WEBVTT

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Bline Story Studios giving story a voice. This is Addison Peacock and you're listening

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to The Wicked Library. Warning.
The Wicked Library is a horror fiction podcast

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00:00:35.320 --> 00:00:41.240
created for immature audience. Our stories
contain graphic descriptions of pain, murder,

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violence, blood, betrayal, and
inhumanity. Monsters win, people die,

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and hope is often shattered. There
is also beauty, heart, catharsis,

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and raw emotion. Fear may be
deeply personal, but we all share.

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If at any time a story takes
you to a place too dark, turn

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on the lights, press pause,
or press stop, and always remember that,

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unlike in the real world, these
nightmares and your participation in them,

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are under your control. Welcome to
the Wicked Library. I'm Daniel Foytech,

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and I thank you for listening.
A sincere thank you to those of you

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who are supporting the show. Without
you, this show would not be possible.

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This season, all episodes are heard
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ad free episodes, early access to
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support you'll greet premiere access to Endfield
Detective Agency current in production. That's right,

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Frank is coming back and to your
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the show at Patreon dot com Forward
slash Wicked Library. A lot of hard

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work and money goes into making a
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little as three dollars a month,
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Wicked Library. Now, let's get wicked

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with today's first dark tale told by
Addison Peacock with a custom score written by

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Nico vites Of. We Talk of
Dreams. Just another cautionary tale by Alexis

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Dubon. Just another cautionary tale by
Alexis Dubonne. I had a sister once,

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Elsie, but not anymore. She
had been accused of a pretty gruesome

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crime, and rather than get locked
up, she decided to run away.

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They were never able to find her. Her boyfriend's bones were discovered all picked

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clean after he stopped showing up to
work, and since she'd split, everyone

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was pretty sure it was her who
did it. That was a few years

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ago, and Jamie has kind of
fallen into the sister shaped hole in my

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life. I met her at the
bar shortly after all my family drama,

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and we've been best friends ever since. She's almost like a sister, about

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as close as someone could get,
but no one will ever be Elsie.

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She'd worked there long enough that she
had the good schedule, with the good

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bar back and the good regulars,
lots of familiar faces night after night,

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and Jamie knew them all, which
meant I got all the good gossip.

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Like Mark, who lost an eye
because of the time he got too drunk

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to play darts right and used all
his strength dislodging one he got stuck in

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the wall. He pulled it so
hard he impaled himself with the back end

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of it. And Will who always
had his two Jamison shots and Michaelobultra's between

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work and home. He never said
a word, but he was there every

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day, always left Jamie at twenty. There was Chris, who once puked

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all over the bathroom and Jamie made
him clean it up himself. After that

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night, he always had a hard
time looking her in the face, although

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that didn't stop him from coming in
and getting hammered more often than not.

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Then there was Greg. Greg was
a predator, gorgeous but evil. He

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had those lumberjack arms made of hills
and valleys that you kind of just want

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to bite. He always had just
enough scruff on his face to emphasize that

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jaw of his It could have been
carved from stone. He had deep blue

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eyes that you'd have to swim your
way out of. You could just drown

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in them forever, and the man
was devastatingly charming. He would remember just

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enough of what you'd say to make
you feel important, but it never stayed

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in there long enough to make that
feeling anything real, just enough to tease

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you, make you taste it,
but nothing ever lasted. He'd always lose

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interest, move on to the next
impossible to satisfy women served a passing purpose

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to him, and that's where it
ended. Greg was a monster. Most

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of the drama in the bar started
with him. Girls would destroy their lives

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to make him happy. They'd break
their leases on the promise of moving in

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with him, just to be left
without a home or a backup plan.

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They'd lose lifelong friendships because they didn't
know he was simultaneously sleeping with both of

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them. They'd sometimes come into the
bar and tears, walk up to him

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while he was on a date with
someone else and cry about how he told

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her he loved her just the night
before. He'd brush them off like he

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didn't even know who they were,
greg ate women for breakfast and shout out

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broken lives. Lots of these stories
I heard from Jamie, but I had

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seen enough firsthand and know she wasn't
exaggerating. It was always different versions of

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the same thing. We'd watch him
find some girl at the bar with her

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friends or on her own, but
he was never the one to approach.

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He always just somehow ended up with
them. They came to him like hummingbirds

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to sugar water. We would watch
him scope out the room, make his

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selection, and then without any effort
at all, she'd end up at his

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side, and unless he wanted to, he never left the bar alone.

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Greg had an appetite or only one
thing, and the man was insatiable.

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Jamie and I saw him break countless
hearts in the most ruthless, unfeeling ways,

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and we tried warning his victims,
but none never wanted to hear us.

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His spell was too strong and so
it went till last week. The

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night began like any other, Jamie
and I playing Rummy five hundred while it

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was slow, and then gradually,
as she got busier, our interactions were

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reduced to side eyes, shot over
guys getting drunker and drunker, and trying

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harder and harder to hit on her. Eventually the place was full and we

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barely had time for even our brief
chats. As she passed from one side

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of the bar to the other.
With my stool in the middle by the

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taps, we exchanged glances over Greg, watching to see which pretty young thing

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he would take home. But for
whatever reason, his eyes kept landing on

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me, even when my back was
turned. I felt them big bear paws

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hugging my shoulders and working their way
down and up the curves of my body,

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sussing out the quality of my meat. I was his choice that night.

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I felt it that whole I glanced
over my shoulder at the empty seat

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beside his dangerous territory, but my
decision was well informed. He wasn't just

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the hot guy at the bar paying
attention to lucky little me, so cute

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and funny and irresistible that I couldn't
possibly say No, he was Greg,

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and I knew his game, and
he knew I knew his game. This

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would be something else. It was
almost like a dare. Don't all winning

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streaks come to an end? Eventually, Jamie shook her head at me and

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mouthed a hard no. Sisters look
out for one another, But why not.

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I would be entering into this willingly, and we would see which one

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of us would survive. The next
time Jamie passed by my stool, it

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was empty. Jamie shook her head
at me disapprovingly. She had seen me

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leave with men before. She knew
I had a type. I had a

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sweet spot for the womanizers, something
about a man who could just shoe women

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up and spit them right back out. I could never pass it up.

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But even compared to the worst of
them, Greg was extreme. I had

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secretly dreamt at this moment I wanted
him so badly, but until that night,

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I just never had the opportunity.
This was my chance, and I

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was going to take it. Hi, was all he said, so coolly.

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As I sat down beside him.
Hi, I gave him back,

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and we both smiled because we both
knew that we didn't really need to say

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anything. Else we had entered a
wordless agreement, Predator and pray. Game

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on. We abandoned our half full
drinks on the table and walked right out

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the door. I'm going to show
you something, I said, as I

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nuzzled and nibble at his neck,
and he pressed harder against the gas pedal.

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Just take this exit here. Pretty
soon we were heading north on Root

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seventy one toward the Lost forty forest. He'd never fucked on the forest floor

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before, he said, and I
guided his hand up my dress, promising

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him warmth against the cold night air. Can't wait to taste you, he

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purred. Finally we arrived. He
shut off the car and the headlights,

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leaving only the moon to light the
night for us. Come, I whispered,

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and I led him into the woods, off the path where no one

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ever went. I want to take
you somewhere where we can be as loud

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as we want. He followed,
without hesitation. This is what a life

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of safety brings. No doubts,
just guarantees, no fear, just certainty,

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not a care in the world besides
feeding his hungry body. He knew

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in his heart what was going to
happen, but he was wrong. I

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led him deeper and deeper into the
woods, until it was so thick with

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trees we could barely see the moonlight
anymore. Into the heart of the forest,

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where the pines stood tall and pale
and silent. He was ready to

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have me. I would be devoured
and demolished and discarded like all the ones

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who came before, but not this
time. The wind shifted, and I

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knew we were close shit. The
temperatures dropped like twenty degrees. Greg sputtered

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through chattering teeth. I held that
handsome face in my hands, and with

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a wink, assured him that he
wouldn't be cold for long. There in

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the silence of the forest. Something
began to stir thought and gray. She'd

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been waiting among the pines. She
could have been a tree herself, standing

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so thin and still, until her
arm creaked at the hinge and her bare

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foot rose from the cold dirt.
Hollow and bony, the creature emerged from

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the woods, spattered with sparse patches
of matted fur, alid skin stretched thin

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and tight over her figure, the
bones sealed within, threatening to burst through

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at any moment. Gregg tried to
run, but found himself already in her

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grasp. And then came the teeth, dozens of them, shining like ivory

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daggers in the dim blue light of
the moon, Dripping wet with anticipation.

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Her sharp green tongue speared from a
lipless mouth, the tip unfurling, as

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if in a hurry to taste him, in advance of the rest of her

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Dried blood, caked over patches of
mange painted a grotesque mockery of a smile

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across her face. Then she let
out a horrible, haunting sound, giving

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voice to the fear in Greg's heart
better than any attempt to do so through

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his own human mouth. Her breath
burned my nostrils with putrid fumes of corruption

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and decay. It was worse than
I even remembered the sulfur extench of over

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boiled eggs, and the sharp sting
of vinegar, rotted acrid meat and broiled

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flesh, fresh tire tracks, and
long dead animals left a bake on hot

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summer asphalt. It choked me as
I quietly stepped aside and let her study

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Greg's body with lifeless, unforgiving eyes, Deciding where to begin. I watched

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with cautious glee as he looked to
the beast struggling to escape her grip.

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Helpless and hopeless and so delicious,
I observed all the cockiness had drained from

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his face. His confidence had deserted
him, his arrogance turned to terror.

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There was fear and place of pride, defeat in place of dominance. It

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was glorious. The trees shuddered at
the sound of his tortured and refutal cries

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for help. Needles fell like tears
from the pines, as if in solidarity.

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He shrieked and sobbed and begged for
his life, But we were so

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far from anyone who might save him. Here he could scream as loud as

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he wanted, only I in the
trees would hear. I backed up,

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slowly, knowing I had to be
in the car and ready to go before

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she was done with him. I
had brought enough men into these woods to

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know that I only had a short
time to get myself to safety. While

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she fed with every man the beast
consumed, she became a little wilder,

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a little more feral, And I
knew that eventually it would be too dangerous

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to keep this up. But now, as I moved further away, I

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watched gnaw old talons rip into his
beautiful body, slicing a mo open like

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pie, spilling blood and piss and
half digested beer all over the frosted dirt,

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making its steam greg This is Elsie, I shouted to him above his

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screams, and please for mercy.
She has quite an appetite herself. Next

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up, we dive back into the
darkness with today's second dark tale, told

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by David Alt with a custom score
written by Niko VTEs Of. We talk

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of dreams, the very counterfeit of
death by Ken Browsky, the very counterfeit

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of death by Ken Bruski. I
am not alone here, I am not

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alone here. I remember seeing this
island in the distance. I remember it

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shaped like a crescent, with a
beach of black sand, like a gaping

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mouth consuming the blue ocean water.
I remember a crash, then darkness.

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I can only remember the storm and
churning waves. The boat hit a rock.

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Suddenly I felt my body slam into
the helm. Then cold water and

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darkness. The sun burns the skin
of my neck. During the day,

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the land is dry, hot and
sparse. There are cacti and white incense

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trees with bare branches and yellow iguanas
and giant tortoises with beady, discerning eyes.

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They wonder why I don't make my
way to the north the island,

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where trees are more abundant in their
shelter from the elements. I tell them

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I'm too weak, too exhausted.
I take shade during the day underneath trees

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with heavy green leaves. The air
is wet at this higher elevation, and

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mist obscures any view of the south
end of the island. It clings to

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me, I swear. I can
feel the water droplets crawling across my skin

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like an army of ants. Birds
call out from the trees. It's a

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familiar song. There are rocks jutting
out of the southern cliff like tall steps

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that make it easy to crawl to
the ocean, where the waves are gentle

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and undisturbed. I drink the salt
water. I can feel my body absorbing

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what it needs. I know it's
impossible, but it's true. I drink

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water that clings to massive spade shaped
fern leaves. Birds encourage me with high

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pitched tweets. It's as if they
want me to survive, and I take

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this as a good sign. I
was always an optimist. You have to

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be when you're waiting for a good
wind to fill your sail. The lizard

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is watching me from a rock.
I grab it and squeeze it until it

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stops writhing. I pluck the nails
and eat it whole. Then sleep,

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wake a dusk with a terrible hunger, my skin burning. Follow a trail

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00:19:36.599 --> 00:19:41.240
to a tortoise nest. I use
my fingernail to slit its throat, devour

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it. Jesus Christ. I can't
stop, even though the taste is wretched.

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The birds wake me early. They
sit on low branches, proud of

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00:19:53.079 --> 00:19:59.640
their yellow and red plumage. They
look to me like finches, but some

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00:20:00.039 --> 00:20:03.119
have a strange horn on their bills. I talk to them to stay sane

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00:20:03.160 --> 00:20:07.400
while I walk through the forest and
gather jew that's collected on leaves. They

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00:20:07.400 --> 00:20:12.519
follow me, flying from branch to
branch. They gather in greater and greater

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00:20:12.599 --> 00:20:21.759
numbers. My flesh burns and aches. I pluck branches from the white oil

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trees and dig them into my skin
like giant acupuncture needles. I can feel

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00:20:27.559 --> 00:20:34.720
the soothing oil lubricate my muscles.
It feels so good. This coat of

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00:20:36.000 --> 00:20:41.160
thorns I try to walk toward the
south end of the island, but the

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birds cry out a warning. Night
is comfortable, cool, dark. I

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find another tortoise and drip it apart
with my bare hands. I taste salt

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00:20:55.920 --> 00:21:03.559
and ham and something sweets blood.
And when I'm done, I start chewing

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00:21:03.599 --> 00:21:06.240
on the shell. And I don't
know why, but I can't stop.

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00:21:07.200 --> 00:21:11.240
I'm so sure that if I could
only crack through the exterior there might be

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00:21:11.279 --> 00:21:17.279
some hidden marrow inside. I feel
a crack and a wave of pain as

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00:21:17.359 --> 00:21:22.000
one of my teeth shatters. Terror
washes through my veins. What's happening?

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00:21:23.039 --> 00:21:29.079
Is this punishment? Foot? But
no, it was not my fault.

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00:21:29.319 --> 00:21:34.240
The ship crashed. The birds sit
on low branches and watch me sleep.

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00:21:36.359 --> 00:21:45.039
There's so many now they scare me. The mornings raise rake across my back.

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00:21:45.079 --> 00:21:51.359
My hollow stomach screams for sustenance.
I crawl on the ground and pluck

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00:21:51.400 --> 00:21:56.519
iguanas from their dirt nests. Something
in my head screams for me to stop,

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00:21:56.559 --> 00:22:03.000
but it's distant and choked by its
own hunger. I eat the iguana's

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00:22:03.039 --> 00:22:08.279
hole. I feel their claws desperately
scrape my throat. I relish the feeling

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00:22:08.319 --> 00:22:15.680
of blood trickling into my gut.
More there are none. I've eaten them

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00:22:15.759 --> 00:22:22.039
all. Why now north? I
can hear birds calling to me, thousands

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00:22:22.079 --> 00:22:29.559
and thousands of birds. They wake
me, my ears ring from their whistling

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00:22:29.640 --> 00:22:33.200
calls. They sit on every branch, yellow and red and black birds,

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00:22:33.200 --> 00:22:40.440
shouting and flapping their wings a message, a warning. I grab a fallen

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00:22:40.480 --> 00:22:47.839
branch wet with green moss. I
can see them, thousands of birds greeting

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00:22:47.880 --> 00:22:51.680
me as I enter the forest.
I reach out for one on a low

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00:22:51.759 --> 00:22:56.920
branch, and hundreds scatter in a
rainbow cloud that moves like a sentient creature.

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00:22:57.119 --> 00:23:02.079
I stumble around a tree, my
nails clutch at the trunk, and

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00:23:02.279 --> 00:23:11.480
tear away back. The birds beckon
me. Something is coming. I clutch

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00:23:11.519 --> 00:23:14.680
the branch, heart racing, but
I can't hear it over the chorus of

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00:23:14.720 --> 00:23:18.240
birds. They're flapping their wings,
and it's as if the forest itself is

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00:23:18.319 --> 00:23:26.440
drawing in quick breaths. And then
suddenly the birds are quiet. I see

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00:23:26.519 --> 00:23:33.359
him, a man like me.
I lurched toward him and reach out and

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00:23:33.480 --> 00:23:38.119
tell him I'm marooned here, But
my words come out in a drooling draw.

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00:23:40.519 --> 00:23:42.920
I get closer, and I see
through swollen eyes that something is wrong.

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00:23:44.480 --> 00:23:52.960
He looks like me, He is
me? How how could it be

245
00:23:53.079 --> 00:23:57.480
possible? He swings a branch like
a club, and I feel a bone

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00:23:57.480 --> 00:24:03.440
in my shoulder crunch painfully, and
now all I see is red. I

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00:24:03.559 --> 00:24:07.359
must eat, and I scream in
terror as the hunger repels me forward.

248
00:24:08.880 --> 00:24:11.839
The full weight of the creature falls
on me, and we stumble backward.

249
00:24:12.480 --> 00:24:15.920
I try to push it away,
but his rough skin is loose and thick

250
00:24:17.000 --> 00:24:22.599
like risen bread dough. My fingers
slide inside. The creature's terrible jaws open

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00:24:22.680 --> 00:24:26.920
just inches from my face, and
I let out a cry. I am

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00:24:26.960 --> 00:24:30.440
to blame. Yes, I am
the one who crashed our ship. I

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00:24:30.519 --> 00:24:34.519
misread the navigational charts. Yes,
and rather than help secure the sails,

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00:24:34.559 --> 00:24:40.400
I leapt overboard, leaving my crew
down a man at their most desperate time.

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00:24:41.039 --> 00:24:47.839
And so I clawed at myself,
ripping away my face. The birds

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00:24:47.960 --> 00:24:51.799
begin chirping, flapping their wings with
glee as the creature's nails tear at my

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00:24:51.880 --> 00:25:00.599
face. They're watching, They're entertained. They have done this before. They

258
00:25:00.759 --> 00:25:07.079
watch me devour the man who is
me, and then they disperse, leaving

259
00:25:07.079 --> 00:25:12.440
me alone in the empty forest,
and I fear I shall never again be

260
00:25:12.559 --> 00:25:21.119
the man I was, and all
that remains is the evil I've carried all

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00:25:21.559 --> 00:25:53.920
my life. Thank you for listening
to episode number twelve h four. Today's

262
00:25:53.960 --> 00:26:02.559
authors were Alexis Dubon and Ken Browsky. Today's stories were told by Addison Peacock

263
00:26:02.759 --> 00:26:07.519
and David Alt. I'm Daniel Foytech
and I've been your host today. Our

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00:26:07.519 --> 00:26:11.440
resident composer and executive producer is Nikov
dazing Off. We talk of dreams.

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00:26:11.039 --> 00:26:15.559
Artwork for today's episode was created by
Greg Schaeffer. Our producers are Meg Williams

266
00:26:15.640 --> 00:26:19.480
and Daniel Foytech. To find out
more about The Wicked Library and other Ninth

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00:26:19.559 --> 00:26:25.359
Story shows, visit the Wicked Library
dot com and Ninth Story dot com.

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00:26:25.400 --> 00:26:27.559
If you'd like to help keep this
collection of dark tales coming, please support

269
00:26:27.599 --> 00:26:33.279
The Wicked Library on Patreon at Patreon
dot com forward slash Wicked Library. You

270
00:26:33.319 --> 00:26:37.160
can also help by leaving a five
star rating in short review in Apple podcasts.

271
00:26:37.480 --> 00:26:41.599
These ratings and reviews help other listeners
find the show, which helps generate

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00:26:41.640 --> 00:26:47.799
revenue to ensure no one contributing to
the show works for free. The Wicked

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00:26:47.839 --> 00:26:51.680
Library is created by Ninth Story Studios
LLLC. All rights reserved.

