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. Good morning, my friend. I trust your
Speaker 1: rest was adequate. Ever, I'm complaining. You have no idea
Speaker 1: how intuvenating that is to someone in my position. Ah
Speaker 1: MM HMMM, AH, fresh air. You know, there are weeks
Speaker 1: to time when I forget to step out into the
Speaker 1: world and just breathe it in. Welcome to Hawthorn manners
Speaker 1: garden of forking paths. Many architects leave the landscaping of
Speaker 1: their structures to the very end, an afterthought, or in
Speaker 1: some cases leave it to someone else to design entirely,
Speaker 1: but not all architect he planned his garden quite intricately.
Speaker 1: The paths are of particular interest to many of our guests.
Speaker 1: You see right here, the path forks. which path would
Speaker 1: you like to take? The left or the right? A
Speaker 1: dealer's choice. We'll take the left. There's a particular plant
Speaker 1: I'm dying to show you. You see, this path, by design,
Speaker 1: forks in numerous places and the wanderer is faced with
Speaker 1: a simple choice, left or right. It becomes in a sense,
Speaker 1: a sort of labyrinth of choices, and one that can
Speaker 1: reveal much about the wanderer to herself, should she choose
Speaker 1: to pay close attention. You, for instance, chose to abstain
Speaker 1: because you are an enigma. Ah, these flowers, with the
Speaker 1: indigo pedals and delicate curvature, our Achan item Vel Piston,
Speaker 1: bred by statesman timothy pickering. Timothy himself had quite a
Speaker 1: garden in which she would while away the hours amongst
Speaker 1: his plants. The singular thorn in his heart it was
Speaker 1: a small family of red foxes whom he could not
Speaker 1: quite exile and who continually burrowed in his flower beds,
Speaker 1: and so he did want. Any self respecting gardener would
Speaker 1: attempted to poison them with a particularly toxic strain of
Speaker 1: Wolf Spain that he'd grown. Unfortunately, he only ended up
Speaker 1: poisoning the family dog. His grandson never forgave him this
Speaker 1: cruelty and grew up to become quite a famous naturalist,
Speaker 1: who gave this plant its name, Fox Spain, as a
Speaker 1: dig against the old man. At any rate, don't eat
Speaker 1: that plant. Oh and look who we have here at
Speaker 1: the architects Gazebo. Now be gentle with her. She has
Speaker 1: a marvelous sort of anxiety about meeting New People, but
Speaker 1: you are quite easy to get along with. This my
Speaker 1: friend is Annie. Annie. This is my friend. He is
Speaker 1: quite the conversational list why don't I leave you to it?
Speaker 1: I should tend the roses. Here have a cupcake. They're
Speaker 1: my special recipe. That's all I had to do make upcakes,
Speaker 1: plain vanilla with vanilla icing, one box of mixed plus eggs,
Speaker 1: oil and water. The instructions look simple enough, but I
Speaker 1: always managed to complicate things. I was new and down
Speaker 1: trying to make friends. You know, what better way to
Speaker 1: make friends than with cupcakes? It was a book club
Speaker 1: or something like that. They're being very kind into me.
Speaker 1: There was even a prompt, an icebreaker, to get to
Speaker 1: know each other. Fun Facts come with a fun fact.
Speaker 1: My Life Wasn't fun, it wasn't interesting. I was even
Speaker 1: lacking on the facts. I was panicking, lipping the pure
Speaker 1: white batter with far too much Gusto, my shoulder aching.
Speaker 1: Fun Fact. I've never been in love. I don't think
Speaker 1: I've ever been loved either. Oh No, that wasn't fun
Speaker 1: at all. My head pounded with stress. My hands shook
Speaker 1: as I grabbed a bottle of pain of leavers. I
Speaker 1: swallowed too and tried to focus. I'm fine, it's going
Speaker 1: to be fine, I assured myself. I needed to add
Speaker 1: the oil. Or did I do that already? The eggs? Maybe?
Speaker 1: Maybe it was the eggs. Fun Fact I had to
Speaker 1: sleep the lights on, or fear overwhelms me? No, still
Speaker 1: not right. They were coming to my place, my small
Speaker 1: and personal apartment. I wish I hadn't volunteered. The throbbing
Speaker 1: in my head crescendowed like an ice pick and a
Speaker 1: blender stuck on. Sure, how long had I been whipping
Speaker 1: this batter for? I stopped stirring and lost myself in
Speaker 1: this thought. As I stared at the bowl of vanilla
Speaker 1: white mixture, I watched a single drop of Red Appear
Speaker 1: in its center. I stared at it, the Bright Crimson
Speaker 1: dot in the see of pure white batter. It was blood,
Speaker 1: my blood. I didn't have another mix, I had no
Speaker 1: fun facts, I had nothing else to offer. I only
Speaker 1: had cupcakes. Without really considering it, I continued stirring. The
Speaker 1: red mixed with the white, turning it a pleasing pinkish
Speaker 1: maybe blood baked out. Maybe the sugar would mask it.
Speaker 1: No one had to know. cupcakes died with blood were
Speaker 1: still cupcakes, right, they weren't ruined. We couldn't just throw
Speaker 1: them out like there were nothing. Right. Another drop of red.
Speaker 1: I stirred again. The batter became a darker shade of pink,
Speaker 1: more interesting than the white. I thought, surely this was
Speaker 1: an improvement. That's when I realized I was crying. Tears
Speaker 1: were splashing into the batter now too. Fun Fact. I
Speaker 1: sleep with a knife under my pillow. No, no, no no,
Speaker 1: there had to be something more. Blood dribbled from my face.
Speaker 1: I mixed it slowly, watching the swirls blend until they disappeared,
Speaker 1: creating an angry seat of smooth crimson. I could be normal,
Speaker 1: I told myself. No one would notice. My hands shook
Speaker 1: as I poured the batter into the cupcake pan. I
Speaker 1: had no choice. I had to give them something. I
Speaker 1: put the Pan in the oven fifty degrees. I stared
Speaker 1: ahead as the timer counted down. Add a little heat,
Speaker 1: a little fire and look at the transformation. Maybe it
Speaker 1: was fine, I thought, maybe I was fine. Fun Fact
Speaker 1: I I there was nothing fun about me. I decided
Speaker 1: to make something up, something no one would question. Because
Speaker 1: it was too stupid. Surely I could make something up, mh,
Speaker 1: but nothing came to mind. It was as if all
Speaker 1: fun had burned from my brain. My breath was loud
Speaker 1: in my tiny kitchen. I imagine the pain my parents
Speaker 1: went through, the doubt, the terrible and speakable truth that
Speaker 1: they never wanted me, a ticking time bomb set to
Speaker 1: go off and ruin their lives. I pulled the cupcakes
Speaker 1: from the oven. I glanced at the clock. Anytime now
Speaker 1: they'd be here. I popped out the cupcakes onto my
Speaker 1: cutting board. For a moment I stared at them, their
Speaker 1: red color, sickening, detached. I grabbed a knife and covered
Speaker 1: them with white vanilla icing, masking their bloody dome. They
Speaker 1: looked delicious, but they hid a dark secret. They were
Speaker 1: perfect fun fact. Mm Hm, I couldn't think of one,
Speaker 1: but I had cupcakes. That had to count for something.
Speaker 1: The guests arrived, kind and false. They complimented my apartment.
Speaker 1: They giggled and chatted. I interacted with them, but it
Speaker 1: was all superficial. I was an alien in my own skin.
Speaker 1: I hesitated, thinking perhaps I shouldn't offer them my treats,
Speaker 1: that my blood and tears weren't theirs to be eaten.
Speaker 1: But as I faked my way at normality, besieged with
Speaker 1: concern that I was failing, they found the cupcakes. They
Speaker 1: moaned in delight and showered me with praise. My stomach turned,
Speaker 1: but I smiled. Then they started sharing their fun facts.
Speaker 1: They took turns, one person addressing the group at a time,
Speaker 1: like a twelve step program for fun people with facts.
Speaker 1: I text when it was my turn, I hesitated. One
Speaker 1: of the women took pity on me and asked what
Speaker 1: flavor these cupcakes? They're delicious. I stared into her for
Speaker 1: a moment, then looked around the room at the happy
Speaker 1: people content with my confections. I thought about the Red Dot,
Speaker 1: my blood, my essence, and then welcomed guests. On a
Speaker 1: perfect white canvas. I was the red dot. I turned
Speaker 1: back to the woman and said Red Velvet. They all
Speaker 1: wanted the recipe. I muttered something about it just being
Speaker 1: from the box and they all laughed about how I
Speaker 1: must have a secret ingredient. I didn't mean for things
Speaker 1: to get so out of hand. It started small at first.
Speaker 1: People requested my special Red Velvet cupcakes for events. Then
Speaker 1: local businesses started paying me for them. They were prominently
Speaker 1: displayed behind glass cases, a top, lacy white doilies, Red Velvet,
Speaker 1: handwritten and delicate cursive on the label. I couldn't stop
Speaker 1: making them. More and more cupcakes, more white stained with red,
Speaker 1: more blood and tears, my sacrament and offering unknowingly demanded,
Speaker 1: unknowingly consumed. At first, I pricked my fingers until they
Speaker 1: pulsed with pain, until I could barely hold a spoon
Speaker 1: to stir the batter, until my blood flowed sluggishly. I
Speaker 1: cried endless tears and until I was sure no more
Speaker 1: would come. But they always did. More and more of
Speaker 1: my essence poured into sweet delights, devoured for someone else's
Speaker 1: fleeting enjoyment. Never enough. Still it rattled in my brain.
Speaker 1: Fun Fact. I had none to give, but this I
Speaker 1: could give. One day, a woman from the fun fact
Speaker 1: party approached me about starting a business. She had the
Speaker 1: money and savvy, I had the product. I never said yes,
Speaker 1: but I also never said No. At a certain point
Speaker 1: it was easier to submit to the ritual of it all.
Speaker 1: It distracted me from what I was missing. I named
Speaker 1: the shop. Red Velvet, endless trays of cupcakes and lines
Speaker 1: of people waiting for them with their money, their eyes
Speaker 1: gleaming with desire, unaware of what made them so desirable.
Speaker 1: Years passed and demand grew. I wasted away, shrunken and desiccated.
Speaker 1: I poured myself into the batter like another ingredient, nothing
Speaker 1: more than eggs or butter to be whipped together, exposed
Speaker 1: to heat, covered with icing and devoured. Lifetimes I aged,
Speaker 1: lifetimes I gave away. I became a Husk of a
Speaker 1: woman with no more blood and tears to give. Withered
Speaker 1: skin and bulging veins. Customers grew alarmed by my startling decline.
Speaker 1: They feared disease in their food. They were being served
Speaker 1: by a walking corpse. One night, my business part her
Speaker 1: found me alone in the kitchen, punched over a mixing bowl,
Speaker 1: as though I was being slowly absorbed by batter. She
Speaker 1: watched as blood trickled from my sinewy palms and tears
Speaker 1: leaked from my swollen eyes. I don't know how long
Speaker 1: she stood there. Horrified by the sight. She didn't make
Speaker 1: her presence known until she screamed. I caught her eyes
Speaker 1: in mine. I gets, how that she saw a single
Speaker 1: red dot soiling the velvet perfection I smiled and said
Speaker 1: fun fact, and she is lovely, is she not? Fun Fact,
Speaker 1: she begged a cake for our housekeeper's birthday last month.
Speaker 1: It was never touched. I will leave you to wander
Speaker 1: the gardens, if you like, and to perhaps learn about
Speaker 1: yourself in the meanderings. But two warnings. Whereas all paths
Speaker 1: will eventually lead you back to the manner, I suggest
Speaker 1: that you do not stray from them, particularly in the
Speaker 1: more remote portions of the garden. We have lost guests
Speaker 1: before who did not heed this warning, and I admit
Speaker 1: that I am growing quite fond of you. In second
Speaker 1: no matter how alluring, how intoxicating the scent, no matter
Speaker 1: how shiny and lovely they seem, do not eat fruit
Speaker 1: from this garden. You almost assuredly not agree with you.
Speaker 1: It agrees with no. Well, my friend, I must be
Speaker 1: off to see to the others and to continue my
Speaker 1: search for the door. Perhaps we will meet again tomorrow
Speaker 1: for so much more, to tell you that you, my
Speaker 1: dear friend. Partying is such sweet sorrow. Thirteen days of
Speaker 1: Halloween was created by Matt Frederick and Alex Williams and
Speaker 1: executive produced by Aaron Manky, starring Keegan, Michael Key as
Speaker 1: the caretaker. Today's story was written by Annie Reese, performed
Speaker 1: by Andrea Lang and directed by Alex Williams, with editing
Speaker 1: and sound designed by Trevor Young. Only ten days remain.
Speaker 1: Tomorrow another story. Despite the panic, I open the front
Speaker 1: doors as slowly as I couldn't tiptote in. I thought
Speaker 1: maybe they were just napping and I didn't want to
Speaker 1: wait them. Well, I could clearly see that they weren't
Speaker 1: on the coach and that I had a creak to
Speaker 1: my left. That's how quickly called out to my wife began.
Speaker 1: No reply, so I turned to the sound. Thirteen days
Speaker 1: of Halloween is a production of I heart radio, Blumhouse
Speaker 1: television and Grimm and mild from Aaron Mankey. For more
Speaker 1: podcasts from my heart radio, visit the I heart radio APP,
Speaker 1: apple podcasts or wherever you listen to your favorite shows,
Speaker 1: and learn more about thirteen days of Halloween at Grimm
Speaker 1: and mild dot com.