Speaker 1: M twelve Ghosts is a production of I Heeart three
Speaker 1: D audio and grimm and mild from Aaron Manky Headphones. Recommended.
Speaker 1: Listener discretion advised. The night is darkening round me. The
Speaker 1: wild winds coldly blow, but the tyrant spell has bound
Speaker 1: me and I cannot cannot go M. Speaking of the devil.
Speaker 1: This should be interesting? Is that carol ers? M? So
Speaker 1: it would seem. Do you normally get carolers out here?
Speaker 1: Not all at once? There's no one out there, must
Speaker 1: have been carried in on the wind from elsewhere. Hard
Speaker 1: to believe they're up to any good with the hymn
Speaker 1: they're singing. Traditionally, westsellers would demand something in return for
Speaker 1: the carols they sang, and could get quite roundy if
Speaker 1: they didn't receive their due. Well, we're beyond harm here.
Speaker 1: Perhaps we'll receive an explanation shortly. Oh ah, and there
Speaker 1: it is. Come in. Then we've been expecting you, though
Speaker 1: from the look on your face, I can't imagine you've
Speaker 1: been expecting us. Who are you? Why did you bring
Speaker 1: us here? I'm afraid I had no hand in bringing
Speaker 1: you here, My dear, Then you're not one of them.
Speaker 1: The carolers. You heard them, Perhaps you'd like to sit Tom, Oh, God, Tom,
Speaker 1: Tom will be fine. Sit, take a breath, a drink,
Speaker 1: and then tell us what you heard. Sarah disappeared back
Speaker 1: in nine. All I remember feeling back then was how
Speaker 1: the whole thing ruined Christmas. I would have been almost six.
Speaker 1: I think that sounds right because Sarah was nine when
Speaker 1: it happened, and we were a little more than three
Speaker 1: years apart. Kids are all self centered like that, so
Speaker 1: I don't beat myself up for having had those thoughts.
Speaker 1: At the time, Somerville was having an unusually cold winter.
Speaker 1: Dad had the news on all week, lasting forecast updates
Speaker 1: at such a loud volume you could hear it in
Speaker 1: every corner of the house. There was some kind of
Speaker 1: front coming through that was predicted to bring in a
Speaker 1: lot of snow in the days following Christmas. There was
Speaker 1: concern that it could come in earlier and screw up
Speaker 1: holiday travel. So Dad was following the news like a
Speaker 1: bloodhound on a scent trail, trying to determine if this
Speaker 1: would affect our two mile drive to Grannie's house for
Speaker 1: Christmas dinner. He had the fireplace going, poking the logs
Speaker 1: with placed anxiety. As Mom a rough cut celery in
Speaker 1: the kitchen for stuffing to take to Granny's. I listened
Speaker 1: to the sound of her knife in repetition against the
Speaker 1: cutting board as I flipped through a highlights magazine I'd
Speaker 1: read a hundred times already. Sarah was lying on the
Speaker 1: sofa with Harvey, our salt and pepper Schnauzer, and was
Speaker 1: busying herself with tugging at the fuzz on the quilt
Speaker 1: that hung over the back of the couch. She was
Speaker 1: bored out of her mind and trying to stay out
Speaker 1: of the kitchen so as not to get recruited by Mom.
Speaker 1: I must have dozed off at some point, because I
Speaker 1: stirred suddenly at the sound of the front door closing,
Speaker 1: pinching off the howl of the wind, and Harvey's high
Speaker 1: wine from the porch. Sarah must have taken him out
Speaker 1: to relieve himself. That's what ended up, and the police
Speaker 1: were boar it anyway. But I can still to this
Speaker 1: day swear that I recall some other sound being tossed
Speaker 1: about on the wind, beyond the pounding of my own
Speaker 1: heartbeat in my ears, that was pulling me back into sleep.
Speaker 1: The static on the TV, the electric buzz of the
Speaker 1: Christmas lights, something low and sad, like a hymn sung
Speaker 1: from mere air, but strong enough yet to steal a sister.
Speaker 1: I've been pricking my ears for it for almost thirty years.
Speaker 1: It was the way she looked at me when I
Speaker 1: told her my mother. She was happy, but there was
Speaker 1: something else there too, a kind of worry. Maybe all
Speaker 1: mothers worry for their daughters, especially when they become mothers themselves.
Speaker 1: I hoped that was all it was. Tom said she
Speaker 1: was probably thinking about Sarah, and I suppose that makes sense.
Speaker 1: I thought about Sara too. What must it feel like
Speaker 1: to lose a child? It was hard on my mom.
Speaker 1: There were so many cops and investigators and reporters and
Speaker 1: fucking dizzy bodies buzzing around for months on end, when
Speaker 1: none of us could even give ourselves permission to grieve
Speaker 1: because there was no body, only questions, Where's Sara? What
Speaker 1: happened to Sarah? Where did she go? When Emily heard
Speaker 1: her slip out with Harvey on Christmas Eve? In the
Speaker 1: Great Snow Storm of eighty nine, Dad buried himself in
Speaker 1: Dad's ship, spent more time working, more time cutting grass,
Speaker 1: really hamburgers. Work work, work, provide, provide. Tom would never
Speaker 1: act like that toxic masculinity. He'd cry, He'd go to
Speaker 1: therapy with me. We'd let ourselves come undone and come
Speaker 1: back together stronger instead of turning into robots like Mom
Speaker 1: and Dad did. But thinking about how we'd grieve the
Speaker 1: baby Tom and I might hypothetically lose someday made me
Speaker 1: want to know more about how Mom and Dad actually
Speaker 1: lost theirs. So I made the decision that it was
Speaker 1: finally time Mom and I talked about the thing we
Speaker 1: absolutely don't. They made me sign a death certificate. Did
Speaker 1: you know that? Mom said I hadn't known, and I
Speaker 1: just shook my head at her. I could have said no,
Speaker 1: kept on their asses to keep up the investigation, but
Speaker 1: Sarah wasn't going to just show up back in our
Speaker 1: lives after eight years and everything go back to normal.
Speaker 1: It'd be stupid for me to keep hoping we could
Speaker 1: be a normal family, So I signed it. The truth
Speaker 1: m is that I knew she was gone forever that
Speaker 1: very same night. I think I knew it before I
Speaker 1: called for you girls to go brush your teeth, and
Speaker 1: no one answered. The storm was just like last time,
Speaker 1: only when it was my sister and we didn't have
Speaker 1: my daddy around to blame your sister, I asked her,
Speaker 1: I didn't have any ants on my mom's side. I
Speaker 1: know you think I'm an only child, Emily, but your
Speaker 1: grannie had another little girl, Jeanette before me. I never
Speaker 1: knew her, or I only vaguely remember her. I was
Speaker 1: a toddler when she went missing, went missing. I blurted out,
Speaker 1: you had a sister that went missing, like Sarah. Why
Speaker 1: have you never told me this? Did you tell the police?
Speaker 1: Why would I tell the police? What would they have
Speaker 1: to do with one another? Jeanette disappeared almost thirty years
Speaker 1: before Sarah. That had be an awfully and effective serial killer.
Speaker 1: Em If you asked me, a tendency for wandering just
Speaker 1: runs in our family, and coyotes run in our woods. Okay,
Speaker 1: Well you said the storm was just like last time.
Speaker 1: What do you mean it was like last time? Well,
Speaker 1: back in sixty one, we had a mess of a
Speaker 1: blizzard like an eighty nine, arting on the solstice and
Speaker 1: running up through Christmas Eve the day she went missing,
Speaker 1: Real bad wind and several feet of snow in just
Speaker 1: a few days. Daddy had finally killed himself with all
Speaker 1: the drinking the year before, so we had been on
Speaker 1: our own as far as money for a little less
Speaker 1: than a year. Mama told me she was busy sewing
Speaker 1: pageant gowns for extra cash in the back room when
Speaker 1: Jeanette must have slipped out. Mama tells me that she
Speaker 1: had the radio on next to her sewing and still
Speaker 1: thought she heard carolers singing hymns out in the storm.
Speaker 1: I can't believe anybody would be stupid enough to be
Speaker 1: out in that mess. That must be what got Jeanette
Speaker 1: out of bed, though, instead of going to sleep and
Speaker 1: waiting for Santa. When Mom finished, I felt strange. It
Speaker 1: was a lot to take in, But what I really
Speaker 1: couldn't get past was the smallest thing of all that
Speaker 1: Granny had thought she heard singing over her sewing. I
Speaker 1: had almost forgotten. I've been half asleep when Sara slipped
Speaker 1: out onto the porch, so when I thought I heard
Speaker 1: that howling hymn tangled in the wind, it was easy
Speaker 1: to sort it into the dream side of my consciousness.
Speaker 1: Now Here was a waking woman not only hearing the
Speaker 1: same sounds I'd heard, but she was down one daughter,
Speaker 1: just as I was a sister. Mom maybe wouldn't allow
Speaker 1: herself to see the connection, but for me, I could
Speaker 1: only feel haunted hunted. Mom add made one connection between
Speaker 1: the two events, though you know em, you better hope
Speaker 1: Tom isn't as useless as your dad was or mine,
Speaker 1: for that matter. If my dad had been around instead
Speaker 1: of drinking himself into an early death, Mama wouldn't have
Speaker 1: been spending her Christmas Eve and most every night doing
Speaker 1: odd jobs to keep us fed and in nice clothes
Speaker 1: for school. Not all women could have bank accounts in
Speaker 1: their name back then. You know, we had handfuls of
Speaker 1: cash hidden away in coffee cans and cookie jars and
Speaker 1: under the mattress. Thank the Lord, we were never robbed.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, Mom. And if your father wasn't such a
Speaker 1: worthless piece of shit that actually lifted a finger to
Speaker 1: help with anything around the house enough to notice when
Speaker 1: his own daughter was trying to go out in a
Speaker 1: damp blizzard. Mom, it's okay. I know you're always going
Speaker 1: to be mad at Dad for that. I get it.
Speaker 1: You don't need to worry about Tom, though he's a
Speaker 1: good man. He's so excited about this baby he's going
Speaker 1: to be a great father and be an equal partner.
Speaker 1: You'll see. I want you to be excited for us.
Speaker 1: He can take care of us. He makes great money.
Speaker 1: We'll never want for anything. But that's how it always
Speaker 1: is for women, isn't it, Emily. The man pays the bill,
Speaker 1: but the woman pays the price. I was about four
Speaker 1: months along on the first day of winter when the
Speaker 1: local weather man announced the blizzard that I already knew
Speaker 1: within my bones was coming. I stayed up late the
Speaker 1: next few nights waiting for them, listening, camped out on
Speaker 1: the glider in the baby's room, rocking myself like a baby,
Speaker 1: rocking our baby in the womb. They can't take her
Speaker 1: while she's inside me. Not this year, but every year
Speaker 1: they come. Someone's baby isn't safe. And as every woman knows,
Speaker 1: if any one of us aren't free, none of us are.
Speaker 1: The sound came on Christmas Eve, low and moaning. It
Speaker 1: was not unlike the wind itself, but with a rhythm
Speaker 1: offbeat from the chaos of nature. Tom went to bed annoyed,
Speaker 1: and I had stayed up again, unwilling to function as
Speaker 1: his teddy bear when I wasn't tired, so He didn't
Speaker 1: hear the front door cracking open like a seal, or
Speaker 1: the low moans coalescing into song, or the wife and
Speaker 1: baby disappearing into snow like static on the TV. Outside
Speaker 1: was all sound, wind buffeting the hood of my coat
Speaker 1: against my ears, and carrying the song down the road,
Speaker 1: where I could just make out a group of shadowy
Speaker 1: human forms, all holding dim candles that refused to even
Speaker 1: flicker in the violence of the wind. They moved as
Speaker 1: one down the road that led toward the fields at
Speaker 1: the edge of town. The what should I do then?
Speaker 1: But follow? The longer I followed, the more order I
Speaker 1: found within the sound. It wasn't so much a song
Speaker 1: as a chant, uttered low and slow, overlapping and round,
Speaker 1: as no mouth that spoke. It started or ended in
Speaker 1: the same place, building into a hypnotic, stuttering spell that
Speaker 1: suddenly spun its dark magic into being. When a neighbor's
Speaker 1: door cracked open and out piqued a child, I didn't
Speaker 1: recognize the girl, but she couldn't have been older than Sarah.
Speaker 1: The figures didn't move toward her, They merely continued on
Speaker 1: down the road. As the girl turned to follow, I
Speaker 1: decided to wait to intervene. Maybe I could save her
Speaker 1: mhow and also figure out what they've been doing with
Speaker 1: all of these missing girls, and then stop them. The
Speaker 1: candle flames held steady all the way to the edge
Speaker 1: of town, where Somerville's wheatfield lay barren. That apparent barrenness
Speaker 1: gave away immediately what was wrong about the place. A
Speaker 1: large pit dug into the center of the field, the
Speaker 1: deep recess of it emitting a warm, fiery glow, much
Speaker 1: like that from the ever burning candles. The child was
Speaker 1: drawn to the warmth like a moth, and there was
Speaker 1: a stillness within it that promised refuge from the tattering wind.
Speaker 1: I knew nothing good could come from following her down
Speaker 1: the rickety stick ladder to stand beside the pyre, But
Speaker 1: at the very same moment, our daughter gave me the
Speaker 1: faintest kick from inside her own refuge, and I made
Speaker 1: up my mind. Down inside the pit, I could no
Speaker 1: longer hear the wind, but instead could now make out
Speaker 1: the moaning chant from the men surrounding us. From above.
Speaker 1: It lapped like waves, going round and round the circle.
Speaker 1: The girl seemed drowsy as she listened to the swirl
Speaker 1: of noise droning above her. I noticed my own daughter
Speaker 1: had ceased stirring, but I, very much still aware, had
Speaker 1: picked up the scent of gasolene in the straw beneath
Speaker 1: our feet, And before my brain had even fully formed
Speaker 1: the wholeness of what was about to happen, I was
Speaker 1: lunging for that neighbor's daughter. Just as the latter was
Speaker 1: kicked away from the wall and into the pyre. Everything
Speaker 1: seemed to happen in slow motion. The hooded figures dropped
Speaker 1: their candles into the pit, and flames descended hungrily to
Speaker 1: feast upon the straw below. Fire erupted like the pages
Speaker 1: of a children's Papa book, instant and exciting, coloring the
Speaker 1: whiteness of the storm world. It hurt to look at
Speaker 1: almost as badly as it hurt to be held by it.
Speaker 1: The flames wasted no time, enveloping my body, creeping under clothing,
Speaker 1: and tearing at my hair, the cruelest touches from hands
Speaker 1: as soft as air. I'd have lost myself in it
Speaker 1: if the child hadn't screamed. Without thought, I ran to
Speaker 1: her and hoisted her up as if she were made
Speaker 1: of feathers, shifting her up and over me toward the
Speaker 1: edge of the pit, until I had no per just
Speaker 1: on her but the soul of her shoe against my palm.
Speaker 1: As I jumped and thrust her upward with one final push.
Speaker 1: It was just enough for her to drag her flaming
Speaker 1: body the rest of the way out, to be extinguished
Speaker 1: by the violent wind and disappear into it. I was
Speaker 1: still burning as I rested the ladder from the pire
Speaker 1: to try and save myself. And maybe it would have
Speaker 1: held just long enough for me to make it out
Speaker 1: if not for Tom, my hero come to rescue me.
Speaker 1: A man made of flames and pain and stupidity and
Speaker 1: strength and weakness and trying and failure and love and death.
Speaker 1: M was all he could get out as the fire
Speaker 1: stole his very breath and then claimed his lungs too.
Speaker 1: I didn't run, did try to stop him. I just
Speaker 1: stood there, burning as I watched this man I truly
Speaker 1: do love, come hurtling towards me with so much intention
Speaker 1: and not enough thought, waiting for him to kill me
Speaker 1: with his love, and he did. Tom hit me like
Speaker 1: a bull with his body. Maybe he thought he could
Speaker 1: shield me from what was happening all around us. Take
Speaker 1: it all himself, but we were both more burn than
Speaker 1: skin by them. His instinct to protect turned his body
Speaker 1: into a tomb for me, for us, and we died
Speaker 1: needlessly in the dirt, in pain and pressure, under the
Speaker 1: anvil of his crushing need to be our savior. The
Speaker 1: fire didn't hurt nearly as bad as the weight of
Speaker 1: what it means to be a woman with me died
Speaker 1: any knowledge of the carol ER's They got my baby,
Speaker 1: after all, and they'll take someone else's too, some white
Speaker 1: night before Christmas, when the wind howls loud and carries
Speaker 1: a song soft and low through the snow, another young
Speaker 1: girl will be lured to her doom when the voices
Speaker 1: of men promise her safety in a storm, warm and
Speaker 1: stable in an uncertain world, and then use her for kindling.
Speaker 1: Good God, h hardly did Tom pass this way before me?
Speaker 1: Afraid not to you, though, I imagine we'll see him
Speaker 1: before dawn. Perhaps you can rest while you wait for
Speaker 1: his arrival. Perhaps this key unlocks the sixth door on
Speaker 1: the left up the stairs. I think you'll find it
Speaker 1: quite quiet up there. That sounds perfect, thank you. I
Speaker 1: don't know what the rules are here, but i'd avoid
Speaker 1: strange music coming from the dark given the storm. Yes,
Speaker 1: I think I'll stay indoors where it's quiet. Good Night
Speaker 1: to you both. Good night, sleep well, my dear. I'll
Speaker 1: guide Tom up to you when he arrives. Thank you.
Speaker 1: The carol ers. Who were they? I do not know, Annabelle.
Speaker 1: If they are living men, then they will one day
Speaker 1: die and I'll ask them. Something tells me though they'll
Speaker 1: never pass this way. But there is so much night
Speaker 1: left ahead of us. Perhaps someone will come with a
Speaker 1: happier tale. Is that likely? Your guess is as good
Speaker 1: as mine. Twelve Ghosts starring Malcolm McDowell as the Keeper
Speaker 1: and Gina Rikiki as Annabelle. Episode six Low and Sad
Speaker 1: Like a hymn written by Elena Huff Tucker with additional
Speaker 1: writing by Nicholas Takowski, editing by Chris Childs and Stephen Perez,
Speaker 1: featuring Tara Oakes as Emily. Directed by Nicholas Takowski. Original
Speaker 1: score and sound design by Chris Childs. Executive producers Aaron Mankey,
Speaker 1: Matt Frederick, Alexander Williams and Nicholas Takowski. Supervising producer Josh Thane.
Speaker 1: Producers Chris Child's and Stephen Perez, casting by Sunday Bowling
Speaker 1: c s A and Meg Mormon c s A. Production
Speaker 1: coordinator Wayna Calderon. Recorded at Lantern Audio in Atlanta, Georgia,
Speaker 1: engineered by Chris Gardner, Arrows Sound and Recording in Ojai, California,
Speaker 1: engineered by Ken Arros. Twelve Ghosts was created by Nicholas Takowski.
Speaker 1: Then is a production of iHeart three D Audio and
Speaker 1: Grim and Mild from Aaron Mankey. Learn more about the
Speaker 1: at Grimm and Mild dot com, and find more podcasts
Speaker 1: from i heart Radio by visiting the i heart Radio app,
Speaker 1: Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.
Speaker 1: H