WEBVTT

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Welcome to Endo the night. I'm
Narri your guide on today's excursion down a

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twisted path. Be careful not to
get lost. Be it dark or light,

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It's easy to lose your way.
Are you ready, then let's begin.

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The winter's deep. The mountains could
be brutal any time of year,

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but the oppression of a heavy snow
felt overwhelming. While some areas experienced inches

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of snow, the alpine area near
Wolf Creek Pass dealt with feet at a

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time. Arnaud Richter knew this when
he built his off the grid life in

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the rugged Colorado high Country. He
wasn't much for socializing anyway, and he'd

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had his fill of the outside world. A meat grinder. Divorce was the

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last straw for Arnaut, so he
sold what he had left and made the

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move to self sufficiency. All the
times people at work made fun of me

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and called me Grizzly Adams or Jeremiah
Johnson, Well here I am living a

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life none of them could ever survive. Arnaud took pride in the fact that

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since he'd been a boy, he'd
take an interest in survival skills. He

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was no boy scout looking to earn
badgers. For one Arnault's family was too

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poor to pay for the uniforms and
other trappings that came along with club membership.

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His interest was innate and natural.
He'd rather fish, hunt, or

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trap than sit around a campfire with
boys he wasn't necessarily friends with in the

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first place. Arnaut was always good
with being alone. He guessed that's why

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the divorce hit him so hard.
I thought Amy was the one person I

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could count on. I thought that's
what she thought of me, too.

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Never a lady's man, her interest
in him surprised Arnaut. He'd remembered how

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beautiful she was, and how she'd
had a way of making him feel special

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for the rest of his life,
even if the memories broke him on the

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inside. Arnaut's breathing became jagged,
and he squinted hard to keep the tears

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from falling. He looked out his
window and tried to focus on the present.

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Looks like this one's going to be
a doozy. The snow laden clouds

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hung heavily in the sky, and
Arnaut didn't need a weather report to tell

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him a major storm was imminent.
He'd seen a few winters up here already,

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and he knew that preparation was crucial. His cabin, while not large,

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was designed with an abundance of storage. He spent the summer months working

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hard to be ready for the harsh
winters, and he had enough food put

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away for years. His wood pile
was kept out of the elements and filled

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what would be the equivalent of a
two car garage. A winter storm was

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easily endured given all the plans he'd
made. Still, he knew he needed

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to check on the place before the
storm hit. He didn't like surprises,

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and he didn't like the unknown.
Even though he knew his preparations were adequate,

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it gave his nervous energy a release
to check everything inside and out.

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What began as light flurries quickly transitioned
into heavy, thick snow blanketing the mountains.

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By the time Arnoult came inside,
he was covered with snow. Yep,

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this is going to be a real
dandy. The views up here would

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sell a million Christmas cards. Heck, if I ever wanted to start a

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business, I bet I could paint
some pretty cards of this place to sell.

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Besides being an outdoorsy type, Arnaud
also possessed an artistic streak As a

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young boy. While other children socialized. He spent hours drawing and painting.

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His high school art teacher encouraged him
to pursue an art degree in college,

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but Arnaut didn't think he'd fit in
with the artsy types of a university.

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Heck, I didn't fit in with
anyone. I wasn't going to spend a

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bunch of money to be around people
who wouldn't like me when I could go

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out and get a job. Arnaud
instead took up and made a good living.

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It was, for the most part, solitary work, which he liked.

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Around the yard of his cabin,
he welded metal statues, a project

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that allowed him to explore his artistic
side while using a marketable skill. These

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were good too. Art museums would
appreciate the techniques Arnaut employed. No one

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would see these statues, however,
they were for his enjoyment. Only few

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could find Arnau's mountain retreat, and
he liked it that way, so no

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other eyes would gaze upon his masterpieces. Arnaut stoked the fire in the wood

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stove and adjusted the chimney flu The
fire heated the cabin easily, and the

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glow from the embers cast a hue
of reddish gold from the tempered glass on

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the door, combined with the majestic
white of the heavy snow over the dark

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green of the pines. The glow
made Arnout feel as though he himself lived

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inside a work of art. He
reveled in the idea, knowing no one

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else was there to accuse his thoughts
of being folly. Folly is good for

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a person. Life would be dull
without a bit of whimsy. The roof

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creaked as the wind picked up outside. The sunset would happen any minute now.

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The clouds and snow blocked out any
sign of the horizon. The world

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already nestled under the shroud of the
storm. Arnault read for a while,

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then fixed himself dinner. While not
a chef, his meals weren't bad.

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After eating, he watched the snow
fall for a while, then caught himself

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yawning. Looks like I should put
some more wood on the fire and head

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to bed. He shoved two sizeable
logs into the stove, shut the door

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to it, and climbed the stairs
to his room. There is nothing more

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peaceful than when a blanket of snow
covers the ground. I should sleep well

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tonight, he crawled into bed and
settled into a comfortable position under the heavy,

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warm quilts. He quickly drifted off
to sleep. At some point in

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the night, a sound caught his
attention. Subtle at first, in the

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stowe of the snowy evening, his
ears picked up on the slightest stirring inside

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the house. At first, his
groggy mind explained it away as a window

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rattling in the wind, or the
weight of the snow causing a shift in

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the house. As he cleared his
head, however, he knew the strange

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sound seemed out of the ordinary.
Arnaud rose and leaned back on his elbows

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to listen more closely, but he
heard nothing more. Still drowsy, he

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plumped his pillow and went back to
sleep. In the morning, the snow

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that still fell heavily muted. The
daybreak, Arnaud peered out the window of

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his bedroom to assess the snowfall.
There had been a few feet out there

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already, no sign of it letting
up either. He made his way downstairs,

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stoked the coals in the stove,
and added more wood. Soon the

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fire blazed, and the crackle and
pop of the wood as it burned accumulated

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in the staccato bursts. Arnaut made
coffee, put some toasts on a plate,

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and took both to his seat near
the stove. The aroma of smoke

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mingled with the coffee to create a
scent Arnaut could only describe as authentic.

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Yes, authentic is the right word. There's something manly and hearty in this

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smell, Almost primitive it is.
As he took a sip of coffee,

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however, his eyes caught sight of
something that grabbed his attention. The papers

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he'd neatly stacked were scattered on the
floor, as though blown off by a

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gust of wind. That's weird.
Maybe that's the sound I heard in the

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night. But what would have knocked
those off? If I had old Sylvester

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cat still, i'd say it was
him. But I'm out here by myself.

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Arnau rubbed his chin, trying to
think of what could have happened.

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He walked to the strewn papers and
picked them up, neatly, stacking them

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back on the table. Once again, he looked out the window at the

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falling snow. It sure is piling
up out there. He settled back down

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in his easy chair to read.
Books were the one outside luxury he allowed

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himself. He ordered them in town. On the rare occasion he went there

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on one of the computers in the
library. He used his post office box

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as his address, and James of
the post office was kind enough to let

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his boxes stack up until he made
it back in to pick them up.

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His tastes ranged from science fiction and
paranormal to crime thrillers, biographies, true

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crime, and science. Pretty much
anything that had a good storyline captured his

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interest. Deep in thought as he
read his latest book, he almost didn't

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hear the gentle knocking at his back
door. No one would be out in

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this weather. Still, he checked
to make sure no lost hiker had stumbled

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to his door. Lost hikers happened
on occasion, especially novice ones who didn't

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know enough to watch the weather conditions. When he opened the door, however,

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he only found a build up of
pristine snow drifting against the cabin.

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He shrugged his shoulders and closed the
door. Settling back onto his chair,

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he went back to reading. A
chapter later, however, he was jolted

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back to his surroundings by a crash
in the kitchen. One of the pans

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he'd hung on the wall now was
on the floor. Arnaud checked the nail

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the pan hung from, but it
remained firmly in the wall. Shaking his

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head, he put the pan back
in its place. His day continued with

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a quiet routine of adding wood to
the fire, watching the snowfall, admiring

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the beauty of the countryside, reading
and dabbling in some artwork. On warmer

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days, he took walks through the
woods and busied himself keeping the yard tidy.

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He sometimes worked in his outdoor shop, welding or doing woodwork. He

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enjoyed the peace and quiet, no
one to judge him and no one to

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mock him as he did the things
that brought him joy to day, though

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he had to focus on indoor activities. The snow grew deeper, and going

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out into a snowfall like this could
he proved foolhardy. As time passed,

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he made homemade stew for an early
dinner. After he ate, he added

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more fuel to the generator, put
another few logs on the fire, and

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climbed the second floor to retire to
bed. While he loved the stillness of

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a heavy snow, it limited how
much he could occupy himself with, and

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sleep seemed like a good way to
kill time. When he stepped into his

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bedroom. However, he stopped.
Now, I know I made my bed

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this morning, why are the covers
turned back? Chalking it up to forgetfulness,

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he changed into his thermal sleeping clothes
and went to bed. Lulled to

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sleep by the gentle wind blowing outside
his window, he soon fell into a

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deep slumber. In the middle of
the night, he awoke uncertain. At

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first, he had the sensation that
someone sat on the bed next to him.

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What's going on, he said,
into the darkness. It was then

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he felt some one something caress his
cheek. Startled, he bounded out of

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bed. Knocking began on the walls
here, then there, and he turned

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in all directions to find the source
of the sound. Go away, whatever

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you are. I don't want any
trouble. The knocking intensified. Finally,

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after what seemed like an hour,
the sounds dissipated, and Arnaut no longer

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felt he was being taunted by something
in the darkness. At times like this,

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the fleeting thought that civilization maybe wasn't
such a bad place to be crossed

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his mind. That thought never lasted
long, though, No damned spirit's gonna

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run me off from my place.
I'm staying here, and that's that.

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The next morning, the snow stopped
falling. The world was blanketed and feet

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of snow. Going outside was a
fruitless effort, and Arnaut knew he'd have

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to hunker down until the weather shifted
gears and the snow melted. In the

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days that followed, the strange visitor
continued to taunt Arnaut. Go away.

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I tell you I came here to
be alone, and you need to leave.

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The encounters became more serious, however, Items were hurled across the room,

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sometimes barely missing Arnault. While climbing
the stairs, something tugged at his

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leg A few times. The sensation
caused him to stumble, I don't want

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to tangle with you. Just leave
me bee. Arnault's please brought no change.

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The taunting turned to torment, and
soon the entity hounded Arnout on a

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nearly constant basis. Looking out the
window, Arnaud pleaded for warmth to melt

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the snow so he could step outside. One night, after knives whizzed past

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his head and lodged in the wall
beside him, Arnaud Richter had had enough.

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If you want to go around,
let's do it. I'm sick of

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you, and this is gonna end
now. The force threw him to the

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floor, and a battle raged.
First it had the vantage, then Arnau

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would free himself and gain the upper
hand. The force bloodied and beat Arno,

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and the world went black. The
cabin became still once more. The

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next week, a warm breeze whispered
through the trees, and the melting snow

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brought a raging torrent to Wolf Creek. The sound of metal clanging disturbed the

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Placid Mountain air. A metal sculpture
took shape as Arnold Richter created another masterpiece

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in his yard, melting metal with
unwonted spirit, as he had done many

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times in the past. A craftsman, he figured, must use the materials

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he had on hand, and as
long as spirits tried to disturb his peace,

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they would find themselves twisted into new
realities of his choice. Thank you

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for joining me for this episode of
the Into the Night Anthology podcast. Written

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by Caroline Giamanco, narrated by Nari
Quak. Theme music by Nico Rodriguez.

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All other original music, sound design
and editing by Omenhawk Studios. You can

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find our links in the show notes. Into the Night is on your favorite

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podcatcher, so make sure to like, subscribe, and leave a five star

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review to help other excursionists to join
us. I'll see you next time,

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and remember, whether in the shadows
or in the daylight, all twisted paths

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lead you into the night. Into
the Night Anthology is a creative typo entertainment production