Speaker 1: Thirteen days of Halloween is a production of I heart radio,
Speaker 1: Blumhouse television and grim and mild from Aaron mankey headphones recommended.
Speaker 1: Listener discretion advised. His Bark is worse than his bite.
Speaker 1: Hello Fred, I see you've taken to exploring the House
Speaker 1: and you've chosen the perfect hallway to wander down today.
Speaker 1: Come behind these magnificently carved Mahogany doors. Is One of
Speaker 1: my favorite parts of the house. Welcome to the Grand Library.
Speaker 1: You'll note the vaulted ceilings, of course, and the fresco
Speaker 1: depicting the serpent leading eve to an lightenment and all
Speaker 1: that followed. The artist was a sweet man, quiet. He
Speaker 1: liked to lick his bruscious clean throughout the day. Some
Speaker 1: mineral caused him to go quite mad. You'll notice the
Speaker 1: increasingly violent imagery at the further stages. Some of the
Speaker 1: oldest books in existence resigned here with symbols which have
Speaker 1: not been seen by modern eyes. The architect, as you
Speaker 1: can guess, was quite the collective. He hoarded knowledge like
Speaker 1: a dragon and this was his lair. Did you know
Speaker 1: that when the library at Alexandria burned, a small collection
Speaker 1: of occult books were spared by a sect of rabbis
Speaker 1: who passed them from generation to generation, protecting them until
Speaker 1: the architect himself came to possess them. The books have
Speaker 1: remained safe here ever since. The pages, filled with strange
Speaker 1: secret rounds that predate Alexandria by many centuries have the
Speaker 1: intrigue in quality of being both completely alien to the
Speaker 1: reader and perfectly understandable. I would not recommend them. Oh My,
Speaker 1: it seems we're not alone. Come Out, come out, wherever
Speaker 1: you are. No, I should have known. My friend this
Speaker 1: is David. He's quite fond of the literary arts. David,
Speaker 1: my friend here, is quite the fan of stories. Now
Speaker 1: I'll excuse myself. There is a tomb here on the
Speaker 1: Great Necropolis of Baghdad that I'm simply dying to read.
Speaker 1: A joke, somewhat of a joke. Yeah, I'm here often,
Speaker 1: I realized more and more than anywhere else, I think.
Speaker 1: But these books, I find them comfortable. You know, the
Speaker 1: thing about books is that it's really just a way
Speaker 1: to escape, even if only briefly. When I first came
Speaker 1: here to this place, someone else are fairly often. He
Speaker 1: would sit in that worn red leather chair. I never
Speaker 1: saw him coming and going. He was just always here,
Speaker 1: like just sort of staring off into the void. Well, anyway,
Speaker 1: we we left each other alone. And then one day,
Speaker 1: I guess I got a bit too close and he
Speaker 1: looked directly at me. His eyes were so sunken, filled
Speaker 1: with so much sadness. Then he asked me, what's the
Speaker 1: most pain you've ever felt? He was so earnest, you know,
Speaker 1: like he needed the answer. Oh, I said nothing. I
Speaker 1: just went about my day and carried on with my business. Well,
Speaker 1: I kept coming back here, you know, as often as
Speaker 1: I could and he was always there, just sitting. After that,
Speaker 1: one time he began to speak a little bit more,
Speaker 1: but only asked the same question, what's the most pain
Speaker 1: you've ever felt? I never replied, but truthfully, though, I
Speaker 1: did think about that question and I knew what the
Speaker 1: answer was. When our daughter was born, both making his
Speaker 1: parents and my parents were there. My father was a
Speaker 1: very religious man, but religious in that old school fire
Speaker 1: and brimstone away. In his world there were demons and
Speaker 1: signs from God, all very, very real. I mean, I
Speaker 1: was a believer, sure, but never quite the way he was.
Speaker 1: You know. Anyway, when the baby's first party, you think
Speaker 1: there's immediately going to be some crying, right, but not
Speaker 1: always my father's are. He called it an abomination. She
Speaker 1: was born on call, just floating in the embriotic sac
Speaker 1: still a whole, like like a big clear egg, very peaceful,
Speaker 1: like she was still in the womb. It's harmless really,
Speaker 1: just very rare and kind of beautiful. But to my
Speaker 1: father the call was a curse, a mark. My views right,
Speaker 1: even if he's the one that brought in on us.
Speaker 1: Elizabeth was such a beautiful child, man, but you know,
Speaker 1: I guess everybody says that about their own babies. She
Speaker 1: hardly ever cried. She was just happy. You know, our
Speaker 1: parents helped with babysitting when I got back to work,
Speaker 1: but my father, we usually refused to come over and
Speaker 1: when he did he just stared at her and read
Speaker 1: Bible verses. There was so much hatred and rage in
Speaker 1: that man's eyes, he'd say. And when he called on
Speaker 1: to him his twelve disciples, he gave them power against
Speaker 1: unclean spirits, to cast them out and to hear all
Speaker 1: manner of sickness and all manner of disease. Elizabeth was
Speaker 1: no goddamn disease. That was my child. This when I
Speaker 1: went for months, the rift between US and my father
Speaker 1: it grew in and my parents the visits became less frequent,
Speaker 1: until father just stopped showing up, and eventually so did
Speaker 1: my mom. Honestly, I thought they were just done with us,
Speaker 1: with Elizabeth. I was upset at first, but eventually that
Speaker 1: faded and a baby girl was the best thing that
Speaker 1: ever happened. She was a world. That first year was
Speaker 1: something else. I definitely didn't want it to end. You know,
Speaker 1: I've heard other parents say that they feel sad sometimes
Speaker 1: watching their children grow up and knowing that the kids
Speaker 1: won't need them anymore. But that's life, right. Kids grow up,
Speaker 1: sometimes they don't. Do you remember the last thing you
Speaker 1: said to someone you cared about this morning or yesterday
Speaker 1: or whenever it was? Did you tell them you love them,
Speaker 1: nor how much they added to your life? Yeah, I
Speaker 1: doubt it, but that's what happens. You take something for granted,
Speaker 1: you take someone for granted. Very last words I said
Speaker 1: to my wife or don't worry about dinner, I'll pick
Speaker 1: something up. I would text her at lunch and she
Speaker 1: would send me pictures of Elizabeth when, you know, she
Speaker 1: did something cute which was always and I never got
Speaker 1: tired of it. This Day, there were no pictures, no
Speaker 1: text no replies. It's weird. Or maybe she's busy. Maybe
Speaker 1: maybe Elizabeth threw up or had diarrhea, or maybe they're playing,
Speaker 1: you know, I don't know. I started to get worried, though.
Speaker 1: I couldn't take it anymore and I left. I kept
Speaker 1: telling myself everything was fine. I'm just playing or making
Speaker 1: drop the phone in the toilet or something, I don't know.
Speaker 1: Despite the panic, I opened the front doors as slowly
Speaker 1: as I couldn't tiptoe in. I thought maybe they were
Speaker 1: just napping and I didn't want to wake them. Different
Speaker 1: Creek and every floorboard seemed to amplify when you're trying
Speaker 1: to be quiet, you know, especially when there's a sleeping baby. Well,
Speaker 1: you know, I could clearly see that they weren't on
Speaker 1: the couch, and then I heard a creek to my left,
Speaker 1: so I quickly called out to my wife, Megan. No reply,
Speaker 1: so I turned to the sound and everything went black.
Speaker 1: I'm oping the trunk of a car. Hands and ankles
Speaker 1: were tied. I tried to listen to see what was
Speaker 1: going on highway. Maybe I heard some music. Every now
Speaker 1: and again, but it was a was just noise. And
Speaker 1: when that trunk opened after being in the dark for
Speaker 1: so long, for a split second my father looked like
Speaker 1: an angel descended from heaven to save his only son.
Speaker 1: And then he hit me again. I came to a
Speaker 1: second time, tape around my mouth. Now I knew this place,
Speaker 1: small church, from my father preached when me and Megan
Speaker 1: were married. He strapped me into a chair in the
Speaker 1: middle of the aisle and the pews we were filled,
Speaker 1: filled with my father's followers, all hanging on his every
Speaker 1: last word. And he said, I baptize you with water
Speaker 1: for repentance, but after me comes one who is more
Speaker 1: powerful than I, who sandals I'm not worthy to carry.
Speaker 1: He who baptize you with Holy Spirit and fire. All
Speaker 1: churches like this. When they do Baptisms, they dump people
Speaker 1: all the way under. My father was there in the
Speaker 1: ceremonial robes, standing waist deep in the font. Next time
Speaker 1: was making arms pound the table across her mouth. She
Speaker 1: was shivering and and bloody. I could hear her muffled
Speaker 1: cries under the sermon. I felt so hard to get
Speaker 1: out of the ropes and I was so focused on Megan.
Speaker 1: I didn't even see it. My father was holding Elizabeth.
Speaker 1: She was always so quiet, so perfect. I watched as
Speaker 1: he bless my wife and her daughter. He said he
Speaker 1: was watching him with a curse, rebuking the abomination our
Speaker 1: daughter Lizabeth. Lizabeth was first so we can both watch.
Speaker 1: Amen as hollow. He's from the Cherry crowd, and I
Speaker 1: struggled against my restraints until I could feel the warm
Speaker 1: blood dripping down my wrists. Last thing I remember, through
Speaker 1: all the screaming and the tears, with my father's voice.
Speaker 1: After he drowned my daughter and my wife. He put
Speaker 1: his hands on my shoulder and leaked in, but he
Speaker 1: said You, Oh my son, oh my love you, I
Speaker 1: am well pleased. What's the most pain you've ever felt? Yeah,
Speaker 1: that would have been the answer I gave him, but
Speaker 1: I never didn't get to tell that old cook because
Speaker 1: one day he just wasn't there anymore. I miss him.
Speaker 1: Every time you asked me that question, he forced me
Speaker 1: to remember for one brief moment, I got to see
Speaker 1: Ellistma again, my friend. While on the hunt for a
Speaker 1: history book, I found this Ancient Tome of dream divination
Speaker 1: on the architect's private shelf. You'll notice pages marked here
Speaker 1: and here, a Palette, a Maelstrom of a portal. What
Speaker 1: say you? Perhaps a clue to his intentions in building
Speaker 1: our door? You're right, too soon to tell, I suppose.
Speaker 1: We shall see. I can tell by your look that
Speaker 1: you have a first for more than just knowledge. Perhaps tomorrow,
Speaker 1: for a nice change of pace, reconvisit the sunset lounge
Speaker 1: for a few libations. Be a dear and at least
Speaker 1: not excellent drinks. It is. Enjoy perusing the stacks, but
Speaker 1: don't trust everything you read. Thirteen days of Halloween was
Speaker 1: created by Matt Frederick and Alex Williams and executive produced
Speaker 1: by Erin Manky, starring Keegan Michael Key as the caretaker.
Speaker 1: Today's story was written by Matt Riddle, performed by David
Speaker 1: Chin and directed by Matt Frederick, with editing and sound
Speaker 1: designed by Ben Kybrick, additional writing and script supervision from
Speaker 1: Nicholas Takowski casting by Jessica loser. Only nine days remain.
Speaker 1: Tomorrow another story. Grab my phone, turn on flashlight, APP
Speaker 1: found a baseball bad stash by my bed and made
Speaker 1: my waits the front door. M stood there. Who is it?
Speaker 1: Hey tell me he have to. Thirteen days of Halloween
Speaker 1: is a production of I heart radio, Blumhouse television and
Speaker 1: Grimm and mild from Aaron Nankey. For more podcasts from
Speaker 1: my heart radio, visit the I heart radio APP, apple
Speaker 1: podcasts or wherever you listen to your favorite shows, and
Speaker 1: learn more about thirteen days of Halloween at Grimm and
Speaker 1: mild dot com. m