Speaker 1: Calorogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled Echoes of Eldridge, Part three, The
Watcher's Game.
Speaker 2: The echo of the Watcher's scream still rang in my ears,
a cacophony of terror that seemed to vibrate through my
very bones. The broken ritual circle lay around me, salt
and iron scattered like the remnants of hope. The Watcher
towered before me, its form shifting, its eyes, burning with
a hunger I had only read about in the darkest
of tales. As I scrambled back, my hand flailing for
the fallen dagger. The Watcher's laughter, if you could call it, that,
filled the room, a sound like steel scraping against bone.
My heart pounded with such ferocity I feared it would
betray me. Bursting from my chest in panic, Run Little Eldridge.
It taunted, its voice, a multi layered whisper that seemed
to come from every direction. Let's play a game. I
didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling to my feet,
I bolted from the room, the manner's architecture twisting around me.
Where once there were familiar corridors, now doors led to
rooms that hadn't existed moments before. The layout of Eldridge
Manner was changing, morphing into a labyrinth that defied logic
or memory. I ran, my breath ragged, each step echoing
in the vast emptiness of the manner, each sound amplified
by the silence that followed the Watcher's laughter. The air
was colder, now biting at my skin with an unnatural chill,
and shadows seemed to grow, moving independently of any light source.
I found myself in a room I had never seen,
filled with mirrors of all sizes, each reflecting not just me,
but distorted, twisted versions of myself, some laughing, some screaming.
The laughter of the watcher echoed through the reflections, a
chorus of madness. I turned away, seeking an exit, but
the door I had entered through was gone, replaced by
another mirror. Time seemed to warp. One moment it was night,
the next a strange, eerie daylight filtered through windows that
were not there before. I was trapped in a cycle,
each attempt to find my way back to the library
or out of the manner only leading me into more
bizarre and terrifying vistas. I stumbled into a room where
the furniture moved as if alive, chairs sliding across the
floor to block my path, books flying from shelves to
pelt me. You think you can escape me? The Watcher's
voice came from behind me, and I turned to see
it standing in the doorway, its form now a blend
of shadow and substance, like smoke given form. I dove
under a table as books and objects flew, trying to
gather my wits. I remembered the text from the library,
the law I had read. There was another mention of
a secondary ritual, one not of binding, but of banishment,
something more desperate, less certain. It required not just artifacts,
but a readiness to confront the Watcher directly, to challenge
it in its own game. But fear was a living thing,
now crawling under my skin, making each breath a labor.
I crawled out from under the table, my mind racing.
The Watcher was toying with me, enjoying this chase. It
wanted fear fed on it. But perhaps I could use
that against it again, this time not just to escape,
but to find what I needed. The corridors twisted further,
walls closing in only to open up into vast, empty spaces,
where my footsteps echoed like the tolling of a death knell.
I stumbled upon a staircase that spiraled down down into darkness,
the steps slick with a moisture that smelled of decay.
At the bottom, I found a door, it's wood black
with age, and beyond it the library I sought. The
library was different now. The air was charged with an
energy that made my skin prickle. The book seemed to
watch me their spines like the eyes of the dead.
I seized the book that had spoken of the secondary ritual,
flipping through its pages with desperate urgency until I found it.
The ritual was complex, requiring not just the words, but
an understanding of the entity's nature. I needed to confront
the watcher with its own truth to force it back
into the shadows from whence it came. I gathered what
I could A handful of herbs mentioned in the text,
a vial of what looked like blood but was perhaps
something else, and a candle that still burned, its flame,
unwavering in this place of chaos. With these items, I
returned to the corridor, the manner once again shifting around me.
I found a spot where four corridors met, a place
of confluence, and began to set up my makeshift altar.
The Watcher appeared almost immediately, its form now fully corporeal,
its eyes like burning coals. You think to banish me,
it mocked, its voice a growl that shook the walls.
You are but a child playing at magic's You do
not understand. I began the chant, my voice steady despite
the terror that threatened to overwhelm me. The herbs burned,
releasing a scent that seemed to repel the darkness, the
blood or whatever it was. I poured into a circle
around me, reciting the words that were not just about banishment,
but about understanding, about seeing the Watcher for what it
truly was, a creature of fear, but one that could
be diminished by confronting that fear. The Watcher's form wavered,
its laughter turning to a snarl of rage. As the
ritual began to take effect, shadows recoiled and the air
grew less oppressive. But it was not over. The Watcher
wasn't going without a fight. It lunged and I felt
its cold, dark presence enveloped me. My words faltering, you
dare challenge me. Its voice hissed, now closer, its breath
of freezing mist. You are in my domain, now, little Eldridge.
The manner itself seemed to conspire against me, walls closing
in the ground beneath me, becoming unsteady, as if I
stood upon the surface of a sleeping giant about to awaken.
I could hear the creaks and groans of the structure,
each sound a reminder that I was not alone, that
this place was an extension of the Watcher's will. I
pushed on with the ritual, my voice a beacon in
the darkness, trying to anchor myself in the light of
the candle, the only real light left in this place.
The Watcher's form distorted, growing larger then smaller, as if
struggling against the words that were binding it. You cannot
escape fear, the Watcher whispered, its voice, now, like a
lullaby meant to lull me into despair. You are part
of this place, part of me. But I knew the
truth was not my master. I was Edwin Crane, and
I would not let fear dictate my fate. I redoubled
my efforts, the chant growing stronger the herbs burning brighter,
the circle of blood or whatever it was, shimmering with
a power I could only hope was enough, you think
to bind me again. Let's see if you survived the
night It hissed, its face inches from mine, its breath
a chill that seeped into my very soul. The candle flickered,
the circle of Blood shimmered, and in that moment of confrontation,
I knew the real battle had only just begun. The
night stretched before me, endless, filled with the promise of
horrors yet to come, but perhaps just perhaps an end
to this nightmare. Yet, as the Watcher's form began to dissipate,
I couldn't shake the feeling that this was not the end,
but merely a pause in a game that was far
from over.
Speaker 1: Ghost is a Calorogus Shark Media production, written and hosted
by Alexander Ian McIntyre, produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers
Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may
have been created with the assistance of Ai Calaroga Shark
Media