Hello, there have you missed us? Have you missed us as much as
we've missed performing in front of a live audience. While three years away from
the stage was more than we could bear. But now, at long last,
it has happened. And here is the proof, the unvarnished evidence of
our rebirth and resurrection. You are about to hear the first of four brand
new tales that we brewed from scratch for a special presentation. We called Nightfall
on the Nutmeg State, a poisoned pen letter of pernicious passion to the great
State of Connecticut. The story you are about to hear now, Old Wolf
Putt, was taped live at the Westport Library in Westport, Connecticut, on
Friday the thirteenth of October twenty twenty three. I know you can hear them,
You can feel them all around us tonight they have somehow returned. But
it can't at all be possible. Most locals know this. Wolves are not
to be found in this place called Connecticut, the Nutmeg State, the Constitution
State, the home of Noah Webster and It's famous dictionary, Mark Twain,
P. T. Barnum, Harriet beecher Stowe, and one Israel Putnam on
a moonlit night in seventeen forty three in the township of Conference, sim it
down, I said, hush, silence, So stand dogs, I need
to think detch. It is too much to be damned. Burning another sulfur
is not working. We tried smoking her out, and now the sulfur seems
not that we should put more sulfur on the fire. I let's add some
more. Please, If I take my hand away from my nose, I
shall be quite ill. Well, there's nothing left to do then, so
we can go home. No, that's not what I meant. There's nothing
left to do but to face that detestable creature and enter the cave. Then
let's do just that. The entrance to the cave is narrow enough, perhaps
for one of us to enter. Henry, as my man servant, I
would like you. The answer is no, no, No. I am
your employer. You will do as I command if forced to choose between being
unemployed or being eaten alive by the very few. Mister Putnam, Sir,
allow me to be the first to acknowledge the abject cowardice of your servant Henry.
But he is not completely bereft. The reason between the smoke the sulfur,
the ebon darkness, and most of all, the potential for arousing the
hour of the sea wolf who rests at the bottom of this cave. It
is a misadventure that tempts faith and courstes us up. Get in there,
Henry, you sippering daffodil. Here you can use my musket. Come to
think of it, I don't recall Henry ever firing a shot. Perhaps you,
Farmer Barney, can enter the cave. Since it is your musket,
You're most welcome to borrow my musket. Mister Putnam, sir, please tell
me that my eyes fail me in this moonlight? Are you trembling, my
dear Farmer Barney? Do you also see this Farmer Dodd? Yes? But
what don't you see, mister Putnam, Sir? He has every right to
tremble, and so do I. And if you had any cens sir,
you would be trembling at the very thought of it too. Told me how
many cattle have you lost? Farmer Dodd? And you, Barney, If
that she will devours the last of your sheep, how will you survive this
winter? I can tell you the meat won't come from my stable, because
as long as that be deviled bitch remains free, none of us will have
any food to put on our tables. Seventy seventy sheep. I have lost
sel in tea sheep. Hear me, lads, we have spent the good
part of this day and evening tracking this horrid animal to what I hope will
be the final resting place for her and the rest of her detestable breed.
If we slay this wolf tonight, mark my words, we will never be
bothered by any more of her kind ever again. Barney and mere musket.
Mister Putnam, please reconsider. There is nothing to reconsider. Give it to
me, are you sure, sir? Give it to me. Thank you.
Be careful now it is loaded, Dodd. I'll need some rope.
Rope, sir, yes, rope. You know what rope is. Don't
here, sir, Henry, bring me a torch, Dodd. I want
you to fasten this rope to my feet. Men, I'm going to crawl
into the cave with the sole purpose of killing this demon. All three of
you hold this rope. If I tug at it three times, that is
the signal, the signal, sir, the signal that I need to be
pulled back up immediately. Of course, all right, make sure that I'm
fastened? Goodn't te you with that rope? Is that good? Certain?
How death that will do? I wish you would reconsider, sir. I
think this would be a good time for a prayer. Keep your prayers inside
your skull, Henry, all hands on the rope. Here I go.
This will not end well, poor mister Putnam. Where will I find another
employer who will compensate me as well as he has? Shut your mouths?
Who do you think you're talking to you? I said? Would you care
to say it again? Hold the rope? Man, no signal way?
Perhaps Master Putnam has the advantage. In Frondy, the she wolf was nearly
captured in a trap, lost two of her toes. She is injured.
You see, she's a cunning beast. Putnam is mad. He has almost
no room to maneuver in the cave, so narrow and tight. Or Crampton
holding a torch and a dun he made bloody burn himself up? What's happened?
Did he miss? I feel like he missed? And how can you'll
tell? There? It is? He's pulling? He's pulling coming Putnam,
for he can't be this heavy for you. You don't want to see your
room now we hold what's that on the wrong? Is that blood? A
hero of the American Revolution, those wild and ofttimes reckless adventures that tread the
line between fact and folklore, Israel Putnam was most famous for uttering this war
cry at the Battle of Bunker Hill, than far do you see the white
other eyes? But he is also remembered as the man who killed the last
wolf in Connecticut on that night in seventeen forty three, and Connecticut has been
wolf free ever since. Mister Bottnam, you're alive. Don't stand there gaping
up the man. The men dragged Israel Putnam from the cave, his clothes
shredded, bleeding from various small wounds, his hands clutched to the hind legs
of the lifeless she wolf. The musket and torch abandoned in the cave.
He was taken to the local tavern to celebrate with the grateful farmers, and
where the she wolf was hung on a spike. From that night onward,
he was known as old Wolf What Old Wolf pot, Old Wolf Pot,
Yes, Old Wolf put If there was ever a price to be paid for
helping to eradicate a once noble breed, while the bill never came due for
Israel Putnam. He passed peacefully in seventeen ninety at the age of seventy two.
His heroic legend fully intact. Monuments and tributes of all kinds appeared in
many of the years that followed. There was a monument erected in his honor
in eighteen eighty eight where his body was interred in Brooklyn, Connecticut. Upon
the pedestal we see a sculpture of Putnam riding high into battle, and on
the front of the marker a wolf's head can be seen. I'm getting a
premonition something strange is about to happen. But before we continue, these few
words from our sponsors. Now back to old Wolf Putt. I'm speaking of
sculptures. What might be said about the odd goings on at the Abington Social
Library in Abington, Connecticut. Good afternoon, mister Donovan. Hey, so
you have it here with you. You're going to start thinking, I don't
want this commission. Oh no, what, mister Donovan. Let him speak,
Kate. You didn't bring the statue. Mister Donovan, It's okay if
you need more time Mavelyn. Remember there is a deadline, mister Donovan.
We need the sculpture ready in time for the anniversary. I'm sure mister Donovan
is aware of the deadline. Kate, What is the issue you're having?
Mister Donovan? Remember what happened the last time I tried to make a wooden
sculpture based on Israel Putnam's Wolf, Yes, the one we commissioned you to
do six months ago. What happened? It's gone, just like the last
one I tried to make? What, Evelyn, I'm getting the dog ate
my homework vibes. Look. Accuse me of self sabotage if you like,
But I actually really need the rest of the funds from this commission badly.
Then I would say a better use of your time would be not to come
here and make excuses. What do you mean? The statue is gone like
the last one, Just like the last one I carved. Don't you remember
I went out to the garage to pack it in the car and it just
just what burst into flames? Well that is odd? Oh? Are we
humoring him? Is that what we're doing? Okay, mister Donovan, we
will grant you an extension of two weeks. I trust that will be time
enough. That is not a lot of time, but I will make it
happen. Perhaps use a different kind of material this time, something less prone
to spontaneous combustion. Okay, thanks Kate, Thanks Evelyn. I'll take it
what you said into consideration. Again, I'm sorry, Thank you for your
patience and understanding, and good afternoon. Again. I'm sorry. I don't
renall him saying sorry the first time. You know, Evelyn, I think
he's trying to pull a fast one on us, and that he has nothing
up his sleeve. Evelyn, what's wrong? The other night when I was
here by myself, Yes, I was getting ready to leave, and I
nearly called animal control, animal control. It was coming from outside the building.
I kept telling myself it had to be a dog, Kate. Dogs
don't make those kinds of sounds. Once every so often, when the air
is still and the moon fat and full, some folks around here say that
they can hear that mournful sound, the sound of loneliness, the sound of
hunger, the sound of and that cave where Israel Putnam killed the last wolf.
It can still be visited today at Mushamaket Brook State Park in Pomfret,
Connecticut. Allow your mind's eye to venture down into the pitch black darkness of
the cavern where the last wolf made her last stand. Go deeper, deeper,
still, until all you can see the flickering glow of those desperate eyes.
This is Fireside Mystery Theater, and that was Old Wolf Putt. The
cast featured in this episode include James Reeser as Israel Putnam, James Kleinman as
Henry, Eric Davey Gislissen as Farmer Dodd, Michael Pate as Farmer Barney Casey
Laforest as Kate, Alan Laforest as Donovan, Mary Murphy as Evelyn. And
it was narrated by Me Ali Silva. Old Wolf Putt was written by Sylvan
Sandovar. Our live show and podcast are produced by Gustava Rodriguez and Me for
Fireside Mystery Productions. The live performance of Nightfall on the Nutmeg State was supported
by ver Orso Studios at the Westport Library in Westport, Connecticut. Our musical
score was performed by Nico Slater. Our lead sound effects designer and engineer was
Greg Russ. Additional sound designed by Ricardo Delgado and Ali Silva. This series
was directed by the team of Lizliser, Casey Laforest and Ali Silva. Our
fabulous Fireside production coven includes Lizliser, Casey Laforest and Mary Murphy. Jason Graves
composed our theme music and I manage our audio post production. Want to support
us, become an FMT Patreon patron today by going to patreon dot com slash
Fireside Mystery Theater, or just follow the link from our website. It's a
great way to stoke our fires and hear early releases, Patreon only content,
and enjoy other rewards as you help to keep our fireside flickering. And we've
got to give an overdue shout out to Winter Maulding, one of our newest
patrons stoking our flames. Winter, we are so grateful to you for your
support and we hope you enjoy all we've got brewn up ahead if you fancy,
give us a rating and review, and you can follow us on social
media at Fireside Mystery. Next up, can a wily coven of crones hold
the key to an unsolved murder? Find out in our next riveting ramble from
Nightfall on the Nutmeg State, The Grave of Midnight Mary. Coming up from
fireside mystery theater. If you have a mind to be a lone wolf,
think twice before you take that evening stroll, and do mind the shadows.