Speaker 1: Thirteen days of Halloween is from grim and mild blumhouse,
Speaker 1: and I heart free d audio headphones recommended. Listener discretion advised.
Speaker 1: Are you warmer now than you were? Yes, thank you.
Speaker 1: have mostly dried off, but my head still aches. Well,
Speaker 1: we're almost to the doctor's office. He will take good
Speaker 1: care of you. Any memories surfacing? No, just just to see,
Speaker 1: but it's like I can feel the edges of more
Speaker 1: just the out of reach. Don't force it, it it will come.
Speaker 1: In the meantime, enjoy the gift. You have no past,
Speaker 1: so you've committed no sin, broken, no heart feel, no regret.
Speaker 1: It's a blessing of sort. It doesn't seem that way,
Speaker 1: I suppose it seldom does. Here we are. It's locked. Yes,
Speaker 1: there aren't any lights on inside. YEA curious. He must
Speaker 1: be away for a bit. He's not known for taking
Speaker 1: time off. Don't worry, I've got another idea to at
Speaker 1: least help with the headache. Where are we going to
Speaker 1: see the priest? The priest? Yes, don't worry, we're not
Speaker 1: going to try to convert you. He's something of an
Speaker 1: an apothecary, an acolyte of the old medicine capital, oh
Speaker 1: capital M and just around this corner, m that is
Speaker 1: our house of worship. It's so ornate. Yes, Rupert Inverness
Speaker 1: brought with him on the trip across the sea stonemasons
Speaker 1: and sculptors, many of the faith, some les. So those
Speaker 1: who survived the construction were exalted in life. Those who
Speaker 1: didn't have the honor of resting within the walls. But
Speaker 1: the priest will fill you in more on the details.
Speaker 1: I am sure he has a way with words. Come.
Speaker 1: This door was crafted from the wood of the ship
Speaker 1: that brought us here. Because of the harsh climate, many
Speaker 1: had their doubts about how long we could survive in
Speaker 1: this land. Invernus wanted to remove any chance of escape,
Speaker 1: so he had the ship dismantled as our very first
Speaker 1: priest prayed over it. These doors are the hope of
Speaker 1: our people. It's dark in here. MM HMMM. That is
Speaker 1: in honor of the deeper parts of the ocean, from
Speaker 1: whence all life springs. Pastor, the fish, you feel, mm hmm,
Speaker 1: just last night, dancing on the beach dressed in green,
Speaker 1: the ecstasy of faith in your shimmering eyes. And here
Speaker 1: you are, and with a friend, yes, pastor, a friend
Speaker 1: with an injury. Goodness, that's a nasty cash. You must
Speaker 1: be in terrible pain a bit. No worries, I have
Speaker 1: just a thing here in my cow. Drink this. What
Speaker 1: is it? The tincture of special arms for the head?
Speaker 1: The pastor has never steered me wrong. Do you always
Speaker 1: carry this with you? Let's just say I had a premonition.
Speaker 1: There you go on, drink up. It's aftermost as in flavor.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry to admit. I've attempted to mask the bitterness
Speaker 1: with all sorts of sweet herbs, but it always seems
Speaker 1: to make it taste worse, as if it needs to
Speaker 1: be bitter to work properly. Do you feel it working already? Yes,
Speaker 1: and your head so an. That's how you know it's working. Now, mother,
Speaker 1: where did you to meet? I found her this morning
Speaker 1: on the shore. Than you are the other I saw
Speaker 1: in my vision. Here you are at last. I've been
Speaker 1: casting the bones and waiting so very long for this moment. Welcome,
Speaker 1: welcome to the flock, my weary traveler. You are an
Speaker 1: omen from the seed itself. It let step into my sanctuary.
Speaker 1: I know that through your eyes it must seem a
Speaker 1: bit spartan, but, unlike so many modern houses of worship. Everything,
Speaker 1: and you see here is sacred, those storm glass lanterns
Speaker 1: there above the beautiful altar craftsmanship found nowhere else. Our
Speaker 1: folk have always blown their own glass, have always forged
Speaker 1: their own iron. Surely as we dry the water for
Speaker 1: salt this pulpit. My own grandmother carved it from driftwood
Speaker 1: left from our fickle tide. She taught me her skills
Speaker 1: as best she could, taught me to discern meaning from
Speaker 1: all that leaves behind the tide, my only earthly love.
Speaker 1: She is as inevitable and unchanging as the waxing moon.
Speaker 1: She rises and falls her own ancient schedules, and there
Speaker 1: is nothing to do but give thanks here on these
Speaker 1: are modest pews, card from the wood of my own
Speaker 1: family tree. It is all I can do to beg
Speaker 1: forgiveness when she takes from US instead such a heavy burden.
Speaker 1: I burned it gladly. Ever since my mother's mother's robes
Speaker 1: rested upon my eager shoulders, there was such a great skill,
Speaker 1: my mother's and before her, my grandmother, my great grandfather,
Speaker 1: knowing the tide, knowing went to give, what to accept?
Speaker 1: The gift, the burden, the need of it, has always
Speaker 1: been in hard blood. The net stafle of fish, of
Speaker 1: crab and squid, not simply because they are cast out
Speaker 1: into the sea, but because of the offerings I leave
Speaker 1: to dry here, because of the good work I am
Speaker 1: pledged to give every cycle, every new moon, I write
Speaker 1: our stories here on the stones, just as generating shoes
Speaker 1: of pastors have before. We have smoothed these walls with
Speaker 1: whale fat and warm blood. We're clean with salt from
Speaker 1: the sea. My family tree has take the boots here
Speaker 1: beneath the foundation of this church. We have always been here,
Speaker 1: in the space between the people and the daily I
Speaker 1: learned them task to keep the nets full. It is
Speaker 1: my birthright, a part of the great cycle of the
Speaker 1: mooring time. If you stealing glances at my altering house.
Speaker 1: Of course it exists for the good of the village,
Speaker 1: of every soul here and those buried and drowned. It's
Speaker 1: a beautiful listener. The shelves in the stone there at
Speaker 1: the base Polish Boister, dug from the shores before we
Speaker 1: had our own colonies, seated to keep with the Times
Speaker 1: in trade. This stone has been here longer than the church.
Speaker 1: It is a record of everything we are m I'm
Speaker 1: blessed dad my story, my work to it as well.
Speaker 1: So few have such an open book of their own history.
Speaker 1: I care for it a prime but just such a
Speaker 1: privilege to have you look upon it now, careful, can
Speaker 1: take your time, try to understand all. You See. WHO lifted?
Speaker 1: We have our stories, but alas, a good word makes
Speaker 1: no mention at all of names. It is our way
Speaker 1: in my family. We offer our name to the tide
Speaker 1: and we are simply the bastard here, a servant to
Speaker 1: the sacred deep. As time flows, so do we pass.
Speaker 1: It's all that's written. But as the rich most of
Speaker 1: time to live, I am only honored with the sure
Speaker 1: a team that it was want of my blood. These here,
Speaker 1: the siegels. I asked please, please touch them, feel how
Speaker 1: they've been carved into the surface. They are for safe passage,
Speaker 1: for the boats, for the seat to take only what
Speaker 1: is needed to ensure the bountiful return for those that harvest.
Speaker 1: They are ours and no outsider has ever used them.
Speaker 1: Some even say we came to be here on their commands,
Speaker 1: that we are bound by them. Who Pose? It is
Speaker 1: not my place to question. Ah, yes, this garlet nowhere.
Speaker 1: I wove it myself with my nets as a child.
Speaker 1: That Killed Devil's abling, the feathers and gulls a bit
Speaker 1: like sulfur. That smell, yes, pure defies it signifies my
Speaker 1: station here and I wear it with pride, or rather
Speaker 1: I have for decades. I'm feeling a bit less deserving
Speaker 1: as a played h my shin grows as fat as
Speaker 1: the moon, for the altar has been void of new
Speaker 1: bran for months, but you an omen the fresh breeze
Speaker 1: in a damn cave. Soon, the holiest of Holy Knights
Speaker 1: of lives, as it must, there will be a fresh
Speaker 1: offering to the deep of dreamed prayed. What lack will
Speaker 1: find a way to our nets. I have long made do,
Speaker 1: but I am getting a bit old to continue my
Speaker 1: own offerings. You See, the Hollow Times before alignment have
Speaker 1: called for creativity, dedication most extreme. Shall I reveal to
Speaker 1: you my own mortifications? I am tasked with a terrible way.
Speaker 1: You See, I must give when there was no other
Speaker 1: willing flesh to give in the lean times. It is
Speaker 1: my duty to offer myself along with the Sacred Ambergris,
Speaker 1: salt and iron. I had a vision, you see, in
Speaker 1: a time of crisis of faith. But I was very
Speaker 1: young and new to my role and I was so
Speaker 1: desperate to prove myself worthy. I knew that I could
Speaker 1: be more than human, that I had within me a
Speaker 1: great beauty of only I could open myself to it.
Speaker 1: And so I set about my sacred working he here
Speaker 1: with my father's own Shark Hook, I had only a
Speaker 1: bottle of whiskey for courage and my mother's Little Sea
Speaker 1: Glass Mirror to guide my work. I freed them quick
Speaker 1: and sharp, as I was commanded to do for the
Speaker 1: good of our village. My Own Gills do trisy. I
Speaker 1: am fashioned in their image by tent. We were handsomely
Speaker 1: rewarded for my devotion. M Hm, m HM, such harvests
Speaker 1: that season. Faith is a gift that gives ninefold. I knew,
Speaker 1: as I poured myself here upon the stone, that we
Speaker 1: are one to sea and I, and I give my
Speaker 1: own salt for our salt, my flesh for the flesh
Speaker 1: and the nets we build, we sail, we harvest what
Speaker 1: is provided by day that dwell beneath. Soon these little
Speaker 1: offerings will give way to heart, blood and bones for
Speaker 1: the waves and sun to bleach. It is a very
Speaker 1: fair trade, my spare flesh for blessings. When our altar
Speaker 1: is overflowing, we can hardly count the bounty and overwhelms
Speaker 1: ussel the fruits of sea. No child here knows hunger.
Speaker 1: Our homes hold fast when the Nor'easters ripped through. Our
Speaker 1: boats are never lost. Our people do not fear the
Speaker 1: rip tide or the shark when the altars fall. Every
Speaker 1: living thing in this world as its cycles m waxing ways.
Speaker 1: And here we are, we with empty bellies and cattered
Speaker 1: nets that meet mending with my slow work. Not even
Speaker 1: the gift of my stun crooked fingers could tempt their favor.
Speaker 1: Our church is dry and our people are rangeous. But soon,
Speaker 1: for soon we will celebrate once more. The pits will
Speaker 1: be dug, the fires lit. Oh, just to matching rock.
Speaker 1: Whe Pis there, beneath the sand and rimming full of
Speaker 1: John Crab. Little next lobster, open hordle fires for the
Speaker 1: skate had it car tuna. When we're especially lighting, it's
Speaker 1: the fresh sun. The oysters like swallowing the seas else
Speaker 1: with recipes so old they rival my own. Hymns, our
Speaker 1: tapings to Rome, with the effort to hold everything we
Speaker 1: harvest meats and break never before seeing such a feast,
Speaker 1: and you can never will again. I think that I'm
Speaker 1: going to be sick. That will happen from time to time.
Speaker 1: We'd best take our leave. Father Blessed and keep you both.
Speaker 1: Everything returns to him, super both. Soon they're there. Get
Speaker 1: it out there. How do you feel? I'm okay, I'm okay. Ah,
Speaker 1: I feel better. My head doesn't hurt anymore. Good. What
Speaker 1: did he give me? Who knows? It worked? Yes, but
Speaker 1: I saw things as he spoke, shadows of the far
Speaker 1: off beach, somewhere warmer, and then a crash. I was underwater, visions.
Speaker 1: None of it makes sense. That's good. It's probably your
Speaker 1: memory coming back. It's a side effect, perhaps, and the
Speaker 1: lucky one at that. Perhaps if we continue walking, it
Speaker 1: will come back. We'll have some time to kill before
Speaker 1: the doctor returns, and I have errands to run, shall we?
Speaker 1: The day is still young. Yes, yes, good, yes, good.
Speaker 1: M tomorrow, on thirteen days of Halloween, the graveyard poor,
Speaker 1: a check for a beaten heart. He's alive, still alive,
Speaker 1: porter calls out, and then all of a sudden a
Speaker 1: man's arms shot up, clutched old porter by the collar,
Speaker 1: brought him down to his crusted lips so he could
Speaker 1: whisper in his ear. Poor soul managed to get a
Speaker 1: few words out so John could hear. A final breath
Speaker 1: was gurgled out to the salt water and sand and
Speaker 1: has collapsed long. Don't put me down there, don't put
Speaker 1: me under m H. Thirteen days of Halloween the Church,
Speaker 1: starring Kathy and Jimmy, Bethany and Lynde and Nicholas Takowski.
Speaker 1: Written by led Westover with additional material by Nicholas Takowski.
Speaker 1: Sound Design and mixing by Ben Kiebrick engineering by violent Ferton,
Speaker 1: DUBWAY STUDIOS NEW YORK. Casting by Jessica Losa. Created by
Speaker 1: Matt Frederick and Alex Williams, with executive producer Aaron Manky.
Speaker 1: A production of I heart radio, grim and mild and
Speaker 1: BLUMHOUSE television.