Speaker 1: The semi tree, the Thinking Atheist. It's not a person,
it's a symbol, an idea.
Speaker 2: The population of atheists this country is going through the.
Speaker 1: Room, rejecting faith, pursuing knowledge, challenging the sacred.
Speaker 3: If I tell the truth, it's because I tell the truth,
not because I put my hand on a book and
made a wish.
Speaker 1: And working together for a more rational world.
Speaker 2: Take the risk of thinking. Feel so much more happiness. Truth,
Usian wisdom will come to you that way.
Speaker 1: Assume nothing, question everything, and start thinking. This is the
Thinking Atheist podcast hosted by Seth Andrews.
Speaker 4: Footsteps creaking on the floor, shadows leaking through the door, phantoms, devils, ghools,
and more. Those Stories twenty twenty four.
Speaker 2: Most of the ghost stories that we hear take place
on dry land, inside a house, a hotel, or even
within a patch of moonlit forest. But in Wimberly, Texas,
there is a literal dive into darkness in a water
filled hole in the earth called Jacob's Well, located at
sixteen ninety nine Mount Sharp Road in Hayes County. Jacob's
Well is the mouth of a fresh water spring. The
opening is about twelve feet in diameter, It is a
drop off from clear shallows into a water buried labyrinth
of tunnels and chambers. Jacob's Well has seen its share
of visitors peering down from above and those who were
just too curious about what lies beneath, swimmers, snorkelers, scuba divers,
and for this reason, Jacob's Well has seen far too
many corpses. This place was once a great mystery. What
was known was only what could be seen from the
surface or on short and shallow dives. Back in the
nineteen thirties, there was a group of brash young men.
They tried to explore the caverns by fashioning a diving
helmets out of an old milk bucket and piping air
into the bucket with a long rubber hose. They didn't
get very far. In the decades after that, improvements in
scuba equipment made Jacobs Well even more enticing, but recreational
divers were unprepared for this unforgiving underwater maze. Some lost
their way, they lost their breath, they lost their lives.
In two thousand, trained cave divers began a planned mission
to map this place. The Jacobs Well Exploration Project began
with measurements and underwater video cameras. The effort would go
on for years, revealing a vast entanglement reaching far beyond
the expected termination zone. Divers would disappear into the tunnels
for hours to take their measurements. To date, approximately six
thousand feet of passages have been mapped in two major conduits,
which are simply called Tunnel A and Tunnel B. There
is a tunnel C and D those are not accessible
to divers. Tunnel A reaches almost a mile from the surface,
with a maximum depth of one hundred and thirty seven feet,
the length of a ten story building. This place is
the second longest fully submerged cave system in the state
of Texas. It is also a grave. In nineteen eighty three,
one diver confused a dead end with the exit tunnel.
He ran out of air and he drowned. Only four
years before, two young divers entered the well. They never resurfaced.
An experienced diver named Don Dibble was charged to go
down and retrieve their bodies. He became trapped in an
underwater gravel se flight in Chamber C, and he himself
had to be dragged to the surface by other rescue divers.
Don had run out of air, he had ruptured his stomach.
Somehow he survived. Chamber Sea has proven so dangerous that
Don returned with a specially constructed rebar gate formed inside concrete.
Within six months, that gait had been removed and someone
had left a sign in its place. The sign read,
you can't keep us out Inside that fourth chamber Chamber
d explorers have found a corroded scuba tank, a weight belt,
a femur bone, even a human skull. Obviously, someone had
gotten disoriented in the floating silt and they had drowned
in darkness. Journalists, scientists, and every every day visitors have
said that standing on the shoreline and looking down into
Jacob's Well, it's like looking into a kind of eye,
like you're gazing into the soul of the earth. As
the corridor goes from bright to aqua to dark blue
to black, this place feels populated with the shadows of
the victims twelve victims so far, and for obvious reasons,
Jacob's Well only allows trained and certified divers there even today.
Put yourself in this suit, in the skin of one
of these underwater explorers. You've checked everything from your buoyancy
controlled vest, to the weight belt, to the oxygen tank.
Your mask is ceiling properly. Your dive computer is fastened
to your wrist. Your flashlight is charged urged. You are ready,
or as ready as you can be for a discent
like this. You drift down, equalizing your ears as ten
feet become twenty, become thirty and more. The light above
goes dim. That twelve foot circle begins to look like
a full moon. Around you, there are crevices and cracks
and openings. The rock is smooth and then jacket and sharp.
The neoprene wetsuit the only thing keeping your body temperature
from matching the sixty five degrees around you. Sixty five
degree water means hypothermia, disorientation. You can forget where you are,
you can forget who you are. Eventually the body goes unconscious,
putting itself to sleep, and you never wake up. The
reality of this danger lingers in the back of your
mind as you move into the first tunnel that your
flashlight sees. The water is usually crystal clear, but these
springs aren't used to the moving of arms and the
kicking of fins. Silt begins to cloud your vision. You
hold as still as you can, hoping to again see
more than three feet in front of you. Your gloved
hands push you further into the maze. A spiky stone
tears a small slits in the leg of your suit.
It hurts, but not enough to go back. There are
turns and narrows, tunnels and funnels. How long have you
been down here? How long until your tank runs out?
The numbers on your your wrist computer say you're fine?
And then the flashlight blinks out. You tighten its lens,
You rattle the handle. There's a brief flicker, but then nothing.
No matter how hard you try, you break a glowstick
tethered to your vest. It is colored blue, but in
your brief panic, you kicked the silt and again darkened
all the liquid around you. You crawl yourself backward or
are you actually going forward? Which way is up?
Speaker 5: Or down?
Speaker 2: Back forth?
Speaker 6: Now?
Speaker 2: The only thing louder than your breathing is the sound
of your racing heart. Your searching fingers find a corridor.
Before you realize it, you have pushed through. You are
inside the hoses on your tank, scraping against the stone.
The glowstick is not helping. The muddy water is like
a thick blue wall. You begin to hyperventilate. The air
in your tank suddenly blasts into the cave like a bomb.
The rock begins to give way, your lower body becomes trapped.
You cannot move, and then you realize that if you
cannot move, you will not live. You will only one
day be found. HP Lovecraft once wrote these words, we
live on a placid island of ignorance, in the midst
of black seas of infinity. And it was not meant
that we should voyage far. How many cautionary tales have
been born of the stories of those who voyaged too far.
Perhaps the Earth is trying desperately to speak its warning
to us, staring unblinking with an eye that connects to
the soul of our world, begging us to stay away
to save our lives, or perhaps beckoning us, inviting us
to come down, to descend into the darkness and join
the others who still sleep in the mile long labyrinth
of Jacob's Well.
Speaker 6: It walks in the cold woods of winter. It is
a beast of ashen flesh, lean as bone, fifteen feet tall.
It is a cannibal. It is the wendigo. This creature
both real and spirit, was first described by the early
Algonquins speaking people of North America. Accounts vary from witness
to witness, but from the Ojibwe, the Soto, the Cree,
the Thescuspy, and the Unutribes, the wendigo was consistently described
as something wicked and dangerous, as if the harsh famines
and deadly struggles of winter had somehow come to life.
The creature was both starving and feasting, hunting for human flesh,
never satisfied, never sleeping, impossible to appease. The Oljibwei scholar
Basil H. Johnson wrote these words, the wendigo was gaunt
to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled tightly
over its bones, with its bones pushing out against its skin,
its complexion the ash gray of death, and its eyes
pushed back deep into their sockets. The wendigo looked like
a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave. What lips
it had were tattered and bloody, unclean and suffering from
suppuration of the flesh. The wendigo gave off a strange
and eerie odor of decay and decomposition of death. And corruption.
It is the creature with the vision of an eagle,
acute hearing and superior strength. Its horns stand tall upon
its head, Its eyes glow, its claws click together. It
is a predator and a hunter of men. The appetite
of the wendigo is insatiable. The more human pleasure of ours,
the larger it grows, the more food it requires, so
it can never be satisfied. Suffering with hunger, It long
ago devoured its own lips. It is the reason children
are told not to enter the woods. Malevolence lives there,
It eats there, and it walks the villages to feast
upon the living. Many believe this to be justice, as
the cold, desperate famines of winter caused humans to sometimes
kill and eat each other. They betrayed their people, they
betrayed nature, and they became marked. The first written account
of the wendigo was penned by a French Jesuit missionary
named Paul le June in sixteen thirty six. He was
living among the Algonquin people when a woman cried a warning.
There was a creature, an atchin or cannibal, giant, roaring
deep and tearing flesh. It screamed for new victims. But
why we gathered and hoardered and stole from our brothers ancestors,
until selfishness and cruelty crawled up from the ground to
punish the wicked for the foolish coveting of money and possessions.
The wendigo would cover the meat under human skin, and
as with our greed, it would only get hungrier by
the day. For centuries, indigenous artists have drawn and painted
the wendigo as a symbol of colonialism, violence, and the
destruction of Mother Earth. Those who cannibalize the forests and
minerals and water, who consume men, women, and children, they
would themselves become food for the adventure. The planet itself
would bring retribution. Some believe that wendigoes now walk the world,
on every continent, through every region, in every town. The
dark side of human nature takes and consumes, and harms
and kills people become the devil. So a devil has
arisen from our deeds. It devis us, It punishes us.
It is us when the nights grow cold, when hearts
grow cold, beware the windy gold. It knows us and
devars us. Even as we div ourselves.
Speaker 7: She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage
and made medicines for the people of the town, herbs, roots,
tinctures of all kinds. The townspeople were afraid of her,
but when their lungs would seize or their children shivered
with fever, there was no one else to turn to.
They would walk the woods and knock on the door
of Bloody Mary. Of course, no one called her Bloody
Mary to her face, but it was long believed that
the old woman was a witch. Crossing her meant that
your wells might go dry, your crops could rot, or
affliction could fall upon you or someone you love. If
this weathered old crone had the power to heal, it
was believed she also had the power to do much more.
And then, during one of the coldest winters in memory,
without explanation, little girls in the village began to disappear.
One by one, they vanished without a trace. Families and
friend searched houses, barns, shops, the church. They combed the
snowy woods, calling the children's names. After the third child
went missing, a few brave souls even treked to Bloody
Mary's cabin in the forest, begging pleading for any clue,
The woman simply shook her head no and slowly closed
the door. As three missing girls became four than five,
the townspeople would take turns knocking on Bloody Mary's door,
desperate for a sign. She would always shake her head
no and slowly closed the door. But something about her
had started to seem different. Her skin was less wrinkled,
its color more blushed. Her eyes were less cloudy. Her
hair drifted around her shoulders like little black feathers. Her
hands were no longer just tissue skinned bones. Bloody Mary
wore the bloom of a youth. Already suspicious. The townspeople
believed these things were connected, the vanishings and the witch,
but they also knew how ridiculous their accusations would sound
to a magistrate, and they feared all sorcery that might
be used against them and their families if they angered
the old woman. So they locked their doors and watched
their children with great vigilance, making sure they did not
leave the house unattended and disappear in the middle of
the night. During the seventh week of these vanishings, the
young daughter of a shopkeeper awoke to an enchanting sound
coming from the fields outside. The sound penetrated her ears
and filled her with warmth and comfort. Without a word,
the girl shifted her feet to the floor and walked
to the window. She did not see the outside world,
she saw her own reflection in the glass. After a moment,
she turned and walked out the door. She was being
drawn away by a curse that no one else could hear. Suddenly,
the shopkeeper and his wife heard a full throated scream
coming from the fields. The man ran outside. Neighbors soon
joined him. They scanned the tree line for the source.
It was the sharp eyed shopkeeper who first saw the girl,
his daughter, apparently trapped within vines as she had been
drawn towards the woods. One hundred feet away was the Hag,
the old woman who had become mysteriously young, porcelain skin,
bright eyes, a gleaming full mouth surrounding icy white teeth.
Still recognizable, she was an age's old version of herself.
In her pristine hand, she pointed a tree fashioned cane,
which was glowing like fire. This younger woman stood very still,
except for her moving lips. The father and mother, and
neighbors the entire town emerged into the moonlight. They had
suspected witchcraft, and now they knew for sure. A mad
scrambling for knives and shovels, pitchforks and sickles, they rushed
towards the woman with a wand bloody Mary broke her
spell and fled back toward her home. Dozens of shouting, crying,
raging townspeople followed her through the thick brush and dense trees.
When they reached her tiny cabin, the witch was waiting
to greet them from her doorway, as if realizing what
was to come. With a wry smile, the darkly, lovely,
bloody Mary met the eyes of each of her pursuers
and again shook her head no. She moved her lips again.
This time the sound she made was clear to all,
a searing, dissonant siren that brought the crowd to its knees.
The words they heard were language, but unknowable beyond the
world of spellcasters. The people could not know each sound
was a curse, variations on a single promise revenge. When
the old woman finally went silent, she walked into the
cabin and closed the door. It was then that the
torches were lit. It was then that her house was
set aflame. It was then that Bloody Mary was burned
to death. As the fire raged, each within the mob
could somehow see their own reflections in the window glass.
It would be days before a few adventurous men would
walk beyond the charred cabin to discover still recognizable graves
placed just two hundred feet away. The bodies of the
children were uncovered. Each of them had been drained of blood.
These young victims had been a literal fountain of youth
for the witch in the woods. Strangely, in the years
that followed, no one in the town met calamity. No
curse befell them, no avenger came for them. Each lived
a long life without reprisal. But the descendants of the
town would not be so lucky. Children would grow to
have children, then grandchildren, and with each generation the young
would speak of a scary face living within mirrors, standing
in darkness, enchanted under a spell. Those who said the
witch's name three times would have flesh, bone and blood
drawn into the glass, leaving nothing but mystery behind. Over
the centuries, that curse became a legend. The legend became
a game. Today, the aging Crone no longer discriminates along
family lines. After all, youth is youth. Beauty is beauty.
So she drifts behind glass in search of bright eyes
and smooth skin. Speak her name and she will drink
you like wine. Those who wish to test this fantastic
tale are free to do what so many others have done.
Center the mirror, lower the lights, take a deep breath,
and say the name. Say my name, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,
Bloody Mary.
Speaker 2: I hope you have been enjoying yourself so far on
our yearly ghost Stories show. I need to take a
very short break, but stand by because there are many
more stories to come. If you are enjoying this podcast,
I invite you to check out my second ghost Stories
audiobook at audible dot com. This is volume two, a
compilation of original tales and ghostly urban legends compiled over
the last six years, all brought together thirty different ghost
stories just for you. I have linked the audiobook in
the description box, so get one for yourself, do an
Audible gift for some other audiobook fan in your own life,
Get into the spooky spirit and enjoy nearly four hours
of haunts. Ghost Stories Volume two. The audiobook is now
available at audible dot Com.
Speaker 8: Dad, what's that place.
Speaker 5: It's a cemetery. You know what a cemetery is, don't you.
Speaker 8: It's where grandma is.
Speaker 5: It's where grandma is.
Speaker 8: I could see her.
Speaker 5: No, her headstone is way back over the hill.
Speaker 8: Not the headstone, Dad. I saw Grandma standing with those people.
Speaker 5: Those people, Uh what people?
Speaker 8: They're all behind us now, back at the cemetery.
Speaker 5: What people did you see?
Speaker 8: You didn't see the people. They were all looking at us,
looking at us, a bunch of them. But they were frozen.
Nobody was moving. It was like in my games.
Speaker 5: What do you mean frozen? Like in your game?
Speaker 8: They were on pause, like when you press the button
and pause games, James.
Speaker 5: There wasn't anybody back there. Everybody in a cemetery is
buried under the ground. They're not walking.
Speaker 8: Around, not walking, Dad, They were on pause.
Speaker 5: Fine, you saw somebody who was on pause.
Speaker 8: Not somebody. There were a lot of them. They all
looked sad.
Speaker 5: Okay, they were sad.
Speaker 8: Especially Grandma. She looked at me like somebody was in trouble.
Speaker 5: What do you mean like she was mad?
Speaker 8: Yeah. Grandma used to say that we don't really die.
She said, we get extra.
Speaker 5: Lives, like in video games.
Speaker 8: I guess so.
Speaker 5: So if those people didn't die, where do you think
they were going, Dad?
Speaker 8: They weren't going. They were on pause.
Speaker 5: Ah, they were on pause.
Speaker 8: If I was Grandma, I wouldn't be ready to die either,
especially if I was still angry at you.
Speaker 5: Grandma said she was angry at me. Why was she
angry at me?
Speaker 8: She said that I wasn't supposed to tell.
Speaker 5: You can tell me. What did she say?
Speaker 8: She said you took things. I took things, expensive things.
She saw you going through her stuff.
Speaker 5: James, I didn't take anything.
Speaker 8: You didn't take the money. Grandma said you took the money, James.
Speaker 5: Who told you that?
Speaker 8: And she said he locked her in her room sometimes
and put bad things in her medicine bottles.
Speaker 5: James.
Speaker 8: She told me not to tell. She said she would
fix it.
Speaker 5: Fix it, fix it how.
Speaker 8: I don't know, Dad. She got sick after that. Then
she went to the cemetery.
Speaker 5: I didn't take anything. I didn't give Grandma anything.
Speaker 8: That's what she said, you'd say, but I mean it.
Speaker 5: I would never hurt Grandma. I would never steal from Grandma.
Speaker 8: She was pretty mad. I don't know if she's gonna
believe you.
Speaker 5: She won't believe me when.
Speaker 8: When she starts moving like in my games, when she's
no longer on pause.
Speaker 2: The recording you are about to hear was first broadcast
decades ago on American religious television. Home video copies were
soon converted to audio tapes, then in studios and private
homes across the country and around the world. Those tapes
were duplicated and distributed by the hundreds, then thousands. It
wasn't long before these degraded, second and even third generation
cassette copies became a source of public panic, as the
recordings appeared to capture the screams of the damned miles
under our feet inside a literal well to hell. The
story dates back to nineteen eighty nine Siberia, three years
before the fall of the Soviet Union. Russian geologists were
reportedly compiling data for oil and gas exploration, mining and
the documentation of subsurface activity. Led by an individual known
in the record only as mister Ozakov, the geology team
was using state of the art technology drilling through the
Earth's surface to a depth of more than nine miles
when suddenly the large drill bit reached a massive cavity
where the researchers expected to find thick magma, they realized
they had instead punched into a hollow chamber. They had
found a massive cave of fire where none should exist.
The work was paused as investigators looked for answers. Temperatures
ten miles deep can reach nine hundred degrees, so Ozakov
commissioned a specially designed and heat shielded microphone attached to
a massive coil of audio cable. From the entrance high above.
That microphone would be lowered and lowered until it reached
the cavern, activating recorder back on this surface. The sounds
documented from that day would soon be leaked beyond Soviet
borders to capture the attention of the world, especially those
who hold to the biblical warning of Matthew twenty five
forty six. And these will go away into eternal punishment,
but the righteous into eternal life. Revelation Chapter one further
describes a fiery lake of burning sulfur the second Death.
Many historians of health theology have long speculated that Hades
isn't another worldly place, but rather a chamber closer than
we've imagined. On the day of the apocalypse, after the
righteous are drawn up into the heavens, the crust of
the Earth will dissolve away, and the damned will descend
into an eternal torment sitting just beneath their feet. This
is a short segment of that audio allegedly recorded in
nineteen eighty nine by Russian geologists, a recording that is
said to reveal the screams of the tormented in hell.
The hottest temperatures on Earth are found in our planet's core,
estimated by scientists to be more than nine thousand degrees fahrenheit.
Is it possible that the Earth's center holds billions of
condemned souls? Does the boiling and roiling magma that has
long brought volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and tsunamis bring disaster of
another kind? Early claims about this place originated in a
Finnish religious journal. Tabloids eagerly republished and revised this story
throughout the nineteen nineties, and of course, in the age
of the Internet. Those recordings continue to be played today,
But today the story seems just a story. Investigators found
that the Soviet Union did have geologists drilling down more
than seven miles in the late nineteen eighties, but not
in Siberia. Instead, they were drilling on the Kola Peninsula,
which shares borders with Norway and Finland. Geological anomalies were found,
but nothing supernatural was reported. No devil or dungeon, no
fire and brimstone, no agonized screams. Another version of that
story took place not in Russia, but in Alaska. Expert
audio technicians have protested that it would be impossible to
insulate a microphone to function at nine hundred degrees fahrenheit.
Engineers examined the recording. They believe the screams were not
from an underground hell, but instead were likely taken from
a nineteen seventy two horror film called Barren Blood. Throughout
the years, pranksters have taken those early tapes and augmented
them for greater effect. But the things that people fear
are so often about what they feel, not what they know,
And all of these decades after that first recording was
played to the world, many continue to believe that they
are not hearing manufactured myth. But what the poet Robert
Frost once called a half filled auditorium? Is it unreal
or is it real? Is there a literal well to hell?
Waiting for the rest of us to fill that forever
boiling room.
Speaker 9: Two sentence horror stories.
Speaker 10: There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping.
I live alone. My sister says that Mommy killed her.
I don't have a sister. I can't move, breathe here,
or speak in the darkness of this place. If I
had known it would be like this, I would have
been cremated instead. I work the night shift alone. There's
a man smiling at me on the security camera. I
woke up to someone knocking on my bedroom window. Then
I realized the sound was coming from the mirror. My
husband asked why I was breathing so heavily. I told
him it wasn't me. He was cryogenically frozen upon his death.
No way of telling them that he was still awake.
I wondered why my dog always stared at me nervously.
Then I realized that the dog was looking directly behind me.
They delivered the Mannikins packaged and bubble wrap. In the
middle of the night. I heard the sounds of popping.
My mother casts two shadows on the floor. The room
has only a single lightbulb. A little girl is smiling
at me from outside my window. I live on the
fourteenth floor. My daughter won't stop crying in the middle
of the night. I visit her gray and ask her
to stop, but she just won't listen. I can't sleep,
she whispered. I nuzzled against the dress she had been
buried in. I live by myself in a large house.
I have closed more doors than I have opened. That's
the grave where my father was put. A hand reached
up and grabbed my foot. I never go to sleep.
Why do I keep waking up? The longer I wear it,
the more comfortable it feels. The girl had such pretty skin.
Mendelssohn's Funeral March suddenly played in my headphones. Then I
realized they were not plugged in. I awoke in a
wooden box. Hear the hammering of nails. The children are sweet.
It's best when you don't overbake them. The woman caught
my eye. Why won't she give it back? Grandma locked
her valuables in a shiny silver box. That's where she
keeps the pieces of me. There's nothing like the laughter
of a child. Thank God for shallow graves. The cat
was purring in my left ear. I only have a dog.
I tuck my son in for the night. When he pleads, Mommy,
check for monsters under the bed. My check, and a
figure whispers, Mommy, there's something in my bed. The doctor
said amputees sometimes feel a phantom limb. They didn't say
I'd feel someone holding my hand. Don't look into the closet.
It hates being scene. I stand upon my tall wood box.
I know how your window unlocks. Woke me and said
there was an intruder in our house. He was murdered
years ago. I see my reflection. Why are those the
only eyes blinking? I keep dreaming I'm killed by a
man I've never met. I think he's sitting at the
other side of the restaurant. The knife slices just like butter.
I used to be a loving mother. The kids admired
how high they had swung. They're swaying right where they
were hung. I held his hand as I went on
my walk. With any luck, they won't find the rest
of him. I wash my hands ten times a day.
The blood just won't come off. Your love keeps me warm,
I told my husband. Then the pyre began to burn.
They once called me the evil twin. Today I am
the only child.
Speaker 2: On the other side of this, I have three more
ghost stories all cued up and ready for you, and
we'll do it next. Thank you so much for listening.
Happy Halloween. It is the final segment of our annual
podcast ghost Stories twenty twenty four. A quick note about
this next story. It's a poem. For lack of a
better word. It first came to the public's attention after
being posted on TikTok by someone using the generic handle
user six ' eight five one nine five eight. That
channel has several poems origins unknown, but it was this
particular post that seemed to catch the public's imagination. To date,
that TikTok video has been viewed over six million times.
Its words have been printed, reprinted, told, and retold four years.
Its meaning has been discussed by people all over the world.
Is this just an eerie exchange, an interesting and halloweeny
kind of s story, or does it hold a deeper
message about those who are distant, or different or just
very small? I offer my own interpretation of that poem
here so that you might decide for yourself.
Speaker 9: Ten legs eight broken to the spider, the shadowed creature
in the corner of the room, I hate you. You
scared me, just as your brothers and sisters did before you,
and I will tell you what I told them. You
are a trespasser that does not belong here. You entered
without knocking, roamed freely like this is your home, and
decor rated my walls with unwonted silk webs without asking.
You may not be the only killer here, but only
one of us is innocent. And it's not you, the
spider says to me. It's brittle body, squashed and dying.
It's not you either. There is venom infused in my
fang shaped mors, but I was born this way. What's
your excuse? If you could count your murders, how long
would you be counting? Am I really this threatening? I
thought human hearts were bigger than mine, but you have
killed with malice instead of marrow of your bones and
poison bubbling behind your skull. I'm sorry for scaring you,
but I didn't know being seen, which cost me my life.
Maybe if you didn't fabricate the prickly feeling of my
legs creeping upon your skin while I crawled across the
living room floor, if the webs I weaved were made
of cotton candy and captured Clementine's cherries and sweet peace
rather than struggling wings and blood. If I had a
pink tongue posh fa, a wagging tail, and four legs
instead of eight. If I had only two eyes and they.
Speaker 3: Were glittering stars and not massive black holes. If I
was the same but looked different, maybe you wouldn't hate me.
Maybe you wouldn't have.
Speaker 9: Loved me either, And maybe you still wouldn't have let
me stay. But maybe you would have shown me the
door or a window. Maybe you would have shown me mercy.
But you are still standing, and I am still sorry.
I think maybe, no matter how reluctant, mercy would have
been enough.
Speaker 11: If you feel your skin go cold, the whisper are near.
They walk the winds a hundredfold. Just turn away your ear,
don't approach, do not go near. Their mumblings are perverse.
They'll breathe into your open ears, the poison of a curse.
Long they've wandered. Long they've crept so rotted and unhole,
craving human flesh to eat and drinking down the soul.
Don't believe that corpses rest when buried in the ground.
Many of the worst and best arise and drift around,
worms in sockets, bones for hands, their skulls protruding gray
from beneath the blackened cloaks, the teeth all chipped away, Smiling, frowning, hungry, raged,
as hollow as a shell, they feast upon the living soul.
They won't fall down to hell. When you hear the
whisper men, then you are in their se If you
listen to their words, it means for you good night.
Just ignore the whispermen, or try as best you can.
Maybe they'll just go away to where their haunts began.
Speaker 2: Button Button by Richard Matheson. The package was lying by
the front door, a cube shaped curtain sealed with tape.
Their name and address printed by hand, Mister and missus
Arthur Lewis, two seventeen East thirty seventh Street, New York,
New York, one zero zero one six. Norma picked it up,
unlocked the door, and went into the apartment. It was
just getting dark. After she put the lamb, chops and
the broilers, she sat down to open the package. Inside
the cartain was a push button unit fastened to a
small wooden box. A glass dome covered the button Norma
tried to lift it off, but it was locked in place.
She turned the unit over and saw a folded piece
of paper scotch taped to the bottom of the box.
She pulled it off. Mister Stewart will call you at
eight pm. Norma put the button unit beside her on
the couch. She re read the typed note, smiling. A
few moments later, she went back into the kitchen to
make the salad. The doorbell rang at eight o'clock. I'll
get it, Norma called from the kitchen. Arthur was in
the living room reading. There was a small man in
the hallway. He removed his hat as Norma opened the door.
Missus Lewis, he inquired politely. Yes, I'm mister Stewart. Oh, yes,
Norma repressed a smile. She was sure now it was
a sales pitch. May I come in, asked mister Stewart.
I'm rather busy, Norma said, I'll get you your what
you might call it, though she started to turn don't
you want to know what it is? Norma turned back.
Mister Stewart's tone had been offensive. No, I don't think so,
she replied. It could prove very valuable. He told her monetarily,
she challenged. Mister Stewart nodded, monetarily, he said. Norma frowned.
She didn't like his attitude. What are you trying to sell,
she asked. I'm not selling anything, he answered. Arthur came
out of the living room. Something wrong, mister Stewart introduced himself.
Oh the Arthur pointed toward the living room and smiled.
What is that gadget? Anyway, it won't take long to explain,
replied mister Stewart. May I come in? If you're selling something,
Arthur said. Mister Stewart shook his head. I'm not. Arthur
looked at Norma. Up to you, she said, He hesitated,
Well why not, he said. They went into the living
room and mister Stewart sat enormous chair. He reached into
an inside coat pocket and withdrew a small sealed envelope.
Inside Here is a key to the bell unit dome,
he said. He set the envelope on the chair side table.
The bell is connected to our office. What's it for,
asked Arthur. If you push the button, mister Stewart told him,
somewhere in the world, someone you don't know will die
in return for which you will receive a payment of
fifty thousand dollars. Norma stared at the small man. He
was smiling. What are you talking about, Arthur asked him.
Mister Stewart looked surprised. But I've just explained, he said.
Is this a practical joke, asked Arthur, not at all.
The offer is completely genuine. You aren't making sense, Arthur said,
you expect us to believe. Whom do you represent? Demanded Norma.
Mister Stewart looked embarrassed. I'm afraid I'm not at LEAs
liberty to tell you that, he said. However, I assure
you the organization is of international scope. I think you'd
better leave, Arthur said, standing mister Stewart rose, of course,
and take your button unit with you. Are you sure
you wouldn't care to think about it for a day
or so. Arthur picked up the button unit and the
envelo open, thrust them into mister Stewart's hands. He walked
into the hall and pulled open the door. I'll leave
my card, said mister Stewart. He placed it on the
table by the door. When he was gone, Arthur tore
it in half and tossed the pieces onto the table.
Norma was still sitting on the sofa. What do you
think it was? She asked, I don't care to know,
he answered. She tried to smile, but couldn't. Aren't you
curious at all? No, he shook his head. After Arthur
returned to his book, Norma went back to the kitchen
and finished washing the dishes. Why won't you talk about it,
Norma asked. Arthur's eyes shifted as he brushed his teeth.
He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Doesn't
it intrigue you? It offends me, Arthur said, I know,
but Norma rolled another curler in her hair. Doesn't it
intrigue you too? You think it's a practical joke, she
asked as they went into the bedroom. If it is,
it's a sick one. Norma sat on her bed and
took off her slippers. Maybe it's some kind of psychological research,
Arthur shrugged. Could be, maybe some eccentric millionaire is doing it.
Maybe wouldn't you like to know? Arthur shook his head.
Why because it's immoral, he told her. Norma slid beneath
the covers. Well, I think it's intriguing, she said, Arthur
turned off the lamp and leaned over to kiss her
good night. He said good night, She patted his back.
Norma closed her eyes. Fifty thousand dollars, she thought. In
the morning, as she left the apartment, Norma saw the
card halves on the table. Impulsively, she dropped them into
her purse. She locked the front door and joined Arthur
in the elevator. While she was on her coffee break,
she took the card halves from her purse and held
the torn edges together. Only mister Stewart's name and telephone
number were printed on the card. After lunch, she took
the card halves from her purse again and scotch taped
the edges together. Why am I doing this, she thought?
Just before five, she dialed the number. Good afternoon, said
mister Stewart's voice. Norma almost hung up, but restrained herself.
She cleared her throat. This is missus Lewis, she said, Yes,
Missus Lewis. Mister Stewart sounded pleased. I'm curious. That's natural,
mister Stewart said, Not that I believe a word of
what you told us. Oh, it's quite authentic, mister Stewart answered, well, whatever,
Norma swallowed. When you said someone in the world would die,
what did you mean exactly that? He answered, it could
be anyone. All we guarantee is that you don't know them,
and of course that you wouldn't have to watch them
die for fifty thousand dollars. Norma said, that is correct.
She made a scoffing sound. That's crazy. Nonetheless, that is
the proposition, mister Stewart said, would you like me to
return the button unit? Norma stiffened, certainly not. She hung
up angrily. The package was lying by the front door.
Norma saw it as she left the elevator. Well of
all the nerves, she thought. She glared at the curtain
as she unlocked the door. I just won't take it in,
she thought. She went inside and started dinner. Later, she
went into the front hall, opening the door. She picked
up the package and carried it into the kitchen, leaving
it on the table. She sat in the living room
looking out the window. After a while, she went back
into the kitchen to turn the cutlets and the broiler.
She put the package in a bottom cabinet. She'd throw
it out in the morning. Maybe some eccentric millionaires playing
games with people, she said. Arthur looked up from his dinner.
I don't understand you. What does that mean? Let it go?
He told her. Norma ate in silence. Suddenly she put
her fork down. Suppose it's a genuine offer, she said.
Arthur stared at her. Suppose it's a genuine offer. All right,
suppose it is, He looked, incredulous. What would you like
to do? Get the button back and push it? Murder someone,
Norma looked, disgusted.
Speaker 5: Murder?
Speaker 2: How would you define it if you don't even know
the person, Norma said. Arthur looked astounded. Are you saying
what I think you are? If it's some old Chinese
peasant ten thousand miles away, some diseased native in the Congo,
how about a baby boy in Pennsylvania, Arthur countered, some
beautiful little girl on the next block. Now you're loading things.
The point is, Norma, he continued, what's the difference whom
you kill? It's still murder? The point is, Norma broke in.
If it's someone you've never seen in your life and
will never see, someone whose death you don't even have
to know about, you still wouldn't push the button. Arthur stared,
at her appalled. You mean you would fifty dollars, Arthur?
What has the amount? Fifty thousand dollars?
Speaker 8: Arthur?
Speaker 2: A chance to take that trip to Europe we've always
talked about, Norma. No, A chance to buy that cottage
on the island. Norma no. His face was white. She shuddered.
All right, take it easy, she said, Why are you
getting so upset? It's only talk. After dinner, Arthur went
into the living room. Before he left the table, he said,
I'd rather not discuss it anymore, if you don't mind.
Norma shrugged, fine with me. She got up earlier than
usual to make pancakes, eggs, and bacon for Arthur's breakfast.
What's the occasion, he asked, with a smile. No occasion,
Norma looked defended. I wanted to do it. That's all good,
he said, I'm glad you did. She refilled his cup.
Wanted to show you I'm not, she shrugged. Not what selfish?
Did I say?
Speaker 5: You were?
Speaker 2: Well? She gestured vaguely. Last night Arthur didn't speak all
that talk about the button, Norma said, I think you
well misunderstood me in what way? His voice was guarded?
I think you felt She gestured again that I was
only thinking of myself. Oh I wasn't, Norma, Well, I
wasn't when I talked about Europe, a cottage on the island. Norma,
why are we getting so involved in this? I'm not
involved at all, she drew in a shaking breath. I'm
simply trying to indicate what that I'd like for us
to go to Europe, Like for us to have a
cottage on the island, Like for us to have a
nicer apartment, nicer furniture, nicer clothes, a car, like for
us to finally have a baby. For that matter, Norma,
we will, He said, When are you He seemed to
draw back slightly. Are you really saying? I'm saying that
they're probably doing it for some research project. She cut
him off that they want to know what average people
would do under such a circumstance that they're just saying
someone would die in order to study reactions, see if
there'd be guilt, anxiety, whatever. You don't think they'd kill somebody,
do you? Arthur didn't answer. She saw his hands trembling.
After a while, he got up and left. When he'd
gone to work, Norma remained at the table, staring into
her coffee. I'm going to be late, she thought, She shrugged.
What difference did it make? She should be home anyway,
not working in an office. While she was stacking dishes,
she turned abruptly, dried her hands, and took the package
from the bottom cabinet, opening it, she set the button
unit on the table. She stared at it for a
long time before taking the key from its envelope and
removing the glass dome. She stared at the button. How ridiculous,
she thought, all this furor over a meaningless button. Reaching
out she pressed it down for us, she thought angrily.
She shuddered. Was it happening? A chill of horror swept
across her. In a moment it had passed, she made
a contemptuous noise. Ridiculous, she thought, to get so worked
up over nothing. She threw the button unit, dome and
key into the wastebasket and hurried to dress for work.
She had just turned over the supper stakes when the
telephone rang. She picked up the receiver. Hello, missus Lewis, Yes,
this is the Lennox Hill Hospital. She felt unreal as
the voice informed her of the subway accident. The shoving crowd.
Arthur was pushed from the platform in front of the
She was conscious of shaking her head, but couldn't stop.
As she hung up, she remembered Arthur's life insurance policy
for twenty five thousand dollars with double indemnity for no
She couldn't seem to breathe. She struggled to her feet
and walked into the kitchen numbly. Something cold pressed against
her skull as she removed the button unit from the wastebasket.
There were no nails or screws visible. She couldn't see
how it was put together. Abruptly, she began to smash
it on the sink edge, pounding it harder and harder
until the wood split. She pulled the sides apart, cutting
her fingers without noticing there were no transistors in the box,
no wires or tubes. The box was empty. She whirled
with a gasp as the telephone rang. Stumbling into the
living room, she picked up the receiver. Missus Lewis. Mister
Stewart asked, it wasn't her voice shrieking, So it couldn't be,
you said, I wouldn't know the one that died, My
dear lady mister Stewart said, do you really think you
knew your husband? Special? Thanks to the guest voice actors
who helped bring this year's show to life. Daisy May
Park Persons narrated Ten Legs Eight Broken. DC Douglas and
Elisa Simon were the father and son on the Grandma
in the Cemetery Tale on Pause, James Smilly voiced the Wendigo,
John Grimes narrated the Whispermen, and Ashley Crossman did a
wonderful job on two sentence horror stories. Over the years,
I've been honored to write, tell, and develop these high
impact theater of the mind productions for you. And once
again I've got thirty ghost stories and urban legends compiled
from over half a decade now in audiobook form at
audible dot com, which I have linked in the description box.
Thanks for your support, thanks for listening, and of course,
Happy Halloween.