Speaker 1: Twelve Ghosts is a production of I Heeart three D
Speaker 1: audio and Grimm and Mild from Aaron Banky Headphones Recommended.
Speaker 1: Listener discretion advised. I learnt upon a coppice gate when
Speaker 1: frost was specter gray and the winter's dragged may desolate
Speaker 1: the weakening eye of day. The tangle bind stems scored
Speaker 1: the sky like strings of broken lyres, and all mankind
Speaker 1: that haunted. NI had sought the household fires. Mm hmm.
Speaker 1: But the night is long and a bill, and there
Speaker 1: is more than enough time. The truth will out. But
Speaker 1: no matter at the moment, there will be time. There
Speaker 1: are many hours yet in this long night. How is
Speaker 1: the wine? It's good. I thought by my second cup
Speaker 1: i'd feel groggy, But I think I'm more clear headed
Speaker 1: than I've been in years. It's a special vintage. I
Speaker 1: quite like it. H good, right on time. Cheer, my lad,
Speaker 1: have we met? Absolutely not? Come in m ah. Of
Speaker 1: course you chose to stand beneath the mizzletoe, a lovely
Speaker 1: little plant. It is the tradition of kissing beneath it.
Speaker 1: Hearkens all the way back to Saturnalia and has been
Speaker 1: carried on ever since. But my lad, mistletoe is a
Speaker 1: parasite and quite poisonous. What does that say about love?
Speaker 1: Probably nothing? Sit John, meet Annabelle. Hello, hello, old friends.
Speaker 1: Already is this cup for me? Yes? Lad, drink it.
Speaker 1: Something tells me you haven't had a drink in quite
Speaker 1: some time. It's been some time. We're telling stories here
Speaker 1: jar to pass the time, to unburden ourselves. Oh, perhaps
Speaker 1: you carry a burden? Draw? Perhaps tell us that everything
Speaker 1: right from the start. The family estate sprawled across the
Speaker 1: northern end of the harbor, grand and Austeer. If you
Speaker 1: looked closely from the shore, you would see a small
Speaker 1: pinprick of bright red on a third story balcony, a
Speaker 1: figure in a billowing robe, standing and clutching her letter.
Speaker 1: The envelope proclaimed my name and her precise penmanship. It
Speaker 1: began with no salutation, Jaire Beaumont, she wrote, I will
Speaker 1: be plain. I am not fulfilled by you, nor have
Speaker 1: I ever been. I have made my wishes known, despite
Speaker 1: what your family and my father have decided for me.
Speaker 1: Your touch leaves me cold. I care not if my
Speaker 1: children become senators. I don't care for children at all.
Speaker 1: Did you know this even? Did you know of the
Speaker 1: scar on my hip I've had since I was just
Speaker 1: a girl. Did you in fact know anything of me?
Speaker 1: It does not matter. I hope you find happiness, for
Speaker 1: you are deeply, deeply unhappy. I will find my own
Speaker 1: happiness elsewhere I am leaving. You will not find me,
Speaker 1: not yours nor anyone's. Amara shock gave way to hurt, which,
Speaker 1: in my heart leaves the door open to a bitter anger.
Speaker 1: I have found anger to be a fantastic barrier against
Speaker 1: the snares of introspection. How dare she? How dare she
Speaker 1: leave me? A Beaumont? And the way she spoke as
Speaker 1: though she pitied me, pitied me. I refused to leave
Speaker 1: the house. Afterward. It felt safer. I didn't have to
Speaker 1: meet society's eyes as a shunned bachelor. I didn't have
Speaker 1: to face whatever Amara may have said to her parents,
Speaker 1: to her ridiculous little friends. I hated her friends. I
Speaker 1: didn't care much for her impoverished family either. How could
Speaker 1: someone with no means, no real prospects reject me? This
Speaker 1: was unprecedented. She'd come back, and when she did, I'd
Speaker 1: make sure she knew her place. I spent most of
Speaker 1: my time in those days in my grandfather's study. I
Speaker 1: never cared for the man, But within this sprawling estate,
Speaker 1: the stuffy side room is the one that felt most
Speaker 1: like home. The large windows opposite the desk allowed only
Speaker 1: a little son into the room, covered as they were
Speaker 1: by tangled vines that rose up from the terrace. The
Speaker 1: rightmost windows sported a splintering crack, not unlike the legs
Speaker 1: of some erratic spider. I made a note to chastise
Speaker 1: the ground keeper for their neglect. I sat at his
Speaker 1: old mahogany desk and idly rummaged through each drawer. Perhaps
Speaker 1: there was something I could use. I'm sure I could
Speaker 1: find an unresolved debt of Amara's father, an outstanding loan
Speaker 1: from the sole bank on the island, for example, Uncle
Speaker 1: Jensen was on the executive board. After all, there had
Speaker 1: to be something in there that would take her wretched
Speaker 1: family down a peg to show her that she's not
Speaker 1: better than me. No one is. There were tax forms,
Speaker 1: bank notes, and myriad other items. Underneath a leather binder
Speaker 1: filled with receipts from god knows where was a small
Speaker 1: bounds journal with grandfather's name on the inside cover. Curiosity
Speaker 1: took me, and I peered inside. Most of it bordered
Speaker 1: on indecipherable, written in his terse shorthand and punctuated with
Speaker 1: nonsensical abbreviations, no doubt a habit picked up from his
Speaker 1: time in the military. It went back decades. He wrote
Speaker 1: of the construction of the house, expenses incurred, and then
Speaker 1: seemed to whine slowly into madness. Speaking of voices in
Speaker 1: the hallway of presence, he was drawn to I only
Speaker 1: needed to find business expenses, perhaps an error, and calculations
Speaker 1: that I could use to my advantage against a Mars family.
Speaker 1: This strange diary would give me no answers. The very
Speaker 1: last word I read before throwing it back in the
Speaker 1: drawer would come to haunt me off nail. I promptly
Speaker 1: forgot about it. Over the following week, I degenerated in
Speaker 1: my misery. I sent the servants away and remained for
Speaker 1: days behind a locked door upstairs, scrounging crusts and crumbs
Speaker 1: off plates for meals long discarded. I was becoming more
Speaker 1: animal than man, my bitterness the only tether left to
Speaker 1: my humanity. Finally, it was the hunger that drove me
Speaker 1: out of my rooms and down the stairs. It was
Speaker 1: then that I encountered him. As I moved down a
Speaker 1: back hallway toward the kitchen, I caught something in my periphery.
Speaker 1: The mirror antique, tarnished and filthy. The reflection that had
Speaker 1: cast back at me was not my own. The sunken
Speaker 1: man in the mirror had tan skin and the dim
Speaker 1: eyes of a storm at sunset. His hair was closely cropped,
Speaker 1: a fashion from a different time. His eyes burned with
Speaker 1: anger that I recognized inherently in the moment. I was
Speaker 1: not surprised nor frightened. I was intrigued. I was fascinated.
Speaker 1: He looked back at me, not with pity nor malice.
Speaker 1: He looked at me with longing in his stare. I
Speaker 1: felt suddenly exposed, naked. Without thought. I drew my arms
Speaker 1: about myself in some strange manner, trying to protect my modesty,
Speaker 1: And yet I was encompassed by his stare. There was
Speaker 1: a burning in my chest, like a thunderclap. After months
Speaker 1: of absolute silence, something about this haggard, starving ghost was
Speaker 1: stirring something in me, a shock of life, of heat.
Speaker 1: The mirror shimmered as if in answer, and he moved,
Speaker 1: his fingertips pressed against the glass and then impossibly pushed through, slowly,
Speaker 1: softly toward me. His wrists slid out of the mirror,
Speaker 1: and then his forearm, his right hand came to rest
Speaker 1: against my right cheek, worn and thin, coated with mangy stubble.
Speaker 1: Through my beard, I could feel the ice dagger touch
Speaker 1: of his finger tips. He was cold, so cold, and
Speaker 1: yet I didn't miss company. I didn't miss the talk
Speaker 1: of tiny people. I missed touch, connection, the figure and
Speaker 1: the reflection spoke find. His voice was a low hiss,
Speaker 1: a slight outburst of air from a rusty pipe. It
Speaker 1: rattled me to my core. I was drawn further in
Speaker 1: His hand was just an idea, his outstretched arm a
Speaker 1: mere suggestion of a thing. I moved toward him, and then,
Speaker 1: as if by its own accord, his name dropped from
Speaker 1: my lips, Neil, as if compelled by the devil himself.
Speaker 1: I pressed my lips against the mirror, and he met
Speaker 1: me there. As his lips touched mine, I felt my
Speaker 1: blood chill thickening in my veins, goose bumps rose on
Speaker 1: my neck, and my face lost what color it had
Speaker 1: left in it. Che He whispered in that strange guttural voice,
Speaker 1: and then like a flash, he was gone, and with
Speaker 1: him the strange fire in my heart. It left a
Speaker 1: hollow in my chest that I felt suddenly was in
Speaker 1: desperate need of filling. Find me. He was here, he
Speaker 1: needed me. From then on I would search the house
Speaker 1: for a Neil, obsessively, as if it were a sort
Speaker 1: of madness. He was fickle and eluded me, frequently, appearing
Speaker 1: mostly when the evenings were dark, or when a storm
Speaker 1: made its way over the expanse of the gulf. Those
Speaker 1: nights I would find him in mirrors and the cellar
Speaker 1: or attic, cold and alone, and I would come to
Speaker 1: him there full of warmth, full of giving. I was
Speaker 1: of use again, I was needed magnanimously. I gave of
Speaker 1: my heat, and each time auth Neil glowed a little
Speaker 1: more brightly, and still the insistent plea fine. And then
Speaker 1: one morning it occurred to me he wasn't simply asking
Speaker 1: for a visit. Somewhere in this house his mortal remains
Speaker 1: resided find me. He was asking for my help. I
Speaker 1: immediately felt foolish. Of course, he was asking for help,
Speaker 1: the unquiet, dead haunt with a purpose. And what's more,
Speaker 1: I knew exactly how to find him, and so, for
Speaker 1: the first time in weeks, I made my way to
Speaker 1: my grandfather's study. This time I read his strange diary
Speaker 1: with purpose. In it, he wrote of the construction of
Speaker 1: the house. I rifled through the facts and figures, coming
Speaker 1: finally to where I'd seen the name first. There off Neil.
Speaker 1: He'd been a builder on the house, Young and unknown
Speaker 1: to many of the other workers. He was accused by
Speaker 1: a fellow of and here I quote heinous crimes. Instead
Speaker 1: of taking him to the local constabulary, the men sealed
Speaker 1: him beneath the basement floor. Included in my grandfather's notes
Speaker 1: was an incredibly helpful sketch of the layout of the house,
Speaker 1: with x is marked all over and increasingly erratic notes
Speaker 1: about tile patterns, floor braces, the color of the mud
Speaker 1: below the house, and over and over off Nil. Over
Speaker 1: the course of the coming days, I poured over the
Speaker 1: same notes and began to retrace his steps throughout the house.
Speaker 1: It was on the third day, rummaging through the old
Speaker 1: wine cellar, that I felt a sudden, desperate pull toward
Speaker 1: the far corner, as if excited fingers had reached into
Speaker 1: my heart and gently tugged there. In the floor a
Speaker 1: trap door with a trembling breath. I reached down, grabbed
Speaker 1: the old brass ring, and pulled. I found him there
Speaker 1: in a simple hole, not big enough to stretch out.
Speaker 1: He was curled up, not much more than rags and bone,
Speaker 1: a small shimmer coated with mildew. I climbed down into
Speaker 1: the hole and reached out a hand to his corpse.
Speaker 1: I shivered even as I touched him. Upon contact, I
Speaker 1: became enveloped in a shimmering mist on the ground, my
Speaker 1: clothes pulled aside, and my breath visible in the air.
Speaker 1: The corpse seemed more visible in that fog, animating with
Speaker 1: a creak of dry bones and turning toward me, the
Speaker 1: face somehow plumping, growing fuller, alive, more vibrant than sunrise.
Speaker 1: My breath caught in my throat as that strange desire
Speaker 1: overtook me. How long had it been, I thought, since
Speaker 1: I was last embraced, since I'd made love, since I
Speaker 1: last saw the sun. I looked into his eyes and
Speaker 1: recognized my own, hungry, insatiable. He pulled me down, wrapping
Speaker 1: me in an icy and race. The air escaped my lungs,
Speaker 1: and I felt a sharp pang inside my chest, as
Speaker 1: if shards of crystals were forming in my lungs. I
Speaker 1: thought to inhale, and off Neil clutched tighter, his finger
Speaker 1: bones digging deep grooves in my back, his bare teeth
Speaker 1: dragging across my throat. I could feel the heat and
Speaker 1: me leaving, leeching out and being replaced with a terrible chill.
Speaker 1: As off Neil's corpse grew ever more lifelike, taking on
Speaker 1: flesh that grew ruddy with its quickening, and all the
Speaker 1: while his eyes seemed to dominate and take and take
Speaker 1: and take, with no regard of who or what stood
Speaker 1: opposite him. I knew that looked well, and I was afraid.
Speaker 1: I felt frozen shackles on each of my wrists as
Speaker 1: they slammed into the ground. Above my head. Hathnil swelled larger,
Speaker 1: now bigger than me, now encompassing me, and I felt
Speaker 1: lost within him. As worn and mount nourished as I
Speaker 1: had been at the beginning of our passion, I had
Speaker 1: been larger than Aneil by far. Now he dwarfed me
Speaker 1: there on the floor, absorbing every last bit of my strength.
Speaker 1: And then my body no longer responded to my will.
Speaker 1: It's stilled cold and dead on the floor. Aneil was gone,
Speaker 1: and I stood tall over my mortal remains, dead on
Speaker 1: the stone floor. His eyes had shined with love, hadn't they.
Speaker 1: He'd wanted the same thing I did right, warmth, acceptance.
Speaker 1: But I'd been fooled. Time was lost to me. Who
Speaker 1: could tell how it passed? A moment could be a year,
Speaker 1: a month, mere seconds, and all the while I searched
Speaker 1: restless in that space behind the mirrors, in that inverted
Speaker 1: house that was now my domain. The decrepit shambles of
Speaker 1: the mansion I neglected was magnified and distorted. I saw
Speaker 1: as autnil once saw a world of tatters, and the
Speaker 1: hunger for warmth was all consuming. In this manner, decade
Speaker 1: slipped away, winters and springs all muddied together. And then
Speaker 1: one particularly frigid evening, the door to the house opened
Speaker 1: and she arrived. Her hair was wavy and dark, her
Speaker 1: complaint action of warm deep bronze. Despite the snow flakes
Speaker 1: that hid in the curls of her hair, she had
Speaker 1: an inner light. It flicked a trace of a distant
Speaker 1: memory that I could not place. The beautiful stranger took
Speaker 1: no care to remove her shoes, or even knock the
Speaker 1: snow from them, And why would she? Who would she insult?
Speaker 1: She passed through the halls of the manner, and I
Speaker 1: felt suddenly that I had my vessel for escape. She
Speaker 1: was flesh, she was blood and warmth, and I could
Speaker 1: sense in her. She was low, disheveled and crooked, driven
Speaker 1: from a warmer place out into the world. She viewed
Speaker 1: this house as a new start. She needed hope. I
Speaker 1: could smell it. I had hope. I had hope with
Speaker 1: the sweet promise of nothing behind it. And I knew
Speaker 1: that if I guided her gently offered up myself, she
Speaker 1: may very well give me a trade as off Neil
Speaker 1: had traded with me. I could keep her here, I
Speaker 1: could make her stay. I could drain away every bit
Speaker 1: of human emotion and replace it with the malice and
Speaker 1: spite that I felt she would take my place. It
Speaker 1: would be so easy. I could be free. And so
Speaker 1: as she passed the mirror in the hallway, I made
Speaker 1: myself known. When she first saw me in the mirror,
Speaker 1: her eyes gleamed, first with that surprise that a too
Speaker 1: sudden image had been thrown back at her, and then
Speaker 1: with the sort of glee. Yes, those, I said, take
Speaker 1: for me this heart. I reached out toward her, and
Speaker 1: just as I had all those years ago, she leaned
Speaker 1: into the mirror. My hand touched her face, so smooth,
Speaker 1: so warm. I had been so cold for so very long.
Speaker 1: But there was something more. I could feel her life force,
Speaker 1: the steady strum of her heart, could feel the sense
Speaker 1: memory of a mother's embrace, a sprint across the summer field,
Speaker 1: the first flush of new love, and the horrible, gutting
Speaker 1: emptiness of its loss. I understood the whole of her,
Speaker 1: and I wanted it and its entirety. But what had
Speaker 1: I to offer in return? Live I do not know
Speaker 1: why I said it, or where the word came from
Speaker 1: her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes grew wide, and I
Speaker 1: quickly withdrew my hand into the mirror. She did not flinch,
Speaker 1: she did not run. I had decided, and those walls
Speaker 1: and those reflections I would remain. I would refuse to
Speaker 1: pass this herd on. Perhaps one day the laughter of
Speaker 1: a family, rosy cheeked and in love would bless the
Speaker 1: halls of that forgotten home once more, and perhaps I
Speaker 1: could find some gladness, some joy in the lives that
Speaker 1: I dare not siphon off. I watched her sleep that night, peacefully, hopefully.
Speaker 1: I watched as the morning sun lit her face, bleary
Speaker 1: eyed and alone. She got her bearings and stepped on
Speaker 1: unsteady feet into the main foyer and looked around with
Speaker 1: fresh eyes. She was home and had the whole of
Speaker 1: her life ahead of her. I would stay beside her,
Speaker 1: a silent watchman, as she hurtled forward. I would not
Speaker 1: hurt her. I knew finally, at last, what it meant
Speaker 1: to love. But they can't be true, I assure you,
Speaker 1: my dear, No words spoken at this table is false.
Speaker 1: But John, my lad, how do you feel? I feel warm? Good?
Speaker 1: Would you like to retire for the evening? Yes? Yes,
Speaker 1: I think I would like that. M hmm. This key
Speaker 1: is quite ornate, pure silver, very unusual. It befits your station,
Speaker 1: I think, hm. Take it. Thank you, it's nothing. Your
Speaker 1: door is up. The stairs is third on the left.
Speaker 1: Do rest well, my friend. I believe this is the
Speaker 1: warmest place I've ever been. It couldn't be true. What's that, dear?
Speaker 1: He couldn't have I couldn't have what, dear? Are we dead? Well? Yes, Annabelle,
Speaker 1: I thought that was quite Obvious. Twelve Ghosts starring Malcolm
Speaker 1: McDowell as the Innkeeper and Gina Rikiki as Annabelle. Episode three,
Speaker 1: The Mirror written by Steven Williams with additional writing by
Speaker 1: Nicholas Takowski. Editing by Chris Childs and Stephen Perez, featuring
Speaker 1: Nicolas Takowski as Jare. Directed by Nicholas Takowski. Original score
Speaker 1: and sound design by Chris Childs. Executive producers Aaron Mankey,
Speaker 1: Matt Frederick, Alexander Williams and Nicholas Takowski. Supervising producer Josh Staine.
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, Aeros Sound and Recording in Ojai, California,
Speaker 1: engineered by Ken Eros. Twelve Ghosts was created by Nicolas Takowski.
Speaker 1: That is a production of iHeart three D Audio and
Speaker 1: Grim and Mild from Aaron Manky. Learn more about the
Speaker 1: show at Grim and Mild dot com, and find more
Speaker 1: podcasts from my Heart Radio by visiting the I Heart radio, app,
Speaker 1: Apple podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.
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