October 29, 2015 • 52 mins
Each year, Chuck and Josh read a couple of scary stories and this year they have a pair of truly frightful tales about a haunted bog and a terrifying spider exhibit.
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Welcome to you stuff you should know from house stuff
works dot com. Welcome to the Halloween Podcast. I'm Josh
the Ghoul Clark. That's right, there's Chuck the Phantom Bryant
(00:23):
and Jerry the ghoulish Phantom. Great. I think, uh, Darry
didn't like being called a wraith. No. I think that's
she didn't know what it means. No, you know, I
think this tradition is so great and fun. Now. I
think so too, that we are beginning to live alongside
(00:44):
the Simpsons Street House of Horror. Oh, it's that venerated Huh.
I think so? I think. I think. I think you're
I think listeners really look forward to this, well, not
on that level of like fame, but I think fans
of the Simpsons look forward to that each You're just
as our fans look forward to That's what I'm saying. Um,
(01:06):
it's one of my favorites obviously both of us. Christmas
and Halloween are probably two phaves of the year. Am
I speaking for you? Yeah? But you're speaking correctly, all right.
I can live with that, you know. I mean, like,
those are the two that we know we're going to
be good. All the rest of it's like hit or miss. Yeah,
for the unknown, unadorned, unadorned, uninitiated, unindoctrinated, unindoctrinated, unexposed, unexposed.
(01:32):
What we do is we we read a scary story
for Halloween, and last with and Jerry Gussie's at all
up with special effects. It's like this, that was amazing?
How about that? That's creepy, Like I'm scared right now. Um.
And last year we started a tradition where we are
reading two shorter stories and that's what we're doing again
(01:56):
this year because I think what happened is, well, remember
we had a Halloween horror fiction contest. Well, yeah, that
was great, that's pretty cool. Yeah. Uh and then but
we started the whole thing out with was it the
Tomb I think was the first one, and then we
did bear nice yeah, then the horror fiction contest I think,
(02:17):
and then I don't know how many of this is.
Oh yeah, we'll have to figure it out, yeah, because
we'll have to title it whatever annual Halloween Spectacular. Yes,
which is a different thing that we did once on
our very short lived web web video series what was
that called webcast? Webcast? It's so ancient already that we
(02:40):
can't even remote a live webcast. So you picked out
this first one, um, and I picked out the second one. Well, first, first,
hold on, I want to I want to give a
plug to our buddy, to Grabster, because he hooked us
up all right. So I don't know if you know
this or not, but the Grabster knows what he's talking
about when it comes to horror movies, and um I
(03:02):
we tweeted to him and said, hey, man, can you
give us a list of your favorite horror movies of
all time? And the Grabster said, oh, are you gonna
read them? But he said yes, let me give me
a night and I will put it together. And by
goodness if he didn't put it on his um personal
(03:22):
site robot viking dot com. The post is some of
my favorite horror movies and he just went to town.
What's his number one? It's not listed to Spiria no,
like he doesn't have them in order, but raw had
Rex is on their Pontypool Triangle Return of Living Dead
three and he justifies these. You know, I need to
(03:46):
see ponty Pool because our buddy Joe Garden is long
raved about the merits of the people. I've never seen it.
Either and it's one of those ones. It's like, I
think it's up on Netflix too. All right, so you
picked this first one? You want to just set it up? Yes?
So this is the moon Bog. It's hyphenated two words
by our friend Howard Phillips Lovecraft, who is still one
(04:10):
of my favorite writers of all time. Um. Yeah, even
though you can just go on and on about him
personally or his writing style or some of the devices
he used, like other than describing something to saying it
was indescribable or unnamable, I still love the guy for
some reason. Uh. And this one is one of his
(04:30):
um more interesting imaginative ones. Has nothing to do with
the Cathulu mythos or anything like that. It's just pretty cool.
It's a neat, little weirdo ancient haunting story about an
Irish American who who uh doesn't follow the advice of
(04:51):
the local townspeople. Let's just say that, not right. Are
you ready? Do you want me to start? Yeah? Without
further ado, The Moon Bug by H. P. Lovecraft Somewhere
(05:12):
to what remote and fearsome region I know not. Dennis
Barry has gone. I was with him the last night
he lived among men and heard his screams when the
thing came to him. But all the peasants and police
and County Meath could never find him or the others,
though they searched long and far. And now I shudder
when I hear the frogs piping and swamps, or see
(05:33):
the moon in lonely places. I had known Dennis Berry
well in America, where he had grown rich, and had
congratulated him when he bought back the old castle by
the bog at Sleepy Kildairy. It was from Kilderie that
his father had come, and it was there that he
wished to enjoy his wealth among ancestral scenes. Men of
his blood had once ruled over Kilderie and built and
(05:56):
dwelt in the castle. But those days were very remote,
so that for generations the castle had been empty and decaying.
After he went to Ireland, Barry wrote me often and
told me how under his care the Gray Castle was
rising tower by tower to its ancient splendor, how the
ivy was climbing slowly over the restored walls as it
had climbed so many centuries ago, and how the peasants
(06:18):
blessed him for bringing back the old days with his
gold from over the sea. But in time there came troubles,
and the peasants ceased to bless him and fled away instead,
as from a doom. And then he sent a letter
and asked me to visit him, for he was lonely
in the castle, with no one to speak to, save
the new servants and labors he had brought from the north.
(06:40):
The bog was the cause of all these troubles, as
Barry told me the night I came to the castle.
I had reached Kildery in the summer sunset, as the
gold of the sky lighted the green of the hills
and groves and the blue of the bog, where on
a far islet a strange olden ruin glistened spectral lee.
That sunset was very beautiful, but peasants at Ballylow had
(07:01):
warned me against it and said that Kilderi had become accursed,
so that I almost shuddered to see the high turrets
of the castle gilded with fire. Barry's motor had met
me at the Ballylow station, for Kildery is off the railway.
The villagers had shunned the car and the driver from
the north, but had whispered to me with pale faces
when they saw I was going to Kildeery. And that night,
(07:22):
after our reunion, Barry told me why the peasants had
gone from Kildrey, because Dennis Barry was to drain the
great Bog. For all his love of Ireland America had
not left him untouched, and he hated the beautiful wasted
space where pete might be cut and the land opened up.
The legends and superstitions of Kildee did not move him,
and he laughed when the peasants first refused to help,
(07:45):
and then cursed him and went away to Ballylow with
their few belongings as they saw his determination in their place.
He sent for laborers from the North, and when the
servants left, he replaced them likewise. But it was lonely
among strangers, so Barry had asked me to come, all right,
So we got this guy Dennis, who uh got his
(08:05):
old fixer up our family castle. You made some some
moolah back in the States, went over to Ireland to
fix it up, brought in some I guess people from
Scotland to help. Friends from the North. Maybe, oh yeah, sure,
I took it to be Greenland for some reason. Interesting uh,
and everyone in the village. He wants to get rid
(08:26):
of that bog and drain it. And I put in
a tennis court and he's like, we could put build
train tracks there something. And everyone in the village is
going a big mistake. I'm out of here, so as
buddy comes to visit him, uh, and that's where we are.
When I heard the fears which had driven the people
from Kildary, I laughed as loudly as my friend had laughed.
(08:46):
But these fears were the vegas wildest and most absurd character.
They had to do with some preposterous legend of the
bog and of a grim guardian spirit that dwelt in
the strange, old and ruin on the far islet I
had seen in the sunset. There were tales of dancing
lights and the dark of the moon, and of chill
winds when the night was warm, of wraiths in white
(09:07):
hovering over the waters. But foremost among the weird fancies,
and alone in its absolute unanimity, was that of the
curse awaiting him who should dare to touch or drain
the vast reddish morass. Don't drain the bog. There were secrets,
said the peasants which must not be uncovered, secrets that
(09:28):
had lain hidden since the plague came to the children
of Partholon. In the fabulous years beyond history. In the
Book of Invaders, it is told that the sons of
the Greeks were all buried at Talach, but old men
and kilder. He said, one city was overlooked save by
its patron, Moon Goddess said that only the wooded hills
(09:49):
buried it. When the men of Nimed swept down from
Sathia and their thirty ships. Such were the idle tales
which had made the villagers leave killdeery, And when I
heard them, I did not wonder what Dennis Barry had
refused to listen. He had, however, a great interest in antiquities,
and proposed to explore the bog thoroughly when it was drained.
(10:10):
The white ruins on the islet he had often visited,
But though their age was plainly great, and their contour
very little like that of most ruins in Ireland, there
were too dilapidated to tell the days of their glory.
Now the work of drainage was ready to begin, and
the laborers from the north were soon to strip the
forbidden bog of its green moss and red heather and kill,
(10:32):
the tiny shelf paved streamlets, and quiet blue pools fringed
with brushes. After Barry had told me these things, I
was very drowsy, for the travels of the day had
been wearying, and my host had talked. Late into the night,
a man servant shoot me into my room, which was
in a remote tower, overlooking the village and the plain
at the edge of the bog and the bog itself,
(10:54):
so that I could see from my windows in the
moonlight the silent roofs from which the peasants had fled
now sheltered the laborers from the north, and to the
parish church with his antique spire, and far out across
the brooding bog, the remote olden ruin on the islet
gleaming whitened spectral. Just as I dropped asleep, I fancied
I heard faint sounds from the distance, sounds that were
(11:17):
wild and half musical, and stirred me with a weird
excitement which colored my dreams. But when I awaked next morning,
I felt it had all been a dream, for the
visions I had seen were more wonderful than any sound
of wild pipes in the night. Influenced by the legends
that Barry had related, my mind had, in slumber hovered
around a stately city in a green valley, where marble
(11:38):
streets and statues, villas and temples, carvings and inscriptions all
spoke in certain tones the glory that was Greece. When
I told this dream to Barry, we both laughed, but
I laughed the louder because he was perplexed about his
laborers from the North. For the sixth time. They had
all overslept, waking very slowly and dazedly, and at thing
(12:00):
as if they had not rested, although they were known
to have gone early to bed the night before. So
the Scottish labors are getting drunk, they're they're oversleeping, they're
slacking off, and this guy's having visions huh. Yeah. And
the whole thing is this, there's this legend that under
the bog there's a stone city that was covered over
(12:23):
uh with this bog ancient Greece, and that yeah, that
was an ancient Greek city in Ireland. And that um,
if you dig up the bog, it's gonna be big
tool because the city is supernatural, say the least man.
That's getting good. You're ready again? Yes? Are you ready, listener? Yes, okay.
(12:46):
That morning and afternoon I wandered alone through the sun
gilded village and talked now and then with idle laborers,
for Barry was busy with the final plans for beginning
his work of drainage. The laborers were not as happy
as they might have been, from most of them seemed
uneasy over some dream which they had had yet, which
they tried in vain to remember. I told them of
(13:06):
my dream, but they were not interested till I spoke
of the weird sounds I thought I had heard. Then
they looked oddly at me and said that they seemed
to remember weird sounds too. In the evening, Barry dined
with me and announced that he would begin the drainage
in two days. I was glad, for although I disliked
to see the moss and the heather, and the little
streams and lakes depart, I had a growing wish to
(13:29):
discern the ancient secrets the deep matted pete might hide.
And that night my dreams of piping flutes and marble
parastyles came to a sudden and disquieting end. For upon
the city in the valley I saw a pestilence descend,
and then a frightful avalanche of wooded slopes that covered
the dead bodies in the streets, and left unburied only
the temple of Artemness on the high peak, where the
(13:51):
aged moon Priestess Cliss lay cold and silent, with a
crown of ivory on her silver head. I have said
that I awake suddenly and in a arm. For some
time I could not tell whether I was waking or sleeping,
for the sounds of flutes still rang shrilly in my ears.
But when I saw on the floor the icy moonbeams
and the outlines of the lattice Gothic window, I decided
(14:13):
I must be awake, and in the castle at Kildary.
Then I heard a clock from some remote landing below
strike the hour of two, and I knew I was awake.
It's still There came that monotonous piping from afar wild
weird airs that made me think of some dance of
fawns on distant manless. It would not let me sleep,
and in in patience I sprang up and paced the floor.
(14:34):
Only by chance did I go to the north window
and look out upon the silent village and the plane
at the edge of the ball. I had no wish
to gaze abroad, for I wanted to sleep, But the
flutes tormented me, and I had to see or do something.
How could I have suspected the thing I was to
behold there in the moonlight that flooded the spacious plane
was a spectacle which no mortal, having seen it, could
(14:57):
ever forget. To the sound of reedy pipes that echoed
over the bog. They're glided silently and eerily, a mixed
throng of swaying figures, reeling through such a revel as
the Sicilians may have danced to Demeter in the old
days under the harvest mood. Besides cy, in the wide plane,
the golden moonlight, the shadowy moving forms, and above all
(15:18):
the shrill, monotonous piping produced an effect which almost paralyzed me.
Yet I noted, amidst my fear, that half of these tireless,
mechanical dancers were the laborers whom I had thought asleep,
whilst the other half were strange airy beings in white,
half in determinate in nature, but suggesting pale, wistful naiads
from the haunted fountains of the Bog. I do not
(15:39):
know how long I gazed at the site from the
lonely turret window before I dropped suddenly in a dreamless swoon,
out of which the high sun of morning aroused me.
Things are getting real, Phil, So he's like seeing these
like weird, ghostly zombie like laborers and white creatures. And
(16:00):
to lay off the opium. Do they have opium in Ireland? Sure?
Are you? Kidne me? He needs to lay off? All right?
Here we go. My first impulse on awakening was to
communicate all my fears and observations to Dennis Barry. But
as I saw the sunlight glowing through the latticed east window,
I became sure that there was no reality in what
I thought I had seen. I am given to strange phantasms,
(16:23):
yet am never weak enough to believe in them. So
on this occasion contented myself with questioning the laborers, who
slept very late and recalled nothing of the previous night
save misty dreams of shrill sounds. This matter of the
spectral piping harassed me greatly, and I wondered if the
crickets of autumn had come before their time to vex
the night and haunt the visions of men. Later in
(16:46):
the day, I watched Barry in the window, pouring over
his plans for the great work which was to begin
on the morrow, and for the first time felt a
touch of the same kind of fear that had driven
the peasants away. For some unknown reason, I dreaded the
thought of disturbing the ancient bog and its sunless secrets,
and pictured terrible sights lying black under the unmeasured depth
(17:07):
of age. Old Pete. That these secrets should be brought
to light seems injudicious, and I began to wish for
an excuse to leave the castle in the village. I
went so far as to talk casually to Bury on
the subject, but did not dare continue after he gave
his resounding laugh. So I was silent when the sun
set fulgently over the far hills, and killed reblazed alread
(17:28):
and gold in a flame. That seemed a portent. So
he brought it up to his buddy, and he kind
of got made fun of. I think right whether the
events of that night were of reality or illusion, I
shall never ascertain. Certainly they transcend anything we dream of
in nature and the universe. Yet in no formal fashion
can I explain those disappearances which were known to all men.
(17:51):
After it was over, I retired, erie and full of dread,
and for a long time could not sleep, and the
uncanny silence of the tower. It was very dark, for
although the sky was clear, the moon was now well
in the wane, would not rise till the small hours.
I thought as I lay there, of Dennis Berry, and
of what would befall that bog when the day came,
(18:12):
and found myself almost frantic with an impulse to rush
out into the night, take Berry Scar and drive madly
to Ballyloch, out of the menaced lands. But before my
fears could crystallize in action, I'd fallen asleep and gazed
in dreams upon the city in the valley, cold and dead,
under a shroud of hideous shadow. Probably it was the
(18:34):
shrill piping that awaked me. Yet that piping was not
what I noticed first. When I opened my eyes. I
was lying with my back to the east window, overlooking
the bog where the waning moon would rise, and therefore
expected to see light cast on the opposite wall before me,
but I had not looked for such a sight as
now appeared. Light indeed glowed on the panels ahead, but
(18:55):
it was not any light that the moon gives. Terrible
and piercing was the shad a to ruddy refulgence that
streamed through the gothic window, and the whole chamber was
brilliant with a splendor, intense and unearthly. My immediate actions
were peculiar for such a situation, but it is only
entails that a man does the dramatic and foreseen thing.
(19:16):
Instead of looking out across the bog towards the source
of the new light, I kept my eyes from the
window and panic fear, and clumsily drew on my clothing
with some dazed idea of escape. I remember seizing my
revolver and hat, but before it was over, I had
lost them both, without firing the one or donning the other.
After a time, the fascination of the red radiance overcame
(19:36):
my fright, and I crept to the east window and
looked out, whilst the maddening, incessant piping wine and reverberated
through the castle and over all of the village. Over
the bog was a day lousee of flaring light, scarlet
and sinister, and pouring from the strange olden ruin on
the far islet. The aspect of that ruin I cannot describe.
(19:57):
I must have been mad, for it seemed to rise majestic,
an undecayed, splendid and column cintured, the flame, reflecting marble
of its intabulature, piercing the sky like the apex of
a temple on a mountaintop. Flute shrieked, and drums began
to beat, and as I watched, an awe and terror,
I thought I saw a dark, salted form silhouetted grotesquely
against the vision of marble and the Pilgians. The effect
(20:20):
was titanic, altogether unthinkable, and I might have stared indefinitely
had not the sound of the piping seemed to grow
stronger at my left. Trembling with the care oddly mixed
with ecstasy, I crossed the circular room to the north window,
from which I could see the village and the plane
at the edge of the bog. There my eyes dilated
again with a wild wonder as great as if I
(20:41):
had not just turned from a scene beyond the pale
of nature, For on the ghastly red litten plane was
moving a procession of beans in such manner as none
ever saw before, save in nightmares. That is not a
parade of fun happening outside this window, is it. It's
not alrighty, This is scary. This is getting pretty bad.
(21:05):
Half gliding, half floating in the air, the white clad
bog Graiths were slowly retreating towards the still waters and
the island, ruin and fantastic formations suggesting some ancient and
solemn ceremonial dance. Their waving translucent arms, guided by the
detestable piping of those unseen flutes, beckoned in uncanny rhythm
(21:26):
to a throng of lurching laborers, who followed doglike with blind, brainless,
floundering steps, as if dragged by a clumsy but resistless
demon will. As the Naiads neared the bog without altering
their course, a new line of stumbling stragglers zig zagged
drunkenly out of the castle from some door far below
(21:47):
my window, groped sightlessly across the courtyard and through the
intervening bit of village, and joined the floundering column of
laborers on the plane. Despite their distance below me, I
at once knew they were the servants brought from the north,
where I recognized the ugly and unwieldy form of the cook,
whose very absurdness had now become unutterably tragic. The flutes
(22:09):
piped horribly, and again I heard the beating of the
drums from the direction of the island ruin. Then silently
and gracefully, the Naiads reached the water and melted one
by one into the ancient bog, while the line of followers,
never checking their speed, splashed awkwardly after them and vanished,
mixed a tiny vortex of unwholesome bubbles which I could
(22:30):
barely see in the scarlet light, And as the last
pathetic straggler, the fat cook sank heavily out of sight
in that sullen pool, the flutes and the drums grew silent,
the blinding red rays from the ruins snapped instantaneously out,
leaving the village of Doom lone and desolate, and the
wan beams of a new risen moon. So basically, this
(22:55):
guy is looking outside and everybody is following some wraiths
into the bog. That's right, And there's some mad piping
and drumming going on, and this guy's basically losing it. Yeah,
I get the sense that is getting louder and more intense.
A you're gonna take us home and taking us home,
you're ready, let's do it. My condition was now one
(23:17):
of indescribable chaos, not knowing whether I was mad or saying,
sleeping or waking. I was saved only by a merciful numbness.
I believe I did ridiculous things, such as offering prayers
to Artemis, Latona, Demeter, Persephone, and Pluton. All that I
recalled of a classic youth came to my lips. As
the horrors of the situation roused my deepest superstitions. I
(23:41):
felt that I had witnessed the death of a whole village,
and knew I was alone in the castle with Dennis Barry,
whose boldness had brought down a doom. As I thought
of him, new terrorists convulsed me, and I fell to
the floor, not fainting, but physically helpless. Then I felt
the icy blast from the east window, where the moon
had risen, and beg in to hear the shrieks in
the castle far below me. Soon those shrieks had attained
(24:04):
a magnitude and quality which cannot be written it, and
which makes me faint as I think of them. All
I can say is that they came from something I
had known as a friend at some time during the
shocking period. The cold wind and the screaming must have
roused me, for my next impression is of racing madly
through inky rooms and corridors, and out across the courtyard
into the hideous night. They found me at dawn, wandering
(24:26):
mindless near bally Low. But what unhinged me was utterly
not of any of the horrors I had seen or
heard before. What I muttered about as I came slowly
out of the shadows was a pair of fantastic incidents
which occurred in my flight, incidents of no significance, yet
which haunt me unceasingly when I am alone in certain
marshy places are in the moonlight. As I fled from
(24:49):
that cursed castle along the bog's edge, I heard a
new sound, common, yet unlike any I had heard before.
It killed the stagnant waters, lately quite devoid of animal life,
now teemed with horde of slimy, enormous frogs which piped
shrilly and incessantly, and turned strangely out of keeping with
their size. They glistened bloated in green and the moonbeams,
(25:10):
and seemed to gaze up at the font of light.
I followed the gaze of one very fat and ugly frog,
and saw the second of the things which drove my
senses away. Stretching directly from the strange olden ruin on
the far islet to the waning moon. My eyes seemed
to trace a beam of faint, quivering radiance, having no
reflection in the waters of the ball, and upward along
(25:32):
that pallid path, my fevered fancy pictured a thin shadow,
slowly writhing, a vague, contorted shadow, struggling as if drawn
by unseen demons. Crazed as I was, I saw in
that awful shadow a monstrous resemblance, a nauseous, unbelievable caricature,
of blasphemous effigy of him who had been Dennis Berry,
(25:58):
whoa the end man. He can he can paint a picture, Kenny,
he knows what he's doing. Boy, that is good stuff.
He used the word eldredge in this once, and he's
still knocked it out of the park. Yeah, and he
did a good job of describing things instead of just
saying it cannot be described very creepy. Well done, sir,
(26:19):
Well done, sir. So part one is over, so let's
take a break and come back and read story number
two for Halloween Spectacular. Chuck, I just want to point out,
(26:54):
did you notice the awesome Halloween jingle made for us,
specifically by our composer friends on begin Pretty awesome? Agreed,
really helps set the mood. Yeah, thanks a lot, John,
and Jerry didn't have to do it. She's delighted about.
Way to go, Jerry. All right. The second story is
actually contemporary, which is unusual for us, But um, I
(27:18):
email the author because you can just do that these days,
and he said, yeah, read it. That's great. That's pretty
nice of them. So his name is Peter the Peter D. Niverville.
It's a great name, and the story is called The
Petting Zoo, and I liked it because it tied in
with our Spiders episode and it is quite creepy. It's
(27:40):
creep and we're gonna actually have a character voice because
we have to do voices in this one. I was
wondering if you're gonna want to do that. Yeah, man,
you're gonna play Johnson, I'll play the old man. Yes,
I got that. And uh, we're gonna have um our
video Ninja for stuff. Mom never told you Annie he
(28:01):
was an actor to do the old lady to do
old man. I can't remember his name, the old man's wife.
So yes, yeah, so we need to thank Annie for that.
Um here we go with the petting Zoo. At first,
(28:24):
Johnson thought it was a joke. Speeding down the country road,
the crude sign was only a blur, but it was
that one word, slowing down. He swung the car onto
the paved shoulder. In the rear view mirror, he could
see it clearly. The sign was tacked to a stick
that was stuck in the ground just beyond the paved shoulder.
Shifting the car into reverse, Johnson jim the accelerator down.
(28:46):
The tires squealed, and loose gravel flew As he tore
back up the road screeched into a halt. Johnson stared
at the faded handwriting Ellsworth's famous spider petting Zoo five
miles next right. It's spiders fascinated Johnson. One summer when
he was eight, a large golden black spider had taken
up residence underneath the shingles by the back door. Every morning,
(29:09):
Johnson would gather up ants in a jar from a
nest and the scrubby woods behind his house. One by one,
he would drop the wriggling insects into the web with
lightning speed. The spider would spring from her hiding place
and race towards the victim, sinking her fangs into the ant.
She would retreat, waiting for the poison to take effect.
When the aunt slowly stopped struggling, she would climb back
(29:30):
down and delicately wrap her prey in a white shroud.
This continued until one day his mother caught him. What
a cruel little boy you are, she scolded between clenched
teeth as she pummeled his backside. He could still feel
the shame of being spanked. Years later, In a rare
moment of remorse, Johnson wondered what it was like for
the ant, trapped helpless waiting for the spider to return.
(29:53):
Did they know fear or horror? Or was that something
only humans experienced. The insect brain was too small, he
told himself, or so he hoped. Five miles, thought Johnson.
This side trip might only add another half hour or
so to his journey. He would still have time once
he got to his motel to have a shower. The
(30:13):
dinner meeting with a buyer from the supermarket Jane wasn't
until six o'clock, and it was only four now. Coasting forward,
Johnson scanned the road looking for the turn off. About
one hundred yards ahead, he saw a lane that intersected
with the highway. Flicking on his turn signally, shot a
quick glance at his watch. If I don't find it
in fifteen minutes, he promised himself, I'll turn back. Accelerating smoothly,
(30:37):
he turned onto a well paved secondary road with deep
ditches on either side. Punching the buttons on the CD player,
he stretched his arms, settling back into the soft leather
seat As a throbbing beat of the music filled his car.
Is mood lightened an unexpected adventure in an otherwise boring day.
Johnson hated his job, endless meetings with bad food and
(30:59):
balding byres, too many drinks, and too many hangovers. He
was packing on the pounds too. I have to get
back to the gym, he reminded himself. The only redeeming
feature of his job was that he was good at it.
Top sails ripped for the last three years. I should
have been an actor, he told himself. Instead, I'm selling
toilet paper and tampons to these turkeys. As the needle
(31:20):
on the spitometer crept higher and higher than neatly kept
fields and freshly painted houses became a blur. Mile after
miles slipped by, Johnson felt that he and the car
had become one, soaring like a hawk on a summer breeze.
But his mood soon soured. The condition of the road deteriorated.
Asphalt gave way to chip seal, which gave way to
gravel and finally ended up his dirt. Johnson jumped on
(31:43):
the brakes when a huge pothole emerged in the center
of the road, cursing the delay, checked his watch again.
It was almost five. The long drive down the country
road had doled his sense of time. I'd better turn around,
he cautioned himself, as he studied the road ahead, looking
for a safe place to make a U turn, And
he saw it, an old farmhouse stepped back from the road.
(32:04):
If it hadn't been for the pothole, he would have
missed it completely. By the mailbox, a freshly painted sign
read Ellsworth's famous spider petting Zoo open year round, all
visitors welcomed. This must be the place, he concluded. Carefully
turning up the heavily redded lane, Johnson wondered what he
would find. Perhaps one of the locals playing a joke
(32:24):
on the tourists, he mused. Tall grass slapped at the
bottom of the car, and rusted barbed wire clung to
rotted posts that ran alongside the lane. In the untilled fields,
scrubby bushes had sprung up like mushrooms. Johnson tried to
imagine what the farm looked like in better days, but
it was impossible. When he reached the top of the hill,
the farmhouse looked even more Decrepit blistered paint hung from
(32:48):
the wooden shingles, and there was a disturbing sag in
the middle of the roof. But once it had been
the side garden was now occupied by tall thistles and
a massive tangled timbers, indicating the former site of the barn.
Except for the glass still being intact in the windows,
the house looked abandoned. Where is everybody? Thought Johnson in
(33:08):
response to his question, an old woman dressed in a
black skirt and a woolen sweater stepped out the side door.
It's never a good sign by the way she was
gnarled and withered, like the lone apple tree that stood
in the yard. Johnson guests, she must have been at
least seventy, maybe even eighty years old. She spat, turning
off the radio and rolling down the car window. He replied,
(33:31):
is this the petting zoo? That's what the sign says,
don't it. Ignoring her rudeness, Johnson continued, are you open,
I'll get Jake Key out back chopping wood. He watched
as she shuffled down a dirt path and disappeared around
the corner of the house. Charming, thought Johnson. Opening the
car door, he stepped out. Despite the poverty, the farm
(33:52):
had a certain rustic appeal, which reminded him of the
house that he grew up in in the country. But
there was something odd, something missing. Where are the flies?
Thought Johnson. On most farms, the low buzz of the
black swarms was constant, but here there was none. Except
for the moaning of the wind. It was quiet. Perhaps
it was the lack of animals, he thought, or maybe
(34:13):
it was the stiff breeze at the top of the
hill that kept them at bay. Glancing at his watch,
he frowned. It was after five o'clock. If he did
not get back on the road soon, he would be
late for his appointment. Either that or skip his shower
after driving all day, Johnson did not want to skip
the soothing ritual. Taking one last look around, he reached
for the handle of the car door. Just then the
(34:34):
old woman reappeared, and behind her and even more wizened
up old man wearing faded blue overalls and a nicotine
stained undershirt. Stopping at the corner of the house, the
old man spat out a long jet of chewing tobacco
onto the ground. Wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand. He paused momentarily to study Johnson. Speaking to
the old woman, he said in a low tone, thought,
(34:56):
I heard a car come up. Wants to see your spatters,
she said, before she turned away and went back to
the farmhouse, letting the screen door slam behind her. You
want to see my spiders, young fellow. Sure, if you're
open how much? Looking over Johnson's luxury car, he scratched
his ruddy face and said fifty, that's ridiculous. Strugging his shoulders,
(35:20):
the old man said, take it or leave it. I
got work to do, and then he spat out another
long jet of chewing tobacco and turned to go So
this guy, he's a sales chimp. Yeah, he's the part
I was born to play. Apparently I'm nailing it. He's
he's traveling in his luxury car. He's a spider dude
(35:41):
because he's to torture ants in a spider webs. Not
that he has super powers bestowed to him by a
radioactive spider, No, but it's he's made the big mistake
of going to see this redneck spider farm. Yeah, spinning,
chewing tobacco. Are you talking to a stranger indicates the
presence of a redneck? Yeah, so did the overalls. Yeah alright,
(36:03):
so back to the petting zoo. I can't leave now
after coming all this way, thought Johnson. Taking another quick
glance at his watch, he said, irritably, alright, alright, but
this better be good. See that sounds just like me,
it does. The old man smirked and licked his lips
(36:24):
as Johnson whipped out a crisp fifty dollar bill from
his wallet. Johnson did not like the old man's greedy
look and hastily shoved his wallet back in his pants pocket. Thanks,
said the old man, sarcastically, snatching the bill from Johnson's hand,
looking it over carefully, he folded it up neatly, stuck
it in his pocket, and said, follow me. The old
(36:45):
man led Johnson down an overgrown path to a shed
at the back of the farmhouse. Inside, the dim glow
of fluorescent tubes highlighted the dozen plywood shelves that ran
along the walls. In contrast to the rest of the farm,
the shed was neat, almost antiseptic in appearance. Sitting on
each shelf was a glass terrarium filled with twigs and rocks.
In the case closest to Johnson, a small garden spider
(37:07):
was spinning a web in the corner. That's an orb spider,
said the old man, said Johnson, annoyed by the interruption.
You know spiders a bit, replied Johnson. I used to
study them when I was a kid. I bet you're
the type that like defeat him. Yeah, catch bugs, drop
him in. See what happens? Fun, ain't it? Suddenly Johnson
(37:31):
was uncomfortable. How did he guess my secret, he wondered.
Johnson felt the warm rush of blood to his neck
and ears as he started to blush. No need to
be a shame, young fellow. All kids do it. It's natural.
Trying to change the topic, Johnson asked, you you've been
at this long keeping spiders. Yeah, I've been at it
(37:53):
a while. Most folks scared of spiders. Not me. Me
and spider Gilon feel good. Johnson turned back to watch
a large black spider in another case sucking up the
half digested slurry of its latest victim. Trying to be polite,
Johnson asked, but you don't give many visitors here, being
so far from the highway. Donate him, said the old man.
(38:17):
This is just a sideline. Pausing for effect, he added,
I breed him. Johnson looked puzzled for the college, explained
the old man. They use him for research. Does it
pay well? Good enough? Uh? They don't know squat about spiders,
said the old man, spinning on the floor. Johnson looked
down and saw that a streak of the sticky black
(38:39):
tobacco had splashed on his shoes. I've been doing research
on my own, said the old man proudly. Spatters are
just like any other creator. Cows, horses, dogs, They're all
the same breed. The best with the best, and you
get the best or the The old man's voice trailed
off as he started to laugh. There was something about
(39:03):
his tone that made Johnson uneasy. You want to see
him a prize winner. Johnson looked around. Oh, she ain't here.
I keep her in the barn. She kind of makes
he's created nervous. I can't say he's blames him. He
won't see her. The way the old man said it,
the question sounded more like a challenge. Johnson hesitated. He
(39:23):
wanted to say no, but he could not let the
old man see that he was afraid. Sure, answered Johnson,
What could it be, he asked himself, A tarantula. With
the old man in front, they went down a lesser
used path to a small barn behind a stand of
trees that made it invisible from the farmhouse. A shiny
new lock on a rusted hask yielded to the old
(39:44):
man's key. I don't like kids messing with the stuff.
The ancient wooden door swung open. Inside it was pitch black.
Johnson hesitated, what was it that made him apprehensive? His
mouth felt dry and he tried to swallow. Going in
to him the old man as he shoved Johnson through
the door, Stumbling on a raised sill, Johnson fell to
(40:06):
one knee, ripping his pants. Damn it, he cursed. He's
a light switch ahead, are you, the old man reassured him. Jase,
pull the string. The stench of moldy hay made Johnson gag.
Where is it the spider, he called out. He's in
the back. He can't miss her. Where is the light?
(40:27):
Right and funny? Can't you see it? Mocked the old man.
Johnson stretched out his hand. At first he could not
feel anything. Then, slowly groping the air in, he caught
hold of it. Johnson's heart leapt in relief. But there
was something strange. The line didn't feel like a string.
It was sticky. Like pulling the line, Johnson knew he
(40:49):
had made a mistake. Something rustled in the rafters above him,
and bits of straw floated down. Johnson bolted for the opening.
Enjoy yourself, cackled the old man as he slammed the door.
Unlocked it. Let me out, Let me out, shouted Johnson.
Pounding on the door. Let me out you a buzzard,
But it was no use. The dried out wooden door
was like iron. Pausing to catch his breath, his fist throbbing,
(41:11):
Johnson looked around slowly, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark,
but appeared to be a black chasm, was, in fact
the side entrance to the barn. There must be another
way out, he thought, But where in the gloom He
could see that beyond the entryway there was a large
open space, and beyond that a boarded up window through
which thin shafts of sunlight streamed. Great, all I have
(41:33):
to do is cross the barn, pull off one or
two of those boards, and climb out, thought Johnson. Then
I'll show that old man fifty bucks. He'll wish i'd
never stopped. Then he heard another rustle overhead, and straw
floated down. Who is it? Who's there? He called out.
I'll bet it's that old man, thought Johnson. He thinks
he's gonna scare me. Sure you just keep that up,
(41:54):
old man, Johnson called out again. Let's see how much
laughing you do when I bashed your face in Again,
that's just totally me. But first, I've got to get
to that window. Be careful, he cautioned himself. This barn
must be full of junk. I don't want to fall
down and get hurt. Despite the heat and the bar
and he shivered, licking the sweat off his upper lips.
(42:15):
Johnson slowly picked his way across the wide wooden plank
barn floor, being careful not to trip. Shadows of old
machinery and tools loomed around him. A leather harness that
hung from the wall looked like a hangman's noose. There
was a peculiar smell too. It reminded him of a
package of chicken that he once left in the trunk
of his car in a hot summer day. It was
(42:36):
the sickly sweet scent of rotten meat. Oh gross, muttered Johnson.
There's a dead animal in here. In less than a minute,
he had crossed the barn and was standing in front
of the boarded up window blocking his exit, where three
boards nailed haphazardly into the frame. Either the old man
was too weak or too lazy to drive them all
the way in, concluded Johnson. I can probably pull them
(42:58):
off with my bare hands. He smiled triumphantly. All right,
So Johnson has been locked in the barn. It smells
like chicken. It smells like rotting chicken. Uh, there's a
leather harness hanging from the wall. So I think I'd
be glad at this point that the old man left.
At least I would think there would be some sort
of deliverance like thing going on here. Yeah, I mean
he shoved him. The guys ripped his jeans. Sure there
(43:22):
was like that was hostile. It was very hostile. All right,
here we go. The first board was half rotted and
fell apart in his hands. Light streamed in as it
came away from the frame. Then he shifted his attention
to the second one, the board in the middle. If
he could get this one off, he could easily climb out.
But this board wouldn't be so easy. It was like
(43:43):
the old door of the barn, dried out and tough
as steel. Gripping the board with both hands, he began
pulling the nails, squealed in protest, and the board started
to move, only a little bit. Grunted Johnson, the thought
of throttling old man excited him just a bit further.
Another halp, and he could almost feel his fingers closing
(44:04):
around the old Man's scrawn the neck, the eyes bulging,
the tongue sticking out another half inch. Then it stopped. Desperately,
Johnson yanked at the board, but it was no use.
It would not yield. I need more leverage, he said
to himself and out loud. Balancing on one foot, he
braced his other against the window frame and started pulling again.
(44:27):
The muscles in his forearms and back bulged. Was restrained
against the board. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into
his eyes. Come on, he pleaded with the wood, Come on.
In this frustration, Johnson did not hear the soft tap
tap tap on the floor behind him, tap tap tap,
like a blind man with his cane, tap tap tap.
(44:48):
Then it was too late. It struck the force of
the attack. Ramdom faced first against the wall, knocking the
wind out of him. Warm blood trickled from his nose
and ran down his cheek. What was that ring around?
Slowly he could see in the light from the window
his attacker was crouched inside an empty stall along the
opposite wall, the legs tints ready to spring. It was
(45:09):
a spider, no doubt, one of the old Man's experiments
that this was no ordinary spider. It was huge, about
the size of a pit bowl, with legs that extended
out three or four feet on either side. Its eyes
stared coldly at him. Johnson did a quick tally of
his injuries. Except for his bloody knows, he was unharmed.
(45:31):
Perhaps the large size of the creature made it difficult
for its a mountain attack, he conjectured. Possibly it did
not even recognize him as prey. I'm sure that's it.
Spiders normally eat moths and insects, he reminded himself, not
human beings. When he was a kid, Johnson liked to
throw twigs into a web just to see the spider's reaction. Invariably,
after pouncing on the object, the spider would pluck it
(45:52):
out of the web, turn it over, and drop it
on the ground. Johnson hopped, the spider would show the
same lack of interest from its vantage point at the
other end of the bar, and the creature seemed puzzled,
unsure of itself. Spiders are cautious, he told himself. It's
waiting for me to make the next move. Although every
fiber in his body screamed to run, his brain told
him to stay still. The spider was too big and
(46:14):
too fast the outrun. You need a weapon, he told himself.
Quickly looking about, he saw the rotten board from the
window lying at his feet. It was about two ft long,
with a jagged point at one end. It'll have to
do slowly. He bent down to pick it up. The
spider crouched low like a sprinter, ready to strike again.
Johnson froze his fingers only inches from the board. Easy girl,
(46:37):
he whispered, softly. Easy. The spider relaxed, but not completely deliberately.
It began to move forward, cat tat, tat. Johnson was
amazed by the creature's grace, like a ballerina tiptoeing in
from the darkened wings of a theater. It was a
marvel of beauty and design. The body, covered by fine
gray hair, had the look of velvet, while the eight
(46:59):
legs extended from the thorax provided speed and balance. As
it approached Johnson, the spider carefully extended one four leg
toward him. Johnson quickly knocked it away with his hand.
The creature stopped and cocked its plate sized head to
one side. The eight eyes looked like black fists. Then
the leg came forward again. At the tip, Johnson could
see the spikelike claw for catching prey. It touched his
(47:22):
left shoulder through his jacket. He could feel the sharp
point digging into his skin. Johnson winced and stepped backwards
to the wall, but there was no place to go. Slowly,
the other four leg came forward. Johnson recoil, trying to
ward off the attack with his free arm, but their
creature was too strong. It brushed his arm aside as
if there were a piece of lint, and planted a
second claw into his other shirts. Johnson cried out, help, help,
(47:46):
Then the spider reared up on its hind legs, forcing
Johnson to his knee. For a brief moment, he and
the creature looked into each other's eyes. It was almost
like love. Then he saw the six inch fangs that
extended from the head drops A venom gleamed in the
half light. He watched in fascination as the cruel daggers
arched high over him. Then he screamed as they plunged
deeply into his chest. Instantly, white hot pain ripped through
(48:10):
his body. Then it was gone. The spider had retreated
back to the skull. Johnson knew that he had only
a minute or two before the poison paralyzed him. This
is it, he said to himself, my only chance. Ignoring
his wounds, Johnson turned back to the window. Grabbing at
the board, he yanked and pulled to no avail. Already
the venom was having its effect. His hands were numb
(48:31):
and his arms felt like lead. Gasping for air, he
threw himself at the boards again and again, but it
was no use. He was beaten. Great sob shook his
body as he slumped to the floor. This can't be
happening to me, he protested. It's ridiculous. It is ridiculous. Right,
he's attacked by a spire the size of a pit pull.
I would find that hard to believe. Well, that's why
(48:53):
you're playing, Johnson thanks. Looking back at the spider, he
could see that had still not moved. What is she
waiting for, he wondered, Why did she finish me off?
He soon had his answer. Shimmering like a great overcoat,
there was something on the spider's back. It moved and undulated,
like a small wave, flowing back and forth. Then a
(49:14):
piece of the wave pulled away and dropped to the floor.
It was another spider, only a lot smaller, about the
size of a rat. Johnson recalled that some spiders carry
their young in their backs. Horrified, he realized that he
had stumbled into their nursery and it was feeding down.
Another one dropped to the floor, and then another. Soon
(49:34):
there was a long line of spiders slowly crawling towards him.
Through fading eyesight, he saw the first one reached his
foot pinitively, its four leg probe the air until it
found his leg and added it. It was light and delicate,
like the touch of a child. Johnson opened his mouth
to screen it. My sound came. The last thing Johnson
(49:55):
saw before he lost consciousness was a spider tearing a
piece of flesh from the back of his hands. And
it's curtains for Johnson. Yeah, no more lines for me.
Baby spiders. That's the size of rats. That's really alpful.
Back at the farmhouse, the old man picked up the
whiskey bottle from the kitchen table, poured himself another drink,
and plopped down on the ancient recliner. How long it take,
(50:18):
Jake asked the old woman. Not long, he grunted. They
ain't it since Sunday, get sign I chrat mo folks
now the signs okay? Anyway, we don't need a crowd,
said the old man, taking a long, hard swallow. What
you're going to do with his car, she asked, standing
at the window admiring the now ownerless vehicle. I hear
(50:40):
young Dougal needs one for running moon Sean. Willing to
pay good price too, said the old man. Won't he asked? Questions,
wondered the old woman, pouring a drink and easing herself
down onto a dusty couch. Nah, he don't care, snickered
the old man. I talked to him tomorrow. Meanwhile, pass
me that remote. Let's see what's on the TV. Boom
(51:09):
comes down. The whole thing was an indictment and American's
addiction to television. I think you're right, and America's propensity
to to shun farm people and a grow giant spiders.
That's right, man, Everything was represented. It's basically like mom
(51:31):
apple Pie in baseball team. That's right, all right, that's
a good one. Good job Johnson, Good job, Peter. I
don't know what is an old man's name? Is no
Peter the author, the guy who actually wrote absolutely Yeah,
great job. And thanks to Annie for providing the counterpart
to clead us a slight John joke. Thanks to you
for your redneck man, my spirited redneck. Yeah, all right,
(51:56):
you got anything else? I think that's pretty great. I
do have one thing else, all right. Happy Halloween, everybody,
Happy Halloween. We'll see you next year. For more on
this and thousands of other topics, visit how stuff works
dot com.
Welcome to you stuff you should know from house stuff
works dot com. Welcome to the Halloween Podcast. I'm Josh
the Ghoul Clark. That's right, there's Chuck the Phantom Bryant
(00:23):
and Jerry the ghoulish Phantom. Great. I think, uh, Darry
didn't like being called a wraith. No. I think that's
she didn't know what it means. No, you know, I
think this tradition is so great and fun. Now. I
think so too, that we are beginning to live alongside
(00:44):
the Simpsons Street House of Horror. Oh, it's that venerated Huh.
I think so? I think. I think. I think you're
I think listeners really look forward to this, well, not
on that level of like fame, but I think fans
of the Simpsons look forward to that each You're just
as our fans look forward to That's what I'm saying. Um,
(01:06):
it's one of my favorites obviously both of us. Christmas
and Halloween are probably two phaves of the year. Am
I speaking for you? Yeah? But you're speaking correctly, all right.
I can live with that, you know. I mean, like,
those are the two that we know we're going to
be good. All the rest of it's like hit or miss. Yeah,
for the unknown, unadorned, unadorned, uninitiated, unindoctrinated, unindoctrinated, unexposed, unexposed.
(01:32):
What we do is we we read a scary story
for Halloween, and last with and Jerry Gussie's at all
up with special effects. It's like this, that was amazing?
How about that? That's creepy, Like I'm scared right now. Um.
And last year we started a tradition where we are
reading two shorter stories and that's what we're doing again
(01:56):
this year because I think what happened is, well, remember
we had a Halloween horror fiction contest. Well, yeah, that
was great, that's pretty cool. Yeah. Uh and then but
we started the whole thing out with was it the
Tomb I think was the first one, and then we
did bear nice yeah, then the horror fiction contest I think,
(02:17):
and then I don't know how many of this is.
Oh yeah, we'll have to figure it out, yeah, because
we'll have to title it whatever annual Halloween Spectacular. Yes,
which is a different thing that we did once on
our very short lived web web video series what was
that called webcast? Webcast? It's so ancient already that we
(02:40):
can't even remote a live webcast. So you picked out
this first one, um, and I picked out the second one. Well, first, first,
hold on, I want to I want to give a
plug to our buddy, to Grabster, because he hooked us
up all right. So I don't know if you know
this or not, but the Grabster knows what he's talking
about when it comes to horror movies, and um I
(03:02):
we tweeted to him and said, hey, man, can you
give us a list of your favorite horror movies of
all time? And the Grabster said, oh, are you gonna
read them? But he said yes, let me give me
a night and I will put it together. And by
goodness if he didn't put it on his um personal
(03:22):
site robot viking dot com. The post is some of
my favorite horror movies and he just went to town.
What's his number one? It's not listed to Spiria no,
like he doesn't have them in order, but raw had
Rex is on their Pontypool Triangle Return of Living Dead
three and he justifies these. You know, I need to
(03:46):
see ponty Pool because our buddy Joe Garden is long
raved about the merits of the people. I've never seen it.
Either and it's one of those ones. It's like, I
think it's up on Netflix too. All right, so you
picked this first one? You want to just set it up? Yes?
So this is the moon Bog. It's hyphenated two words
by our friend Howard Phillips Lovecraft, who is still one
(04:10):
of my favorite writers of all time. Um. Yeah, even
though you can just go on and on about him
personally or his writing style or some of the devices
he used, like other than describing something to saying it
was indescribable or unnamable, I still love the guy for
some reason. Uh. And this one is one of his
(04:30):
um more interesting imaginative ones. Has nothing to do with
the Cathulu mythos or anything like that. It's just pretty cool.
It's a neat, little weirdo ancient haunting story about an
Irish American who who uh doesn't follow the advice of
(04:51):
the local townspeople. Let's just say that, not right. Are
you ready? Do you want me to start? Yeah? Without
further ado, The Moon Bug by H. P. Lovecraft Somewhere
(05:12):
to what remote and fearsome region I know not. Dennis
Barry has gone. I was with him the last night
he lived among men and heard his screams when the
thing came to him. But all the peasants and police
and County Meath could never find him or the others,
though they searched long and far. And now I shudder
when I hear the frogs piping and swamps, or see
(05:33):
the moon in lonely places. I had known Dennis Berry
well in America, where he had grown rich, and had
congratulated him when he bought back the old castle by
the bog at Sleepy Kildairy. It was from Kilderie that
his father had come, and it was there that he
wished to enjoy his wealth among ancestral scenes. Men of
his blood had once ruled over Kilderie and built and
(05:56):
dwelt in the castle. But those days were very remote,
so that for generations the castle had been empty and decaying.
After he went to Ireland, Barry wrote me often and
told me how under his care the Gray Castle was
rising tower by tower to its ancient splendor, how the
ivy was climbing slowly over the restored walls as it
had climbed so many centuries ago, and how the peasants
(06:18):
blessed him for bringing back the old days with his
gold from over the sea. But in time there came troubles,
and the peasants ceased to bless him and fled away instead,
as from a doom. And then he sent a letter
and asked me to visit him, for he was lonely
in the castle, with no one to speak to, save
the new servants and labors he had brought from the north.
(06:40):
The bog was the cause of all these troubles, as
Barry told me the night I came to the castle.
I had reached Kildery in the summer sunset, as the
gold of the sky lighted the green of the hills
and groves and the blue of the bog, where on
a far islet a strange olden ruin glistened spectral lee.
That sunset was very beautiful, but peasants at Ballylow had
(07:01):
warned me against it and said that Kilderi had become accursed,
so that I almost shuddered to see the high turrets
of the castle gilded with fire. Barry's motor had met
me at the Ballylow station, for Kildery is off the railway.
The villagers had shunned the car and the driver from
the north, but had whispered to me with pale faces
when they saw I was going to Kildeery. And that night,
(07:22):
after our reunion, Barry told me why the peasants had
gone from Kildrey, because Dennis Barry was to drain the
great Bog. For all his love of Ireland America had
not left him untouched, and he hated the beautiful wasted
space where pete might be cut and the land opened up.
The legends and superstitions of Kildee did not move him,
and he laughed when the peasants first refused to help,
(07:45):
and then cursed him and went away to Ballylow with
their few belongings as they saw his determination in their place.
He sent for laborers from the North, and when the
servants left, he replaced them likewise. But it was lonely
among strangers, so Barry had asked me to come, all right,
So we got this guy Dennis, who uh got his
(08:05):
old fixer up our family castle. You made some some
moolah back in the States, went over to Ireland to
fix it up, brought in some I guess people from
Scotland to help. Friends from the North. Maybe, oh yeah, sure,
I took it to be Greenland for some reason. Interesting uh,
and everyone in the village. He wants to get rid
(08:26):
of that bog and drain it. And I put in
a tennis court and he's like, we could put build
train tracks there something. And everyone in the village is
going a big mistake. I'm out of here, so as
buddy comes to visit him, uh, and that's where we are.
When I heard the fears which had driven the people
from Kildary, I laughed as loudly as my friend had laughed.
(08:46):
But these fears were the vegas wildest and most absurd character.
They had to do with some preposterous legend of the
bog and of a grim guardian spirit that dwelt in
the strange, old and ruin on the far islet I
had seen in the sunset. There were tales of dancing
lights and the dark of the moon, and of chill
winds when the night was warm, of wraiths in white
(09:07):
hovering over the waters. But foremost among the weird fancies,
and alone in its absolute unanimity, was that of the
curse awaiting him who should dare to touch or drain
the vast reddish morass. Don't drain the bog. There were secrets,
said the peasants which must not be uncovered, secrets that
(09:28):
had lain hidden since the plague came to the children
of Partholon. In the fabulous years beyond history. In the
Book of Invaders, it is told that the sons of
the Greeks were all buried at Talach, but old men
and kilder. He said, one city was overlooked save by
its patron, Moon Goddess said that only the wooded hills
(09:49):
buried it. When the men of Nimed swept down from
Sathia and their thirty ships. Such were the idle tales
which had made the villagers leave killdeery, And when I
heard them, I did not wonder what Dennis Barry had
refused to listen. He had, however, a great interest in antiquities,
and proposed to explore the bog thoroughly when it was drained.
(10:10):
The white ruins on the islet he had often visited,
But though their age was plainly great, and their contour
very little like that of most ruins in Ireland, there
were too dilapidated to tell the days of their glory.
Now the work of drainage was ready to begin, and
the laborers from the north were soon to strip the
forbidden bog of its green moss and red heather and kill,
(10:32):
the tiny shelf paved streamlets, and quiet blue pools fringed
with brushes. After Barry had told me these things, I
was very drowsy, for the travels of the day had
been wearying, and my host had talked. Late into the night,
a man servant shoot me into my room, which was
in a remote tower, overlooking the village and the plain
at the edge of the bog and the bog itself,
(10:54):
so that I could see from my windows in the
moonlight the silent roofs from which the peasants had fled
now sheltered the laborers from the north, and to the
parish church with his antique spire, and far out across
the brooding bog, the remote olden ruin on the islet
gleaming whitened spectral. Just as I dropped asleep, I fancied
I heard faint sounds from the distance, sounds that were
(11:17):
wild and half musical, and stirred me with a weird
excitement which colored my dreams. But when I awaked next morning,
I felt it had all been a dream, for the
visions I had seen were more wonderful than any sound
of wild pipes in the night. Influenced by the legends
that Barry had related, my mind had, in slumber hovered
around a stately city in a green valley, where marble
(11:38):
streets and statues, villas and temples, carvings and inscriptions all
spoke in certain tones the glory that was Greece. When
I told this dream to Barry, we both laughed, but
I laughed the louder because he was perplexed about his
laborers from the North. For the sixth time. They had
all overslept, waking very slowly and dazedly, and at thing
(12:00):
as if they had not rested, although they were known
to have gone early to bed the night before. So
the Scottish labors are getting drunk, they're they're oversleeping, they're
slacking off, and this guy's having visions huh. Yeah. And
the whole thing is this, there's this legend that under
the bog there's a stone city that was covered over
(12:23):
uh with this bog ancient Greece, and that yeah, that
was an ancient Greek city in Ireland. And that um,
if you dig up the bog, it's gonna be big
tool because the city is supernatural, say the least man.
That's getting good. You're ready again? Yes? Are you ready, listener? Yes, okay.
(12:46):
That morning and afternoon I wandered alone through the sun
gilded village and talked now and then with idle laborers,
for Barry was busy with the final plans for beginning
his work of drainage. The laborers were not as happy
as they might have been, from most of them seemed
uneasy over some dream which they had had yet, which
they tried in vain to remember. I told them of
(13:06):
my dream, but they were not interested till I spoke
of the weird sounds I thought I had heard. Then
they looked oddly at me and said that they seemed
to remember weird sounds too. In the evening, Barry dined
with me and announced that he would begin the drainage
in two days. I was glad, for although I disliked
to see the moss and the heather, and the little
streams and lakes depart, I had a growing wish to
(13:29):
discern the ancient secrets the deep matted pete might hide.
And that night my dreams of piping flutes and marble
parastyles came to a sudden and disquieting end. For upon
the city in the valley I saw a pestilence descend,
and then a frightful avalanche of wooded slopes that covered
the dead bodies in the streets, and left unburied only
the temple of Artemness on the high peak, where the
(13:51):
aged moon Priestess Cliss lay cold and silent, with a
crown of ivory on her silver head. I have said
that I awake suddenly and in a arm. For some
time I could not tell whether I was waking or sleeping,
for the sounds of flutes still rang shrilly in my ears.
But when I saw on the floor the icy moonbeams
and the outlines of the lattice Gothic window, I decided
(14:13):
I must be awake, and in the castle at Kildary.
Then I heard a clock from some remote landing below
strike the hour of two, and I knew I was awake.
It's still There came that monotonous piping from afar wild
weird airs that made me think of some dance of
fawns on distant manless. It would not let me sleep,
and in in patience I sprang up and paced the floor.
(14:34):
Only by chance did I go to the north window
and look out upon the silent village and the plane
at the edge of the ball. I had no wish
to gaze abroad, for I wanted to sleep, But the
flutes tormented me, and I had to see or do something.
How could I have suspected the thing I was to
behold there in the moonlight that flooded the spacious plane
was a spectacle which no mortal, having seen it, could
(14:57):
ever forget. To the sound of reedy pipes that echoed
over the bog. They're glided silently and eerily, a mixed
throng of swaying figures, reeling through such a revel as
the Sicilians may have danced to Demeter in the old
days under the harvest mood. Besides cy, in the wide plane,
the golden moonlight, the shadowy moving forms, and above all
(15:18):
the shrill, monotonous piping produced an effect which almost paralyzed me.
Yet I noted, amidst my fear, that half of these tireless,
mechanical dancers were the laborers whom I had thought asleep,
whilst the other half were strange airy beings in white,
half in determinate in nature, but suggesting pale, wistful naiads
from the haunted fountains of the Bog. I do not
(15:39):
know how long I gazed at the site from the
lonely turret window before I dropped suddenly in a dreamless swoon,
out of which the high sun of morning aroused me.
Things are getting real, Phil, So he's like seeing these
like weird, ghostly zombie like laborers and white creatures. And
(16:00):
to lay off the opium. Do they have opium in Ireland? Sure?
Are you? Kidne me? He needs to lay off? All right?
Here we go. My first impulse on awakening was to
communicate all my fears and observations to Dennis Barry. But
as I saw the sunlight glowing through the latticed east window,
I became sure that there was no reality in what
I thought I had seen. I am given to strange phantasms,
(16:23):
yet am never weak enough to believe in them. So
on this occasion contented myself with questioning the laborers, who
slept very late and recalled nothing of the previous night
save misty dreams of shrill sounds. This matter of the
spectral piping harassed me greatly, and I wondered if the
crickets of autumn had come before their time to vex
the night and haunt the visions of men. Later in
(16:46):
the day, I watched Barry in the window, pouring over
his plans for the great work which was to begin
on the morrow, and for the first time felt a
touch of the same kind of fear that had driven
the peasants away. For some unknown reason, I dreaded the
thought of disturbing the ancient bog and its sunless secrets,
and pictured terrible sights lying black under the unmeasured depth
(17:07):
of age. Old Pete. That these secrets should be brought
to light seems injudicious, and I began to wish for
an excuse to leave the castle in the village. I
went so far as to talk casually to Bury on
the subject, but did not dare continue after he gave
his resounding laugh. So I was silent when the sun
set fulgently over the far hills, and killed reblazed alread
(17:28):
and gold in a flame. That seemed a portent. So
he brought it up to his buddy, and he kind
of got made fun of. I think right whether the
events of that night were of reality or illusion, I
shall never ascertain. Certainly they transcend anything we dream of
in nature and the universe. Yet in no formal fashion
can I explain those disappearances which were known to all men.
(17:51):
After it was over, I retired, erie and full of dread,
and for a long time could not sleep, and the
uncanny silence of the tower. It was very dark, for
although the sky was clear, the moon was now well
in the wane, would not rise till the small hours.
I thought as I lay there, of Dennis Berry, and
of what would befall that bog when the day came,
(18:12):
and found myself almost frantic with an impulse to rush
out into the night, take Berry Scar and drive madly
to Ballyloch, out of the menaced lands. But before my
fears could crystallize in action, I'd fallen asleep and gazed
in dreams upon the city in the valley, cold and dead,
under a shroud of hideous shadow. Probably it was the
(18:34):
shrill piping that awaked me. Yet that piping was not
what I noticed first. When I opened my eyes. I
was lying with my back to the east window, overlooking
the bog where the waning moon would rise, and therefore
expected to see light cast on the opposite wall before me,
but I had not looked for such a sight as
now appeared. Light indeed glowed on the panels ahead, but
(18:55):
it was not any light that the moon gives. Terrible
and piercing was the shad a to ruddy refulgence that
streamed through the gothic window, and the whole chamber was
brilliant with a splendor, intense and unearthly. My immediate actions
were peculiar for such a situation, but it is only
entails that a man does the dramatic and foreseen thing.
(19:16):
Instead of looking out across the bog towards the source
of the new light, I kept my eyes from the
window and panic fear, and clumsily drew on my clothing
with some dazed idea of escape. I remember seizing my
revolver and hat, but before it was over, I had
lost them both, without firing the one or donning the other.
After a time, the fascination of the red radiance overcame
(19:36):
my fright, and I crept to the east window and
looked out, whilst the maddening, incessant piping wine and reverberated
through the castle and over all of the village. Over
the bog was a day lousee of flaring light, scarlet
and sinister, and pouring from the strange olden ruin on
the far islet. The aspect of that ruin I cannot describe.
(19:57):
I must have been mad, for it seemed to rise majestic,
an undecayed, splendid and column cintured, the flame, reflecting marble
of its intabulature, piercing the sky like the apex of
a temple on a mountaintop. Flute shrieked, and drums began
to beat, and as I watched, an awe and terror,
I thought I saw a dark, salted form silhouetted grotesquely
against the vision of marble and the Pilgians. The effect
(20:20):
was titanic, altogether unthinkable, and I might have stared indefinitely
had not the sound of the piping seemed to grow
stronger at my left. Trembling with the care oddly mixed
with ecstasy, I crossed the circular room to the north window,
from which I could see the village and the plane
at the edge of the bog. There my eyes dilated
again with a wild wonder as great as if I
(20:41):
had not just turned from a scene beyond the pale
of nature, For on the ghastly red litten plane was
moving a procession of beans in such manner as none
ever saw before, save in nightmares. That is not a
parade of fun happening outside this window, is it. It's
not alrighty, This is scary. This is getting pretty bad.
(21:05):
Half gliding, half floating in the air, the white clad
bog Graiths were slowly retreating towards the still waters and
the island, ruin and fantastic formations suggesting some ancient and
solemn ceremonial dance. Their waving translucent arms, guided by the
detestable piping of those unseen flutes, beckoned in uncanny rhythm
(21:26):
to a throng of lurching laborers, who followed doglike with blind, brainless,
floundering steps, as if dragged by a clumsy but resistless
demon will. As the Naiads neared the bog without altering
their course, a new line of stumbling stragglers zig zagged
drunkenly out of the castle from some door far below
(21:47):
my window, groped sightlessly across the courtyard and through the
intervening bit of village, and joined the floundering column of
laborers on the plane. Despite their distance below me, I
at once knew they were the servants brought from the north,
where I recognized the ugly and unwieldy form of the cook,
whose very absurdness had now become unutterably tragic. The flutes
(22:09):
piped horribly, and again I heard the beating of the
drums from the direction of the island ruin. Then silently
and gracefully, the Naiads reached the water and melted one
by one into the ancient bog, while the line of followers,
never checking their speed, splashed awkwardly after them and vanished,
mixed a tiny vortex of unwholesome bubbles which I could
(22:30):
barely see in the scarlet light, And as the last
pathetic straggler, the fat cook sank heavily out of sight
in that sullen pool, the flutes and the drums grew silent,
the blinding red rays from the ruins snapped instantaneously out,
leaving the village of Doom lone and desolate, and the
wan beams of a new risen moon. So basically, this
(22:55):
guy is looking outside and everybody is following some wraiths
into the bog. That's right, And there's some mad piping
and drumming going on, and this guy's basically losing it. Yeah,
I get the sense that is getting louder and more intense.
A you're gonna take us home and taking us home,
you're ready, let's do it. My condition was now one
(23:17):
of indescribable chaos, not knowing whether I was mad or saying,
sleeping or waking. I was saved only by a merciful numbness.
I believe I did ridiculous things, such as offering prayers
to Artemis, Latona, Demeter, Persephone, and Pluton. All that I
recalled of a classic youth came to my lips. As
the horrors of the situation roused my deepest superstitions. I
(23:41):
felt that I had witnessed the death of a whole village,
and knew I was alone in the castle with Dennis Barry,
whose boldness had brought down a doom. As I thought
of him, new terrorists convulsed me, and I fell to
the floor, not fainting, but physically helpless. Then I felt
the icy blast from the east window, where the moon
had risen, and beg in to hear the shrieks in
the castle far below me. Soon those shrieks had attained
(24:04):
a magnitude and quality which cannot be written it, and
which makes me faint as I think of them. All
I can say is that they came from something I
had known as a friend at some time during the
shocking period. The cold wind and the screaming must have
roused me, for my next impression is of racing madly
through inky rooms and corridors, and out across the courtyard
into the hideous night. They found me at dawn, wandering
(24:26):
mindless near bally Low. But what unhinged me was utterly
not of any of the horrors I had seen or
heard before. What I muttered about as I came slowly
out of the shadows was a pair of fantastic incidents
which occurred in my flight, incidents of no significance, yet
which haunt me unceasingly when I am alone in certain
marshy places are in the moonlight. As I fled from
(24:49):
that cursed castle along the bog's edge, I heard a
new sound, common, yet unlike any I had heard before.
It killed the stagnant waters, lately quite devoid of animal life,
now teemed with horde of slimy, enormous frogs which piped
shrilly and incessantly, and turned strangely out of keeping with
their size. They glistened bloated in green and the moonbeams,
(25:10):
and seemed to gaze up at the font of light.
I followed the gaze of one very fat and ugly frog,
and saw the second of the things which drove my
senses away. Stretching directly from the strange olden ruin on
the far islet to the waning moon. My eyes seemed
to trace a beam of faint, quivering radiance, having no
reflection in the waters of the ball, and upward along
(25:32):
that pallid path, my fevered fancy pictured a thin shadow,
slowly writhing, a vague, contorted shadow, struggling as if drawn
by unseen demons. Crazed as I was, I saw in
that awful shadow a monstrous resemblance, a nauseous, unbelievable caricature,
of blasphemous effigy of him who had been Dennis Berry,
(25:58):
whoa the end man. He can he can paint a picture, Kenny,
he knows what he's doing. Boy, that is good stuff.
He used the word eldredge in this once, and he's
still knocked it out of the park. Yeah, and he
did a good job of describing things instead of just
saying it cannot be described very creepy. Well done, sir,
(26:19):
Well done, sir. So part one is over, so let's
take a break and come back and read story number
two for Halloween Spectacular. Chuck, I just want to point out,
(26:54):
did you notice the awesome Halloween jingle made for us,
specifically by our composer friends on begin Pretty awesome? Agreed,
really helps set the mood. Yeah, thanks a lot, John,
and Jerry didn't have to do it. She's delighted about.
Way to go, Jerry. All right. The second story is
actually contemporary, which is unusual for us, But um, I
(27:18):
email the author because you can just do that these days,
and he said, yeah, read it. That's great. That's pretty
nice of them. So his name is Peter the Peter D. Niverville.
It's a great name, and the story is called The
Petting Zoo, and I liked it because it tied in
with our Spiders episode and it is quite creepy. It's
(27:40):
creep and we're gonna actually have a character voice because
we have to do voices in this one. I was
wondering if you're gonna want to do that. Yeah, man,
you're gonna play Johnson, I'll play the old man. Yes,
I got that. And uh, we're gonna have um our
video Ninja for stuff. Mom never told you Annie he
(28:01):
was an actor to do the old lady to do
old man. I can't remember his name, the old man's wife.
So yes, yeah, so we need to thank Annie for that.
Um here we go with the petting Zoo. At first,
(28:24):
Johnson thought it was a joke. Speeding down the country road,
the crude sign was only a blur, but it was
that one word, slowing down. He swung the car onto
the paved shoulder. In the rear view mirror, he could
see it clearly. The sign was tacked to a stick
that was stuck in the ground just beyond the paved shoulder.
Shifting the car into reverse, Johnson jim the accelerator down.
(28:46):
The tires squealed, and loose gravel flew As he tore
back up the road screeched into a halt. Johnson stared
at the faded handwriting Ellsworth's famous spider petting Zoo five
miles next right. It's spiders fascinated Johnson. One summer when
he was eight, a large golden black spider had taken
up residence underneath the shingles by the back door. Every morning,
(29:09):
Johnson would gather up ants in a jar from a
nest and the scrubby woods behind his house. One by one,
he would drop the wriggling insects into the web with
lightning speed. The spider would spring from her hiding place
and race towards the victim, sinking her fangs into the ant.
She would retreat, waiting for the poison to take effect.
When the aunt slowly stopped struggling, she would climb back
(29:30):
down and delicately wrap her prey in a white shroud.
This continued until one day his mother caught him. What
a cruel little boy you are, she scolded between clenched
teeth as she pummeled his backside. He could still feel
the shame of being spanked. Years later, In a rare
moment of remorse, Johnson wondered what it was like for
the ant, trapped helpless waiting for the spider to return.
(29:53):
Did they know fear or horror? Or was that something
only humans experienced. The insect brain was too small, he
told himself, or so he hoped. Five miles, thought Johnson.
This side trip might only add another half hour or
so to his journey. He would still have time once
he got to his motel to have a shower. The
(30:13):
dinner meeting with a buyer from the supermarket Jane wasn't
until six o'clock, and it was only four now. Coasting forward,
Johnson scanned the road looking for the turn off. About
one hundred yards ahead, he saw a lane that intersected
with the highway. Flicking on his turn signally, shot a
quick glance at his watch. If I don't find it
in fifteen minutes, he promised himself, I'll turn back. Accelerating smoothly,
(30:37):
he turned onto a well paved secondary road with deep
ditches on either side. Punching the buttons on the CD player,
he stretched his arms, settling back into the soft leather
seat As a throbbing beat of the music filled his car.
Is mood lightened an unexpected adventure in an otherwise boring day.
Johnson hated his job, endless meetings with bad food and
(30:59):
balding byres, too many drinks, and too many hangovers. He
was packing on the pounds too. I have to get
back to the gym, he reminded himself. The only redeeming
feature of his job was that he was good at it.
Top sails ripped for the last three years. I should
have been an actor, he told himself. Instead, I'm selling
toilet paper and tampons to these turkeys. As the needle
(31:20):
on the spitometer crept higher and higher than neatly kept
fields and freshly painted houses became a blur. Mile after
miles slipped by, Johnson felt that he and the car
had become one, soaring like a hawk on a summer breeze.
But his mood soon soured. The condition of the road deteriorated.
Asphalt gave way to chip seal, which gave way to
gravel and finally ended up his dirt. Johnson jumped on
(31:43):
the brakes when a huge pothole emerged in the center
of the road, cursing the delay, checked his watch again.
It was almost five. The long drive down the country
road had doled his sense of time. I'd better turn around,
he cautioned himself, as he studied the road ahead, looking
for a safe place to make a U turn, And
he saw it, an old farmhouse stepped back from the road.
(32:04):
If it hadn't been for the pothole, he would have
missed it completely. By the mailbox, a freshly painted sign
read Ellsworth's famous spider petting Zoo open year round, all
visitors welcomed. This must be the place, he concluded. Carefully
turning up the heavily redded lane, Johnson wondered what he
would find. Perhaps one of the locals playing a joke
(32:24):
on the tourists, he mused. Tall grass slapped at the
bottom of the car, and rusted barbed wire clung to
rotted posts that ran alongside the lane. In the untilled fields,
scrubby bushes had sprung up like mushrooms. Johnson tried to
imagine what the farm looked like in better days, but
it was impossible. When he reached the top of the hill,
the farmhouse looked even more Decrepit blistered paint hung from
(32:48):
the wooden shingles, and there was a disturbing sag in
the middle of the roof. But once it had been
the side garden was now occupied by tall thistles and
a massive tangled timbers, indicating the former site of the barn.
Except for the glass still being intact in the windows,
the house looked abandoned. Where is everybody? Thought Johnson in
(33:08):
response to his question, an old woman dressed in a
black skirt and a woolen sweater stepped out the side door.
It's never a good sign by the way she was
gnarled and withered, like the lone apple tree that stood
in the yard. Johnson guests, she must have been at
least seventy, maybe even eighty years old. She spat, turning
off the radio and rolling down the car window. He replied,
(33:31):
is this the petting zoo? That's what the sign says,
don't it. Ignoring her rudeness, Johnson continued, are you open,
I'll get Jake Key out back chopping wood. He watched
as she shuffled down a dirt path and disappeared around
the corner of the house. Charming, thought Johnson. Opening the
car door, he stepped out. Despite the poverty, the farm
(33:52):
had a certain rustic appeal, which reminded him of the
house that he grew up in in the country. But
there was something odd, something missing. Where are the flies?
Thought Johnson. On most farms, the low buzz of the
black swarms was constant, but here there was none. Except
for the moaning of the wind. It was quiet. Perhaps
it was the lack of animals, he thought, or maybe
(34:13):
it was the stiff breeze at the top of the
hill that kept them at bay. Glancing at his watch,
he frowned. It was after five o'clock. If he did
not get back on the road soon, he would be
late for his appointment. Either that or skip his shower
after driving all day, Johnson did not want to skip
the soothing ritual. Taking one last look around, he reached
for the handle of the car door. Just then the
(34:34):
old woman reappeared, and behind her and even more wizened
up old man wearing faded blue overalls and a nicotine
stained undershirt. Stopping at the corner of the house, the
old man spat out a long jet of chewing tobacco
onto the ground. Wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand. He paused momentarily to study Johnson. Speaking to
the old woman, he said in a low tone, thought,
(34:56):
I heard a car come up. Wants to see your spatters,
she said, before she turned away and went back to
the farmhouse, letting the screen door slam behind her. You
want to see my spiders, young fellow. Sure, if you're
open how much? Looking over Johnson's luxury car, he scratched
his ruddy face and said fifty, that's ridiculous. Strugging his shoulders,
(35:20):
the old man said, take it or leave it. I
got work to do, and then he spat out another
long jet of chewing tobacco and turned to go So
this guy, he's a sales chimp. Yeah, he's the part
I was born to play. Apparently I'm nailing it. He's
he's traveling in his luxury car. He's a spider dude
(35:41):
because he's to torture ants in a spider webs. Not
that he has super powers bestowed to him by a
radioactive spider, No, but it's he's made the big mistake
of going to see this redneck spider farm. Yeah, spinning,
chewing tobacco. Are you talking to a stranger indicates the
presence of a redneck? Yeah, so did the overalls. Yeah alright,
(36:03):
so back to the petting zoo. I can't leave now
after coming all this way, thought Johnson. Taking another quick
glance at his watch, he said, irritably, alright, alright, but
this better be good. See that sounds just like me,
it does. The old man smirked and licked his lips
(36:24):
as Johnson whipped out a crisp fifty dollar bill from
his wallet. Johnson did not like the old man's greedy
look and hastily shoved his wallet back in his pants pocket. Thanks,
said the old man, sarcastically, snatching the bill from Johnson's hand,
looking it over carefully, he folded it up neatly, stuck
it in his pocket, and said, follow me. The old
(36:45):
man led Johnson down an overgrown path to a shed
at the back of the farmhouse. Inside, the dim glow
of fluorescent tubes highlighted the dozen plywood shelves that ran
along the walls. In contrast to the rest of the farm,
the shed was neat, almost antiseptic in appearance. Sitting on
each shelf was a glass terrarium filled with twigs and rocks.
In the case closest to Johnson, a small garden spider
(37:07):
was spinning a web in the corner. That's an orb spider,
said the old man, said Johnson, annoyed by the interruption.
You know spiders a bit, replied Johnson. I used to
study them when I was a kid. I bet you're
the type that like defeat him. Yeah, catch bugs, drop
him in. See what happens? Fun, ain't it? Suddenly Johnson
(37:31):
was uncomfortable. How did he guess my secret, he wondered.
Johnson felt the warm rush of blood to his neck
and ears as he started to blush. No need to
be a shame, young fellow. All kids do it. It's natural.
Trying to change the topic, Johnson asked, you you've been
at this long keeping spiders. Yeah, I've been at it
(37:53):
a while. Most folks scared of spiders. Not me. Me
and spider Gilon feel good. Johnson turned back to watch
a large black spider in another case sucking up the
half digested slurry of its latest victim. Trying to be polite,
Johnson asked, but you don't give many visitors here, being
so far from the highway. Donate him, said the old man.
(38:17):
This is just a sideline. Pausing for effect, he added,
I breed him. Johnson looked puzzled for the college, explained
the old man. They use him for research. Does it
pay well? Good enough? Uh? They don't know squat about spiders,
said the old man, spinning on the floor. Johnson looked
down and saw that a streak of the sticky black
(38:39):
tobacco had splashed on his shoes. I've been doing research
on my own, said the old man proudly. Spatters are
just like any other creator. Cows, horses, dogs, They're all
the same breed. The best with the best, and you
get the best or the The old man's voice trailed
off as he started to laugh. There was something about
(39:03):
his tone that made Johnson uneasy. You want to see
him a prize winner. Johnson looked around. Oh, she ain't here.
I keep her in the barn. She kind of makes
he's created nervous. I can't say he's blames him. He
won't see her. The way the old man said it,
the question sounded more like a challenge. Johnson hesitated. He
(39:23):
wanted to say no, but he could not let the
old man see that he was afraid. Sure, answered Johnson,
What could it be, he asked himself, A tarantula. With
the old man in front, they went down a lesser
used path to a small barn behind a stand of
trees that made it invisible from the farmhouse. A shiny
new lock on a rusted hask yielded to the old
(39:44):
man's key. I don't like kids messing with the stuff.
The ancient wooden door swung open. Inside it was pitch black.
Johnson hesitated, what was it that made him apprehensive? His
mouth felt dry and he tried to swallow. Going in
to him the old man as he shoved Johnson through
the door, Stumbling on a raised sill, Johnson fell to
(40:06):
one knee, ripping his pants. Damn it, he cursed. He's
a light switch ahead, are you, the old man reassured him. Jase,
pull the string. The stench of moldy hay made Johnson gag.
Where is it the spider, he called out. He's in
the back. He can't miss her. Where is the light?
(40:27):
Right and funny? Can't you see it? Mocked the old man.
Johnson stretched out his hand. At first he could not
feel anything. Then, slowly groping the air in, he caught
hold of it. Johnson's heart leapt in relief. But there
was something strange. The line didn't feel like a string.
It was sticky. Like pulling the line, Johnson knew he
(40:49):
had made a mistake. Something rustled in the rafters above him,
and bits of straw floated down. Johnson bolted for the opening.
Enjoy yourself, cackled the old man as he slammed the door.
Unlocked it. Let me out, Let me out, shouted Johnson.
Pounding on the door. Let me out you a buzzard,
But it was no use. The dried out wooden door
was like iron. Pausing to catch his breath, his fist throbbing,
(41:11):
Johnson looked around slowly, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark,
but appeared to be a black chasm, was, in fact
the side entrance to the barn. There must be another
way out, he thought, But where in the gloom He
could see that beyond the entryway there was a large
open space, and beyond that a boarded up window through
which thin shafts of sunlight streamed. Great, all I have
(41:33):
to do is cross the barn, pull off one or
two of those boards, and climb out, thought Johnson. Then
I'll show that old man fifty bucks. He'll wish i'd
never stopped. Then he heard another rustle overhead, and straw
floated down. Who is it? Who's there? He called out.
I'll bet it's that old man, thought Johnson. He thinks
he's gonna scare me. Sure you just keep that up,
(41:54):
old man, Johnson called out again. Let's see how much
laughing you do when I bashed your face in Again,
that's just totally me. But first, I've got to get
to that window. Be careful, he cautioned himself. This barn
must be full of junk. I don't want to fall
down and get hurt. Despite the heat and the bar
and he shivered, licking the sweat off his upper lips.
(42:15):
Johnson slowly picked his way across the wide wooden plank
barn floor, being careful not to trip. Shadows of old
machinery and tools loomed around him. A leather harness that
hung from the wall looked like a hangman's noose. There
was a peculiar smell too. It reminded him of a
package of chicken that he once left in the trunk
of his car in a hot summer day. It was
(42:36):
the sickly sweet scent of rotten meat. Oh gross, muttered Johnson.
There's a dead animal in here. In less than a minute,
he had crossed the barn and was standing in front
of the boarded up window blocking his exit, where three
boards nailed haphazardly into the frame. Either the old man
was too weak or too lazy to drive them all
the way in, concluded Johnson. I can probably pull them
(42:58):
off with my bare hands. He smiled triumphantly. All right,
So Johnson has been locked in the barn. It smells
like chicken. It smells like rotting chicken. Uh, there's a
leather harness hanging from the wall. So I think I'd
be glad at this point that the old man left.
At least I would think there would be some sort
of deliverance like thing going on here. Yeah, I mean
he shoved him. The guys ripped his jeans. Sure there
(43:22):
was like that was hostile. It was very hostile. All right,
here we go. The first board was half rotted and
fell apart in his hands. Light streamed in as it
came away from the frame. Then he shifted his attention
to the second one, the board in the middle. If
he could get this one off, he could easily climb out.
But this board wouldn't be so easy. It was like
(43:43):
the old door of the barn, dried out and tough
as steel. Gripping the board with both hands, he began
pulling the nails, squealed in protest, and the board started
to move, only a little bit. Grunted Johnson, the thought
of throttling old man excited him just a bit further.
Another halp, and he could almost feel his fingers closing
(44:04):
around the old Man's scrawn the neck, the eyes bulging,
the tongue sticking out another half inch. Then it stopped. Desperately,
Johnson yanked at the board, but it was no use.
It would not yield. I need more leverage, he said
to himself and out loud. Balancing on one foot, he
braced his other against the window frame and started pulling again.
(44:27):
The muscles in his forearms and back bulged. Was restrained
against the board. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into
his eyes. Come on, he pleaded with the wood, Come on.
In this frustration, Johnson did not hear the soft tap
tap tap on the floor behind him, tap tap tap,
like a blind man with his cane, tap tap tap.
(44:48):
Then it was too late. It struck the force of
the attack. Ramdom faced first against the wall, knocking the
wind out of him. Warm blood trickled from his nose
and ran down his cheek. What was that ring around?
Slowly he could see in the light from the window
his attacker was crouched inside an empty stall along the
opposite wall, the legs tints ready to spring. It was
(45:09):
a spider, no doubt, one of the old Man's experiments
that this was no ordinary spider. It was huge, about
the size of a pit bowl, with legs that extended
out three or four feet on either side. Its eyes
stared coldly at him. Johnson did a quick tally of
his injuries. Except for his bloody knows, he was unharmed.
(45:31):
Perhaps the large size of the creature made it difficult
for its a mountain attack, he conjectured. Possibly it did
not even recognize him as prey. I'm sure that's it.
Spiders normally eat moths and insects, he reminded himself, not
human beings. When he was a kid, Johnson liked to
throw twigs into a web just to see the spider's reaction. Invariably,
after pouncing on the object, the spider would pluck it
(45:52):
out of the web, turn it over, and drop it
on the ground. Johnson hopped, the spider would show the
same lack of interest from its vantage point at the
other end of the bar, and the creature seemed puzzled,
unsure of itself. Spiders are cautious, he told himself. It's
waiting for me to make the next move. Although every
fiber in his body screamed to run, his brain told
him to stay still. The spider was too big and
(46:14):
too fast the outrun. You need a weapon, he told himself.
Quickly looking about, he saw the rotten board from the
window lying at his feet. It was about two ft long,
with a jagged point at one end. It'll have to
do slowly. He bent down to pick it up. The
spider crouched low like a sprinter, ready to strike again.
Johnson froze his fingers only inches from the board. Easy girl,
(46:37):
he whispered, softly. Easy. The spider relaxed, but not completely deliberately.
It began to move forward, cat tat, tat. Johnson was
amazed by the creature's grace, like a ballerina tiptoeing in
from the darkened wings of a theater. It was a
marvel of beauty and design. The body, covered by fine
gray hair, had the look of velvet, while the eight
(46:59):
legs extended from the thorax provided speed and balance. As
it approached Johnson, the spider carefully extended one four leg
toward him. Johnson quickly knocked it away with his hand.
The creature stopped and cocked its plate sized head to
one side. The eight eyes looked like black fists. Then
the leg came forward again. At the tip, Johnson could
see the spikelike claw for catching prey. It touched his
(47:22):
left shoulder through his jacket. He could feel the sharp
point digging into his skin. Johnson winced and stepped backwards
to the wall, but there was no place to go. Slowly,
the other four leg came forward. Johnson recoil, trying to
ward off the attack with his free arm, but their
creature was too strong. It brushed his arm aside as
if there were a piece of lint, and planted a
second claw into his other shirts. Johnson cried out, help, help,
(47:46):
Then the spider reared up on its hind legs, forcing
Johnson to his knee. For a brief moment, he and
the creature looked into each other's eyes. It was almost
like love. Then he saw the six inch fangs that
extended from the head drops A venom gleamed in the
half light. He watched in fascination as the cruel daggers
arched high over him. Then he screamed as they plunged
deeply into his chest. Instantly, white hot pain ripped through
(48:10):
his body. Then it was gone. The spider had retreated
back to the skull. Johnson knew that he had only
a minute or two before the poison paralyzed him. This
is it, he said to himself, my only chance. Ignoring
his wounds, Johnson turned back to the window. Grabbing at
the board, he yanked and pulled to no avail. Already
the venom was having its effect. His hands were numb
(48:31):
and his arms felt like lead. Gasping for air, he
threw himself at the boards again and again, but it
was no use. He was beaten. Great sob shook his
body as he slumped to the floor. This can't be
happening to me, he protested. It's ridiculous. It is ridiculous. Right,
he's attacked by a spire the size of a pit pull.
I would find that hard to believe. Well, that's why
(48:53):
you're playing, Johnson thanks. Looking back at the spider, he
could see that had still not moved. What is she
waiting for, he wondered, Why did she finish me off?
He soon had his answer. Shimmering like a great overcoat,
there was something on the spider's back. It moved and undulated,
like a small wave, flowing back and forth. Then a
(49:14):
piece of the wave pulled away and dropped to the floor.
It was another spider, only a lot smaller, about the
size of a rat. Johnson recalled that some spiders carry
their young in their backs. Horrified, he realized that he
had stumbled into their nursery and it was feeding down.
Another one dropped to the floor, and then another. Soon
(49:34):
there was a long line of spiders slowly crawling towards him.
Through fading eyesight, he saw the first one reached his
foot pinitively, its four leg probe the air until it
found his leg and added it. It was light and delicate,
like the touch of a child. Johnson opened his mouth
to screen it. My sound came. The last thing Johnson
(49:55):
saw before he lost consciousness was a spider tearing a
piece of flesh from the back of his hands. And
it's curtains for Johnson. Yeah, no more lines for me.
Baby spiders. That's the size of rats. That's really alpful.
Back at the farmhouse, the old man picked up the
whiskey bottle from the kitchen table, poured himself another drink,
and plopped down on the ancient recliner. How long it take,
(50:18):
Jake asked the old woman. Not long, he grunted. They
ain't it since Sunday, get sign I chrat mo folks
now the signs okay? Anyway, we don't need a crowd,
said the old man, taking a long, hard swallow. What
you're going to do with his car, she asked, standing
at the window admiring the now ownerless vehicle. I hear
(50:40):
young Dougal needs one for running moon Sean. Willing to
pay good price too, said the old man. Won't he asked? Questions,
wondered the old woman, pouring a drink and easing herself
down onto a dusty couch. Nah, he don't care, snickered
the old man. I talked to him tomorrow. Meanwhile, pass
me that remote. Let's see what's on the TV. Boom
(51:09):
comes down. The whole thing was an indictment and American's
addiction to television. I think you're right, and America's propensity
to to shun farm people and a grow giant spiders.
That's right, man, Everything was represented. It's basically like mom
(51:31):
apple Pie in baseball team. That's right, all right, that's
a good one. Good job Johnson, Good job, Peter. I
don't know what is an old man's name? Is no
Peter the author, the guy who actually wrote absolutely Yeah,
great job. And thanks to Annie for providing the counterpart
to clead us a slight John joke. Thanks to you
for your redneck man, my spirited redneck. Yeah, all right,
(51:56):
you got anything else? I think that's pretty great. I
do have one thing else, all right. Happy Halloween, everybody,
Happy Halloween. We'll see you next year. For more on
this and thousands of other topics, visit how stuff works
dot com.
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