Speaker 1: High excursionists. It's way back Wednesday on Into the Night Anthology,
a return to a story that left its mark. And
if you're a library member, don't forget there's another story
waiting just for you. Be sure to check your email
if you haven't found your way there yet. Listen all
the way to the end to find out how you
can become a story in my library. This episode may
contain content that is not suitable for all audiences. Listener
discretion is advised, especially for those under the age of thirteen.
Speaker 2: Welcome to Into the Night. I'm Narri your guide on
today's excursion down a twisted path. Be careful not to
get lost. Be it dark or light, it's easy to
lose your way. Are you ready, then let's begin. It
depends how you frame it. The afternoon sun streamed through
the windows of the art studio located on the second
floor of a rambling farmhouse. Long ago, urban sprawl crept
around the home until now it was in the center
of a modern residential area. All other farm houses were
demolished or destroyed by fire or neglect over the years,
and now this house remained as the last vestige of
years passed. It stood like a glimpse back into the
time when most people made their livings by farming. Cookie
cutter suburban homes now surrounded the place. Located at one
five seven five Crittendon Avenue, Scarlet McDowell stopped hand in
mid air to admire the effect of the light coming
through the window. The branches on the tree outside bobbed
and swayed in the breeze and combined with the sunlight
to produce a mosaic of dancing shadows on the canvas.
Scarlet always delighted in beautiful moments like this one in
a strange way, ever since she was a child. Moments
like this reminded her that anything was possible. I guess
that's why I've always been a dreamer. Scarlet smiled and
went back to her oil painting. She added a touch
more blue, and then a splash of red. This one's
coming together nicely. Within a half an hour.
Speaker 1: She was satisfied with her work. She carefully inscribed one
seven four to two on the corner under her signature,
Now you need to dry and you'll be ready to frame.
In her younger years, she'd painted mainly landscapes, capturing the
nuances of passing clouds or dandelion seeds blowing in the
breeze helped her hone her artistic skills. Creating images that
evoked feelings in people became her passion. My mother called
it a gift. She cleaned her paint brush and thought
about all the generations of her family who made this
house their home. Great grandmother told me stories by the hour.
In her youth, she was a beauty, and she had
many adventures with her sisters and three boy cousins. Nothing bad,
just innocent child's play by country kids. They didn't have
the technology that cripples imaginations in today's generation, so they
had to create their fun. Scarlet washed and dried her hands,
then looked back out the window. She saw past the
tree waving in the wind, and viewed row after row
of suburban homes in her neighborhood. Shaking her head, she
let out a sigh. My grandparents would be heartbroken to
see what's happened to the farm. Peace by piece, it's
sold to developers. I wish I could make them all
go away and have peace and quiet around here again
like it used to be. She watched as a moving
van pulled into the driveway of a nearby house. I
bet the real estate agent never said a word about
the crime around here. There isn't a house in this
neighborhood that hasn't had something horrific happen. In the past
few years. Crime stories made the local news regularly, and
Crittenton Avenue and surrounding streets now had a dangerous reputation. Murders, suicides,
hostage situations, and other unseemly acts plagued what used to
be a family friendly neighborhood. You just never know what's
going to happen around here. Next, Scarlet's delicate fingers lightly
touched her throat as she watched a family unload the
longings from the moving van. Fifteen seventy eight. Crittenton was
the scene of a gruesome murder two months earlier. It's
a shame they look like nice people. They don't have
a clue what this neighborhood is like. She sighed and
looked around the studio. It's too early to stop painting now.
I feel like starting something near Her previous project sat drying,
but another easel held a blank canvas, inviting Scarlet to
pick up her brushes again. While the landscapes were once
her passion, she went through a phase of painting portraits.
She dabbled in those until she grew tired of them.
Never a social person, being surrounded by the faces staring
at her from canvases unsettled Scarlet. Even in school, she
dreaded giving presentations in front of the class because she
wasn't comfortable being the center of attention. In fact, for
a while, Scarlet lost interest in painting altogether when the
portrait phase came to a close to occupy herself. During
that time, she discovered podcasts, especially those dealing with true crime. Initially,
she wasn't sure what gave her this new fascination, but strangely,
the storylines gave her inspiration at a time when she'd
lost her artistic news. She listened to the shows often
while she painted. One podcast host in particular was her favorite, Bailey.
Irreverent and comical while telling listeners about gruesome crimes, created
the mood Scarlet thrived in while painting. These days. On
her phone, she pulled up the most recent episode of
her favorite podcast and began listening. She set to work
and chose the colors to use, then walked to the easel.
She situated it so she could face the window and
watch her new neighbors risk their lives moving into an
increasingly dangerous area. Dabbing her brush on the palette, she
put the first strokes onto the canvas. A rich brown
color provided the perfect background for what she had in mind.
A smile crept across her face as the painting grew
more vibrant with every brushstroke. A shocking addition of crimson
highlighted the scene she painted. Engrossed in her work, she
barely noticed the podcast in the background had ended and
the next episode began. Lost in her thoughts, the creative
energy flowed onto the canvas. Finally, she exhaled a triumphant sigh.
As she finished the painting, she signed in the right
hand corner and carefully added one, five, seven eight. My
work for today is almost finished. I think I'll take
a break, eat something, and come back up here to
frame both paintings. Standing back and admiring the day's accomplishments,
she smiled, you turned out so nicely. After a few hours,
as the sun hung low in the sky, Scarlet returned
to the art studio and framed the paintings. Once I
hang you in my gallery, you will be ready to.
Speaker 2: Come to life.
Speaker 1: Scarlet matted and framed the paintings, then carefully carried the
completed projects to the next room, which she used as gallery.
Right here you go, and you will go over here.
The scenes she painted were so lifelike they would have
shocked an outsider to Scarlet, they were masterpieces that helped
her achieve her goal. All I have ever wanted was
for this house to be alone once more, without neighbors.
Constantly and Croachy one four seven two and one five
seven eight simply represented her most recent triumphs. One portrayed
a vicious and bloody murder suicide, and the other a
heinous crime by the husband against his wife. In fifteen
seventy eight, darkness fell and she heard screams into the night.
Coming from fifteen seventy eight and seventeen forty two, she
knew what she had to do. It was the same
thing she'd done when her paintings came true in the
homes located at sixteen twenty two, fourteen oh eight, and
eighteen seventy five, and all the other paintings that hung
on her wall as momentums of her handiwork. She picked
up her phone nine one one. What's your emergency quick?
I've heard screams coming from two homes in my neighborhood.
I'm afraid someone's been murdered. What's the address, ma'am. Fifteen
seventy eight Crittinton Avenue and seventeen forty two, also on Crittendon.
We will send emergency vehicles now. Thank you for calling.
Stay inside and do not leave your house. Scarlet hung
up the phone and waited eagerly for the wails of sirens. Maybe,
just baby, I'll get rid of enough people around here
that no one will ever bother us again. She turned
and looked at the portrait of her great grandmother. I'm
doing this for you, A quiet smile formed on the
lips of the wrinkled old woman in the painting. Thank
you for joining me for this episode of the Into
the Night Anthology podcast. Written by Caroline Giamanco, narrated by Nari,
Theme music by Nico Rodriguez, all other original music, sound
design and editing by Oehmenhawk Studios. You can find our
links in the show notes. Into the Night is on
your favorite podcatcher, so make sure to like, subscribe and
leave a five star review to help other excursionists to
join us. I'll see you next time, and remember, whether
in the shadows or in the daylight, all twisted paths
lead you into the night. Into the Night Anthology is
a creative typo entertainment production