once neither. Don't know what to do. Didn't tell me it got map far. And tell your mar for refing the pieces that didn't lack of them strewn about red rock."

He pointed to the deformed sheep. "Make these ones here. As I'd tongs, misson. Got ripped open, flung about." Mayve snatched the bottle sitting next to Charlie, but Charlie snatched it back.

Not this time. But it'd be. But mayve yanked the bottle free and began pouring the liquid out of the porch. "You promised." Charlie ran his fingers through his thinning red hair, then searched his person for what

must have been a cigarette, finding none. He groaned as if in great pain. "You promised." Charlie waved a hand. "A promise not to get drunk in front of the children."

"It came after Mary cat, you saw. You knew what we must do now." "Did not come after Mary cat, was a warning that it would. If it doesn't get what it wants." She glared down at her brother, her anger beginning to show. "Are you in any state to do what you know we must?"

She slapped him on the back of the head. "Do you leave it up to me? Did you want?" She slapped him again. Nodding his head in shame, Charlie reached for the bottle.

There was still a slosh left that hadn't been poured out. Draining its contents he threw the bottle into the tall grass and stood. "Ah, now be getting me another bottle?" The pub smelled of Charlie.

But it was more like Charlie always smelled of the pub,

Local farmers mostly poured in each night to recount their tales of the day,

“telling much of the same as they had the day prior.”

Loyal customers all. "Mave strode past a table of men spraying beer and spittles they roared with laughter. At the other end of the pub, the group of women whispered to one another as May made her way closer to the bar. Adanaher in the pub was no rarity.

But for May, one who was held in such high esteem with the church, her presence would be noticed the longer she remained indoors. She paid for a beer and made her way outside where a few small tables sat. She found him there as expected, deep in his cups, just as Charlie had said he would be.

"A cool day, no?"

"Mave sat across from the old drunkard.

Colum C. Legs O'Brien looked up from his glass and smiled wide, revealing his few remaining teeth. The folk of Bally Dahls had no quarrel referring to him as C Legs to his face or his back it made no matter.

“It wasn't as if he'd spent much time on the water,”

but the booze kept him from waddling about as if on the deck of a small ship during a wild storm. "Mave Dannaher!" He slapped the table. "Not so cold, have it more of this in ya.

Down in the black'll do you some good on a night like this." He raised his glass and clanked it together with maves.

Colum chugged the rest of his beer,

wiping the froth from his unkempt beard when he was through. He pointed at her glass. "It's not so polite not to drink when a fellow raises his glass here." "Ooh." "Mave smiled un-easily.

She put the rim to her lips and sipped, leaving a red smear of lipstick as she parted from the glass." "Not one for the juice." "A pound lino, but it is very cool. Perhaps you can finish me."

Colum leaned in close. "If I didn't Lord, Miss Dannaher, I'd say he was charming me." "Mave put a hand to her chest." "Oh me? I'd never."

[laughs]

“"Gently, Mave slid her beer across the table”

until it was sitting next to his empty glass." "Please." "I am set." "If you say so." Raising his glass once more,

Colum chugged its content in only a few seconds without spilling a drop. Mave rubbed her shoulders. "Mind walking me to my truck, Colum. I think I'd best be getting home."

He mimicked a gentleman's bow in his chair. "It'll be the least I could do you for." Standing up, Colum held out his arm and the two walked arms into twine as they made their way to the back alley.

"Heart quite far." "Mmm. The parking lot was full." "Is he late?" "As any pod should be." "The couldn't have park around us."

"The cudger would paint down on the back of Colum's skull so hard, Mave thought she heard it crack." She gasped, as John began dragging Colum by his boots down the alley. She'd known what to expect. But knowing what to expect

and a thing actually happening in front of you were not one and the same. "You've killed him?" "I." John heaved Colum into the bed of the truck,

tossing the bloody cuttle in after. "Then it was a good plan, you laid out." When they returned, Charlie was passed out on the porch, a new bottle at his side, and vomit caked onto the right side of his face.

There was a time when Charlie Danner her could be relied upon. But she realized then, for certain, those days had long passed. She wanted to stay a bit, to give a few kicks to the worthless sod,

After all, Mary Kate was upstairs, still suffering.

There was no time to linger.

“Together, mother and son dragged their victim to Red Rock,”

the moon guiding their way full and bright. By the time they'd arrived, both were panting with exhaustion. A man of small stature, Colum was still dead weight. They sat his limp body up so that his back was leaning against the boulder. Blood continued to trickle from the wound on the top of his skull.

Then, to Mave's horror, Colum's eyes began to twitch. In the cave, they heard something stir. Something moving slowly through puddles of water. Quick, do it again. The creature moved closer.

It's heavy breath emitting an odor greater than any rotten thing she'd had the displeasure of smelling before.

Hassan was frozen, his eyes glued on the cave.

John? They don't have the clutch all. She looked around them, taking note of a large stone beside Colum's waking body. Son, it's coming, help me.

“John began to sob, but Mave slapped him hard across the cheek.”

Help me! Bending low, they lifted Colum so that his body was displayed across red rock. They removed his clothes. John, his shirt, and jacket, and Mave's boots, trousers, and underpants. He was trembling madly from the cold.

Take this. Mave placed the large stone she'd found into John's hands. John looked up slowly, his mouth again. He'd seen it. Was staring at it.

Don't bloody look at it, son.

Mave pulled John's face towards hers. Look at me. Good boy. No. Do as Mave tells you.

And bring the rock down on his head.

“Colum's voice was so weak that Mave was sure he'd die soon anyhow, but they hadn't the time.”

Mave stared at her son in shame, unsure of where she went wrong with the men in her life. One dead, one run off, one drunk, and this one. She snatched the rock from him. If you want our line to live on, for us to live good lives. She held the rock above Colum's face.

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Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

“Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.”

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

“Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.”

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.

“Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.”

Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull. Mave brought the stone down onto Colum's skull.