WEBVTT - Low and Sad, Like a Hymn

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<v Speaker 1>M twelve Ghosts is a production of I Heeart three

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<v Speaker 1>D audio and grimm and mild from Aaron Manky Headphones. Recommended.

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<v Speaker 1>Listener discretion advised. The night is darkening round me. The

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<v Speaker 1>wild winds coldly blow, but the tyrant spell has bound

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<v Speaker 1>me and I cannot cannot go M. Speaking of the devil.

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<v Speaker 1>This should be interesting? Is that carol ers? M? So

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<v Speaker 1>it would seem. Do you normally get carolers out here?

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<v Speaker 1>Not all at once? There's no one out there, must

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<v Speaker 1>have been carried in on the wind from elsewhere. Hard

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<v Speaker 1>to believe they're up to any good with the hymn

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<v Speaker 1>they're singing. Traditionally, westsellers would demand something in return for

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<v Speaker 1>the carols they sang, and could get quite roundy if

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<v Speaker 1>they didn't receive their due. Well, we're beyond harm here.

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<v Speaker 1>Perhaps we'll receive an explanation shortly. Oh ah, and there

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<v Speaker 1>it is. Come in. Then we've been expecting you, though

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<v Speaker 1>from the look on your face, I can't imagine you've

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<v Speaker 1>been expecting us. Who are you? Why did you bring

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<v Speaker 1>us here? I'm afraid I had no hand in bringing

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<v Speaker 1>you here, My dear, Then you're not one of them.

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<v Speaker 1>The carolers. You heard them, Perhaps you'd like to sit Tom, Oh, God, Tom,

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<v Speaker 1>Tom will be fine. Sit, take a breath, a drink,

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<v Speaker 1>and then tell us what you heard. Sarah disappeared back

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<v Speaker 1>in nine. All I remember feeling back then was how

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<v Speaker 1>the whole thing ruined Christmas. I would have been almost six.

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<v Speaker 1>I think that sounds right because Sarah was nine when

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<v Speaker 1>it happened, and we were a little more than three

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<v Speaker 1>years apart. Kids are all self centered like that, so

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<v Speaker 1>I don't beat myself up for having had those thoughts.

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<v Speaker 1>At the time, Somerville was having an unusually cold winter.

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<v Speaker 1>Dad had the news on all week, lasting forecast updates

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<v Speaker 1>at such a loud volume you could hear it in

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<v Speaker 1>every corner of the house. There was some kind of

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<v Speaker 1>front coming through that was predicted to bring in a

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<v Speaker 1>lot of snow in the days following Christmas. There was

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<v Speaker 1>concern that it could come in earlier and screw up

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<v Speaker 1>holiday travel. So Dad was following the news like a

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<v Speaker 1>bloodhound on a scent trail, trying to determine if this

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<v Speaker 1>would affect our two mile drive to Grannie's house for

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<v Speaker 1>Christmas dinner. He had the fireplace going, poking the logs

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<v Speaker 1>with placed anxiety. As Mom a rough cut celery in

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<v Speaker 1>the kitchen for stuffing to take to Granny's. I listened

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<v Speaker 1>to the sound of her knife in repetition against the

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<v Speaker 1>cutting board as I flipped through a highlights magazine I'd

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<v Speaker 1>read a hundred times already. Sarah was lying on the

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<v Speaker 1>sofa with Harvey, our salt and pepper Schnauzer, and was

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<v Speaker 1>busying herself with tugging at the fuzz on the quilt

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<v Speaker 1>that hung over the back of the couch. She was

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<v Speaker 1>bored out of her mind and trying to stay out

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<v Speaker 1>of the kitchen so as not to get recruited by Mom.

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<v Speaker 1>I must have dozed off at some point, because I

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<v Speaker 1>stirred suddenly at the sound of the front door closing,

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<v Speaker 1>pinching off the howl of the wind, and Harvey's high

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<v Speaker 1>wine from the porch. Sarah must have taken him out

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<v Speaker 1>to relieve himself. That's what ended up, and the police

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<v Speaker 1>were boar it anyway. But I can still to this

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<v Speaker 1>day swear that I recall some other sound being tossed

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<v Speaker 1>about on the wind, beyond the pounding of my own

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<v Speaker 1>heartbeat in my ears, that was pulling me back into sleep.

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<v Speaker 1>The static on the TV, the electric buzz of the

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<v Speaker 1>Christmas lights, something low and sad, like a hymn sung

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<v Speaker 1>from mere air, but strong enough yet to steal a sister.

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<v Speaker 1>I've been pricking my ears for it for almost thirty years.

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<v Speaker 1>It was the way she looked at me when I

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<v Speaker 1>told her my mother. She was happy, but there was

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<v Speaker 1>something else there too, a kind of worry. Maybe all

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<v Speaker 1>mothers worry for their daughters, especially when they become mothers themselves.

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<v Speaker 1>I hoped that was all it was. Tom said she

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<v Speaker 1>was probably thinking about Sarah, and I suppose that makes sense.

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<v Speaker 1>I thought about Sara too. What must it feel like

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<v Speaker 1>to lose a child? It was hard on my mom.

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<v Speaker 1>There were so many cops and investigators and reporters and

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<v Speaker 1>fucking dizzy bodies buzzing around for months on end, when

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<v Speaker 1>none of us could even give ourselves permission to grieve

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<v Speaker 1>because there was no body, only questions, Where's Sara? What

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<v Speaker 1>happened to Sarah? Where did she go? When Emily heard

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<v Speaker 1>her slip out with Harvey on Christmas Eve? In the

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<v Speaker 1>Great Snow Storm of eighty nine, Dad buried himself in

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<v Speaker 1>Dad's ship, spent more time working, more time cutting grass,

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<v Speaker 1>really hamburgers. Work work, work, provide, provide. Tom would never

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<v Speaker 1>act like that toxic masculinity. He'd cry, He'd go to

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<v Speaker 1>therapy with me. We'd let ourselves come undone and come

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<v Speaker 1>back together stronger instead of turning into robots like Mom

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<v Speaker 1>and Dad did. But thinking about how we'd grieve the

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<v Speaker 1>baby Tom and I might hypothetically lose someday made me

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<v Speaker 1>want to know more about how Mom and Dad actually

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<v Speaker 1>lost theirs. So I made the decision that it was

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<v Speaker 1>finally time Mom and I talked about the thing we

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<v Speaker 1>absolutely don't. They made me sign a death certificate. Did

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<v Speaker 1>you know that? Mom said I hadn't known, and I

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<v Speaker 1>just shook my head at her. I could have said no,

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<v Speaker 1>kept on their asses to keep up the investigation, but

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<v Speaker 1>Sarah wasn't going to just show up back in our

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<v Speaker 1>lives after eight years and everything go back to normal.

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<v Speaker 1>It'd be stupid for me to keep hoping we could

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<v Speaker 1>be a normal family, So I signed it. The truth

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<v Speaker 1>m is that I knew she was gone forever that

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<v Speaker 1>very same night. I think I knew it before I

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<v Speaker 1>called for you girls to go brush your teeth, and

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<v Speaker 1>no one answered. The storm was just like last time,

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<v Speaker 1>only when it was my sister and we didn't have

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<v Speaker 1>my daddy around to blame your sister, I asked her,

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<v Speaker 1>I didn't have any ants on my mom's side. I

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<v Speaker 1>know you think I'm an only child, Emily, but your

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<v Speaker 1>grannie had another little girl, Jeanette before me. I never

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<v Speaker 1>knew her, or I only vaguely remember her. I was

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<v Speaker 1>a toddler when she went missing, went missing. I blurted out,

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<v Speaker 1>you had a sister that went missing, like Sarah. Why

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<v Speaker 1>have you never told me this? Did you tell the police?

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<v Speaker 1>Why would I tell the police? What would they have

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<v Speaker 1>to do with one another? Jeanette disappeared almost thirty years

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<v Speaker 1>before Sarah. That had be an awfully and effective serial killer.

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<v Speaker 1>Em If you asked me, a tendency for wandering just

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<v Speaker 1>runs in our family, and coyotes run in our woods. Okay,

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<v Speaker 1>Well you said the storm was just like last time.

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<v Speaker 1>What do you mean it was like last time? Well,

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<v Speaker 1>back in sixty one, we had a mess of a

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<v Speaker 1>blizzard like an eighty nine, arting on the solstice and

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<v Speaker 1>running up through Christmas Eve the day she went missing,

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<v Speaker 1>Real bad wind and several feet of snow in just

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<v Speaker 1>a few days. Daddy had finally killed himself with all

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<v Speaker 1>the drinking the year before, so we had been on

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<v Speaker 1>our own as far as money for a little less

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<v Speaker 1>than a year. Mama told me she was busy sewing

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<v Speaker 1>pageant gowns for extra cash in the back room when

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<v Speaker 1>Jeanette must have slipped out. Mama tells me that she

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<v Speaker 1>had the radio on next to her sewing and still

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<v Speaker 1>thought she heard carolers singing hymns out in the storm.

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<v Speaker 1>I can't believe anybody would be stupid enough to be

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<v Speaker 1>out in that mess. That must be what got Jeanette

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<v Speaker 1>out of bed, though, instead of going to sleep and

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<v Speaker 1>waiting for Santa. When Mom finished, I felt strange. It

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<v Speaker 1>was a lot to take in, But what I really

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<v Speaker 1>couldn't get past was the smallest thing of all that

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<v Speaker 1>Granny had thought she heard singing over her sewing. I

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<v Speaker 1>had almost forgotten. I've been half asleep when Sara slipped

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<v Speaker 1>out onto the porch, so when I thought I heard

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<v Speaker 1>that howling hymn tangled in the wind, it was easy

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<v Speaker 1>to sort it into the dream side of my consciousness.

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<v Speaker 1>Now Here was a waking woman not only hearing the

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<v Speaker 1>same sounds I'd heard, but she was down one daughter,

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<v Speaker 1>just as I was a sister. Mom maybe wouldn't allow

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<v Speaker 1>herself to see the connection, but for me, I could

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<v Speaker 1>only feel haunted hunted. Mom add made one connection between

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<v Speaker 1>the two events, though you know em, you better hope

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<v Speaker 1>Tom isn't as useless as your dad was or mine,

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<v Speaker 1>for that matter. If my dad had been around instead

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<v Speaker 1>of drinking himself into an early death, Mama wouldn't have

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<v Speaker 1>been spending her Christmas Eve and most every night doing

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<v Speaker 1>odd jobs to keep us fed and in nice clothes

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<v Speaker 1>for school. Not all women could have bank accounts in

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<v Speaker 1>their name back then. You know, we had handfuls of

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<v Speaker 1>cash hidden away in coffee cans and cookie jars and

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<v Speaker 1>under the mattress. Thank the Lord, we were never robbed.

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<v Speaker 1>I'm sorry, Mom. And if your father wasn't such a

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<v Speaker 1>worthless piece of shit that actually lifted a finger to

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<v Speaker 1>help with anything around the house enough to notice when

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<v Speaker 1>his own daughter was trying to go out in a

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<v Speaker 1>damp blizzard. Mom, it's okay. I know you're always going

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<v Speaker 1>to be mad at Dad for that. I get it.

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<v Speaker 1>You don't need to worry about Tom, though he's a

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<v Speaker 1>good man. He's so excited about this baby he's going

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<v Speaker 1>to be a great father and be an equal partner.

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<v Speaker 1>You'll see. I want you to be excited for us.

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<v Speaker 1>He can take care of us. He makes great money.

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<v Speaker 1>We'll never want for anything. But that's how it always

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<v Speaker 1>is for women, isn't it, Emily. The man pays the bill,

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<v Speaker 1>but the woman pays the price. I was about four

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<v Speaker 1>months along on the first day of winter when the

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<v Speaker 1>local weather man announced the blizzard that I already knew

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<v Speaker 1>within my bones was coming. I stayed up late the

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<v Speaker 1>next few nights waiting for them, listening, camped out on

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<v Speaker 1>the glider in the baby's room, rocking myself like a baby,

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<v Speaker 1>rocking our baby in the womb. They can't take her

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<v Speaker 1>while she's inside me. Not this year, but every year

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<v Speaker 1>they come. Someone's baby isn't safe. And as every woman knows,

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<v Speaker 1>if any one of us aren't free, none of us are.

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<v Speaker 1>The sound came on Christmas Eve, low and moaning. It

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<v Speaker 1>was not unlike the wind itself, but with a rhythm

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<v Speaker 1>offbeat from the chaos of nature. Tom went to bed annoyed,

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<v Speaker 1>and I had stayed up again, unwilling to function as

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<v Speaker 1>his teddy bear when I wasn't tired, so He didn't

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<v Speaker 1>hear the front door cracking open like a seal, or

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<v Speaker 1>the low moans coalescing into song, or the wife and

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<v Speaker 1>baby disappearing into snow like static on the TV. Outside

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<v Speaker 1>was all sound, wind buffeting the hood of my coat

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<v Speaker 1>against my ears, and carrying the song down the road,

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<v Speaker 1>where I could just make out a group of shadowy

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<v Speaker 1>human forms, all holding dim candles that refused to even

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<v Speaker 1>flicker in the violence of the wind. They moved as

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<v Speaker 1>one down the road that led toward the fields at

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<v Speaker 1>the edge of town. The what should I do then?

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<v Speaker 1>But follow? The longer I followed, the more order I

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<v Speaker 1>found within the sound. It wasn't so much a song

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<v Speaker 1>as a chant, uttered low and slow, overlapping and round,

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<v Speaker 1>as no mouth that spoke. It started or ended in

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<v Speaker 1>the same place, building into a hypnotic, stuttering spell that

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<v Speaker 1>suddenly spun its dark magic into being. When a neighbor's

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<v Speaker 1>door cracked open and out piqued a child, I didn't

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<v Speaker 1>recognize the girl, but she couldn't have been older than Sarah.

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<v Speaker 1>The figures didn't move toward her, They merely continued on

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<v Speaker 1>down the road. As the girl turned to follow, I

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<v Speaker 1>decided to wait to intervene. Maybe I could save her

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<v Speaker 1>mhow and also figure out what they've been doing with

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<v Speaker 1>all of these missing girls, and then stop them. The

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<v Speaker 1>candle flames held steady all the way to the edge

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<v Speaker 1>of town, where Somerville's wheatfield lay barren. That apparent barrenness

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<v Speaker 1>gave away immediately what was wrong about the place. A

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<v Speaker 1>large pit dug into the center of the field, the

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<v Speaker 1>deep recess of it emitting a warm, fiery glow, much

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<v Speaker 1>like that from the ever burning candles. The child was

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<v Speaker 1>drawn to the warmth like a moth, and there was

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<v Speaker 1>a stillness within it that promised refuge from the tattering wind.

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<v Speaker 1>I knew nothing good could come from following her down

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<v Speaker 1>the rickety stick ladder to stand beside the pyre, But

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<v Speaker 1>at the very same moment, our daughter gave me the

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<v Speaker 1>faintest kick from inside her own refuge, and I made

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<v Speaker 1>up my mind. Down inside the pit, I could no

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<v Speaker 1>longer hear the wind, but instead could now make out

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<v Speaker 1>the moaning chant from the men surrounding us. From above.

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<v Speaker 1>It lapped like waves, going round and round the circle.

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<v Speaker 1>The girl seemed drowsy as she listened to the swirl

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<v Speaker 1>of noise droning above her. I noticed my own daughter

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<v Speaker 1>had ceased stirring, but I, very much still aware, had

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<v Speaker 1>picked up the scent of gasolene in the straw beneath

0:18:46.080 --> 0:18:49.480
<v Speaker 1>our feet, And before my brain had even fully formed

0:18:49.840 --> 0:18:52.960
<v Speaker 1>the wholeness of what was about to happen, I was

0:18:53.160 --> 0:18:56.479
<v Speaker 1>lunging for that neighbor's daughter. Just as the latter was

0:18:56.600 --> 0:19:00.560
<v Speaker 1>kicked away from the wall and into the pyre. Everything

0:19:00.640 --> 0:19:05.879
<v Speaker 1>seemed to happen in slow motion. The hooded figures dropped

0:19:06.040 --> 0:19:10.760
<v Speaker 1>their candles into the pit, and flames descended hungrily to

0:19:10.960 --> 0:19:16.480
<v Speaker 1>feast upon the straw below. Fire erupted like the pages

0:19:16.520 --> 0:19:22.040
<v Speaker 1>of a children's Papa book, instant and exciting, coloring the

0:19:22.080 --> 0:19:25.639
<v Speaker 1>whiteness of the storm world. It hurt to look at

0:19:26.080 --> 0:19:29.080
<v Speaker 1>almost as badly as it hurt to be held by it.

0:19:30.080 --> 0:19:35.400
<v Speaker 1>The flames wasted no time, enveloping my body, creeping under clothing,

0:19:35.480 --> 0:19:40.240
<v Speaker 1>and tearing at my hair, the cruelest touches from hands

0:19:40.240 --> 0:19:45.320
<v Speaker 1>as soft as air. I'd have lost myself in it

0:19:45.880 --> 0:19:51.439
<v Speaker 1>if the child hadn't screamed. Without thought, I ran to

0:19:51.520 --> 0:19:54.160
<v Speaker 1>her and hoisted her up as if she were made

0:19:54.160 --> 0:19:57.679
<v Speaker 1>of feathers, shifting her up and over me toward the

0:19:57.800 --> 0:20:00.119
<v Speaker 1>edge of the pit, until I had no per just

0:20:00.400 --> 0:20:03.200
<v Speaker 1>on her but the soul of her shoe against my palm.

0:20:03.560 --> 0:20:08.440
<v Speaker 1>As I jumped and thrust her upward with one final push.

0:20:08.800 --> 0:20:12.159
<v Speaker 1>It was just enough for her to drag her flaming

0:20:12.200 --> 0:20:15.240
<v Speaker 1>body the rest of the way out, to be extinguished

0:20:15.320 --> 0:20:21.919
<v Speaker 1>by the violent wind and disappear into it. I was

0:20:21.960 --> 0:20:25.919
<v Speaker 1>still burning as I rested the ladder from the pire

0:20:26.000 --> 0:20:28.800
<v Speaker 1>to try and save myself. And maybe it would have

0:20:28.840 --> 0:20:31.120
<v Speaker 1>held just long enough for me to make it out

0:20:32.640 --> 0:20:37.119
<v Speaker 1>if not for Tom, my hero come to rescue me.

0:20:37.960 --> 0:20:41.719
<v Speaker 1>A man made of flames and pain and stupidity and

0:20:41.840 --> 0:20:47.639
<v Speaker 1>strength and weakness and trying and failure and love and death.

0:20:48.520 --> 0:20:51.720
<v Speaker 1>M was all he could get out as the fire

0:20:51.800 --> 0:20:56.480
<v Speaker 1>stole his very breath and then claimed his lungs too.

0:20:57.560 --> 0:21:02.000
<v Speaker 1>I didn't run, did try to stop him. I just

0:21:02.280 --> 0:21:07.719
<v Speaker 1>stood there, burning as I watched this man I truly

0:21:07.920 --> 0:21:12.520
<v Speaker 1>do love, come hurtling towards me with so much intention

0:21:12.840 --> 0:21:17.879
<v Speaker 1>and not enough thought, waiting for him to kill me

0:21:19.359 --> 0:21:26.239
<v Speaker 1>with his love, and he did. Tom hit me like

0:21:26.359 --> 0:21:30.520
<v Speaker 1>a bull with his body. Maybe he thought he could

0:21:30.520 --> 0:21:33.640
<v Speaker 1>shield me from what was happening all around us. Take

0:21:33.680 --> 0:21:37.960
<v Speaker 1>it all himself, but we were both more burn than

0:21:38.200 --> 0:21:44.280
<v Speaker 1>skin by them. His instinct to protect turned his body

0:21:44.640 --> 0:21:50.760
<v Speaker 1>into a tomb for me, for us, and we died

0:21:51.720 --> 0:21:56.919
<v Speaker 1>needlessly in the dirt, in pain and pressure, under the

0:21:57.080 --> 0:22:11.800
<v Speaker 1>anvil of his crushing need to be our savior. The

0:22:11.960 --> 0:22:15.000
<v Speaker 1>fire didn't hurt nearly as bad as the weight of

0:22:15.160 --> 0:22:21.520
<v Speaker 1>what it means to be a woman with me died

0:22:21.600 --> 0:22:26.879
<v Speaker 1>any knowledge of the carol ER's They got my baby,

0:22:26.960 --> 0:22:32.240
<v Speaker 1>after all, and they'll take someone else's too, some white

0:22:32.359 --> 0:22:37.960
<v Speaker 1>night before Christmas, when the wind howls loud and carries

0:22:38.000 --> 0:22:43.400
<v Speaker 1>a song soft and low through the snow, another young

0:22:43.480 --> 0:22:48.880
<v Speaker 1>girl will be lured to her doom when the voices

0:22:48.960 --> 0:22:53.880
<v Speaker 1>of men promise her safety in a storm, warm and

0:22:53.960 --> 0:23:02.040
<v Speaker 1>stable in an uncertain world, and then use her for kindling.

0:23:05.119 --> 0:23:14.199
<v Speaker 1>Good God, h hardly did Tom pass this way before me?

0:23:16.280 --> 0:23:19.560
<v Speaker 1>Afraid not to you, though, I imagine we'll see him

0:23:19.560 --> 0:23:23.520
<v Speaker 1>before dawn. Perhaps you can rest while you wait for

0:23:23.560 --> 0:23:30.520
<v Speaker 1>his arrival. Perhaps this key unlocks the sixth door on

0:23:30.640 --> 0:23:33.320
<v Speaker 1>the left up the stairs. I think you'll find it

0:23:33.440 --> 0:23:44.359
<v Speaker 1>quite quiet up there. That sounds perfect, thank you. I

0:23:44.440 --> 0:23:47.639
<v Speaker 1>don't know what the rules are here, but i'd avoid

0:23:47.800 --> 0:23:53.080
<v Speaker 1>strange music coming from the dark given the storm. Yes,

0:23:53.480 --> 0:23:57.679
<v Speaker 1>I think I'll stay indoors where it's quiet. Good Night

0:23:57.720 --> 0:24:02.120
<v Speaker 1>to you both. Good night, sleep well, my dear. I'll

0:24:02.119 --> 0:24:06.040
<v Speaker 1>guide Tom up to you when he arrives. Thank you.

0:24:11.400 --> 0:24:16.840
<v Speaker 1>The carol ers. Who were they? I do not know, Annabelle.

0:24:18.119 --> 0:24:20.440
<v Speaker 1>If they are living men, then they will one day

0:24:20.560 --> 0:24:26.320
<v Speaker 1>die and I'll ask them. Something tells me though they'll

0:24:26.359 --> 0:24:30.760
<v Speaker 1>never pass this way. But there is so much night

0:24:30.800 --> 0:24:33.919
<v Speaker 1>left ahead of us. Perhaps someone will come with a

0:24:33.960 --> 0:24:40.000
<v Speaker 1>happier tale. Is that likely? Your guess is as good

0:24:40.040 --> 0:25:00.359
<v Speaker 1>as mine. Twelve Ghosts starring Malcolm McDowell as the Keeper

0:25:00.640 --> 0:25:05.200
<v Speaker 1>and Gina Rikiki as Annabelle. Episode six Low and Sad

0:25:05.359 --> 0:25:08.639
<v Speaker 1>Like a hymn written by Elena Huff Tucker with additional

0:25:08.680 --> 0:25:13.200
<v Speaker 1>writing by Nicholas Takowski, editing by Chris Childs and Stephen Perez,

0:25:13.600 --> 0:25:19.119
<v Speaker 1>featuring Tara Oakes as Emily. Directed by Nicholas Takowski. Original

0:25:19.200 --> 0:25:24.119
<v Speaker 1>score and sound design by Chris Childs. Executive producers Aaron Mankey,

0:25:24.400 --> 0:25:30.359
<v Speaker 1>Matt Frederick, Alexander Williams and Nicholas Takowski. Supervising producer Josh Thane.

0:25:30.800 --> 0:25:35.639
<v Speaker 1>Producers Chris Child's and Stephen Perez, casting by Sunday Bowling

0:25:35.760 --> 0:25:38.800
<v Speaker 1>c s A and Meg Mormon c s A. Production

0:25:38.840 --> 0:25:43.480
<v Speaker 1>coordinator Wayna Calderon. Recorded at Lantern Audio in Atlanta, Georgia,

0:25:43.840 --> 0:25:49.320
<v Speaker 1>engineered by Chris Gardner, Arrows Sound and Recording in Ojai, California,

0:25:49.400 --> 0:25:54.280
<v Speaker 1>engineered by Ken Arros. Twelve Ghosts was created by Nicholas Takowski.

0:25:54.320 --> 0:25:56.960
<v Speaker 1>Then is a production of iHeart three D Audio and

0:25:57.080 --> 0:25:59.840
<v Speaker 1>Grim and Mild from Aaron Mankey. Learn more about the

0:26:00.240 --> 0:26:03.240
<v Speaker 1>at Grimm and Mild dot com, and find more podcasts

0:26:03.240 --> 0:26:05.760
<v Speaker 1>from i heart Radio by visiting the i heart Radio app,

0:26:05.960 --> 0:26:09.080
<v Speaker 1>Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.

0:26:28.640 --> 0:26:28.680
<v Speaker 1>H