Speaker 1: High excursionists. It's me Narri. I hope you're following my
socials or at least keeping up with me on my
website at narnarraids dot com. If you don't read my
show notes, you can find my socials on the website.
This is important because for the rest of the year,
Wednesday Nights will take us back. Each week, we'll revisit
a story from the past, the ones that linger and
the ones that shape the night, and they only appear
on social media and my website. For now, I'm calling
it way Back Wednesday, a chance to rediscover the stories
that still whisper when the world goes quiet. And if
you're a member of my library, there is more waiting
just for you, a second story every week through the
end of the year. So whether you're retracing the twisted
Path or stepping on to it for the first time,
there's always something waiting just beyond the bend. I'll see
you there. Welcome to Endo the Night. I'm Nari, 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 this episode deals with themes of supernatural, horror and suicide.
Listener discretion is advised. Mirror Mirror on the Wall. Milwaukee, Wisconsin,
languished under a brutal cold snap, not uncommon for the
Midwest in wintertime. Icicles hung from rooftops and mounds of
gray snow piled on the sides of streets, while busy
commuters wound their way through the city and on the freeways.
Shoppers brave the brutal subzero weather to buy necessities, and
children huddled against each other at bus stops. Since school
this and Wisconsin seldom believed in canceling school. Towering above
the downtown area were numerous skyscrapers filled with financial planners, architects,
corporate executives, city government offices, and more than one news outlet.
The movers and shakers of the Milwaukee economy had made
their way to their offices and were already at work
building dreams and orchestrating hostile takeovers. In other words, it
was an average Tuesday. A haze of pollution hung in
the air, and no refreshing breezes blew on this frigid
morning to offer relief. A drab aura surrounded the day,
and it wouldn't be far fetched to say a cloak
hung over the city in one of those massive skyscrapers.
The quiet ticking of the clock on the wall numbed
Jason Phelps into a near hypnotic state. Stacks of papers
covered his busy newsroom desk, and nothing but caffeine, adrenaline,
and frankly, fear kept him awake. How many days had
he gone without sleep? He'd forgotten? His muddled mind tried
to make sense of what he'd uncovered in recent weeks.
Where had it begun?
Speaker 2: It began in my bathroom mirror.
Speaker 1: What a crazy thought that was. Jason focused on the
ticking clock as he tried desperately to drown out the
sounds ringing through his skull. Jason was right, innocence. It
began for him in his bathroom mirror one morning, as
he shaved, a dizzying rush took over his body. He
fought it, but in that moment he knew. He knew,
as certainly as if he'd witnessed it on his television
station's nightly news, or had been an eye witness at
some spectacular event of history. No one would ever believe him,
but a world had opened up to him that others
were blinded to, and more than anything, he wished he
could put the proverbial genie back into its bottle.
Speaker 2: It's my job to tell the world about breaking news.
What an overused term. We've beaten that one into the ground.
I'd be hounded out of my career if I reported
something like this.
Speaker 1: His concerns weren't unfounded. He tried to talk to his mother,
but she suggested that he see us. I can diatrist.
Speaker 2: Yes, a psychiatrist will make us all better.
Speaker 1: For the first time in days, Jason Phelps let out
a chuckle. Blaring sirens broke Jason from his trance. Two
fire trucks sped past on the street Hawat, forcing their
way to an inferno somewhere. The bitter cold was at
war with the Syrian heat, as some structure burned in
a fury. What was that he'd read in Dante's Inferno
years before as a college sophomore. According to Dante, hell
was a frozen wasteland, not the burning pit of damnation
we envision it as with no offense meant to the
Italian grate. Jason Phelps had to agree with the popular
opinion Those flames burning in the distance were real representations
of the hell he learned about as a young boy
in his Baptist grandfather's church so many years ago. Remembering
those sermons, he could smell the brimstone. No, the arctic
blast that assaulted every Milwaukee resident this morning was a
stark contrast to hell. Suddenly, the clamor of activity around
him brought him to a sensus. Just like every other
morning at Channel ten News, the newsroom was a buzz
with activity. Phones rang and people shouted information to each other.
For the first time that morning, Jason was aware of
his surroundings in a real way. Hey, dreamer, I said,
do you have the name of the victim in the shooting?
Or do I need to call Channel three for that information?
Ed Tinsley stood impatiently over Jason. Not a small man
by any means, Ed was a formidable figure. Uh yeah,
just to say, Jason flipped through his notebook. You know
you haven't been yourself lately. Normally you'd know it off
the top of your head. Are you having relationship problems
or something. You'd better come alive soon, Jason. The bosses
won't like you daydreaming like that. Jason shook his head. No,
they won't like a lot of things here it is.
His name was Michael DeAngelo. He'd just moved to the
city a month ago. No suspects had been caught, no
leads on the killing either. Thanks. Bob Ed slapped him
on the shoulder with the papers he held in his
hand before racing across the newsroom to talk with Claire Henson,
the morning anchor. Her auburn hair was perfectly coifed, and
she wore one of those dresses that fit just right.
Speaker 2: If I was going to have any relationship issues, I
wish it was with her. So much for that now.
Speaker 1: It took only a moment for Jason to be pulled
back into his own thoughts, blocking out the bustle of
the newsroom.
Speaker 2: My bathroom mirror, Did it really have something to do
with this? Or was I just the unlucky son of
a bitch who would have seen this anyway?
Speaker 1: Jason's mind wandered back to the first morning he saw
it in the mirror. The spinning, the flames, the faces.
The faces scared him the most. Even though his grandfather
preached a thousand sermons about the threat of hell, part
of Jason always thought it might be some sort of
fairy tale. Heaven and Hell were stories parents told their
children to make them behave Don't fight with your sister,
or Santa won't bring you any presents. Don't fight with
your sister, or God will send you to hell. Jason, however,
knew it was no fairy tale. His mirror didn't lie.
The first time he saw the visions in it, he
thought he was hallucinating. Maybe the pharmacist had mixed up
his blood pressure medicine with some sort of psychotropic drug. However,
the other times he stared into his mirror, he not
only saw glimpses into Hell, but he smelled the brimstone
and heard the voices. The demon's eyes glowed red, and
the hatred exhaled in his putrid breath singed the hair
of Jason's beard. In subsequent days, he watched helpless as
demons flowed out of Hell through his mirror and into
the world around him. Knowing his impotence against them, the
demons laughed as they shared visions with Jason. Upon impending
end to the earth, Jason knew that day was to day.
He knew they'd told him quietly, without drawing attention from
his co workers. Jason stepped into his boss's office. He
had always been jealous of Ted Reagan's office space. A
sliding glass door opened to a small balcony that looked
out across the city. What Jason would have given to
have a view like that. For a few moments, he
had it all to himself. His breathing slowed as he
calmed himself. He placed his jacket on to the back
of Ted's chair and loosened his tie. He slipped his
patent leather shoes off, leaving them just inside the glass
door which he stepped through. It was cold, yes, but
strangely peaceful. He could smell the smoke. It wasn't the
fire from earlier. This smoke came from much farther away,
and the sulphuric taste of grimstone filled his nostrils and mouth.
It has begun, knowing that neither good nor bad mattered now,
Jason stepped to the edge of the balcony. He marveled
at the gray haze that enveloped his city. It wasn't
typical pollution. It had escaped from the pits of hell itself.
Jason now considered himself lucky. Because he could end his
misery before the coming onslaught. Taking one last breath, he
held it as he plummeted to the pavement below. A
deep rumble, followed by a howling roar, escaped from the
cracked sign where he made impact. A demon hovered for
a moment above Jason's body, then flew to the balcony
and enjoyed the view. Thank you for joining me for
this episode of the End to 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 Ohmenhawk 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 leading into the Night.
Into the Night Anthology is a creative, typo entertainment production
you've been listening to way back Wednesday from Into the
Night Anthology Library members already have a second story waiting,
and you can join them anytime at Nari narrates dot com.
Just look for the blue Join the Life Library button.
I'll see you there.