Banish, Part 2

Welcome back to Undertow, Realms' podcast of the weird and the wicked. I'm your host, Fred Greenhalgh, here with part two of Banish, written by Laura Bernier, performed by Janice Morgan. Last week, we met Clover, a millennial woman who found herself kind of between things at the time she was asked to tend to her aunt's antique shop in Maine, while her aunt recovers from a heart attack. It started as sort of a fun escape from Clover, odd characters, cute little town. Then it took a bit of a sinister quality when she disobeyed the warnings from the locals and went out after dark and encountered a horrific being. Now she's faced with staying or leaving from the strange town, and she is on course to learn more about the town's hidden history and face an impossible decision. Here is part two of Banish. The next morning was Saturday. Exhausted and sore, I slept in and was awoken by the cat's meowing and a consistent, repetitive knocking at the carriage house door. I stumbled out of bed to answer it. A woman and three children stood there. The youngest child, a boy, continued to gleefully knock even after I opened the door. The woman held a casserole dish covered in foil. Bo, stop it, she said. I'm Nora Robbie, Trent's wife from the trading works. We heard you'd been hurt. I wanted to bring you this. It's lobster mac and cheese, the oldest girl said. Mom's specialty. Grandpa's a lobsterman. In Scarborough, the middle girl added. Dad said you saw one of them. What did it look like? Was it a boy or a girl? The older girl asked. She wore spectacles, the kind with the stretchy earbands that they give to kids. Behind the glasses, her eyes were avid and sharp. Avery, what did I tell you? Beau, stop that knocking. Nora gave me a forced smile. She thrust the casserole into my hands. Keep it refrigerated and eat it within the next three days. Heat it at 350 for 20 minutes. She made eye contact only fleetingly. I couldn't tell if she was shy or just disgusted with me. She had brown hair cut into a bob and wore simple makeup and a scoop neck t-shirt. She was quite pretty, if dressed stoutily by city standards. Thank you so much, I said. I was unsure of small-town etiquette. Would you like to come in? Chips emerged to wind around the children's feet. The boy fell off knocking at last and squatted to pet the cat. Thanks, but we have a busy day. There's a lot to get done now that the sun sets earlier. Now Nora met my eyes, and I didn't think I was imagining their accusing look. It's important that everyone look out for one another, whether that's helping neighbors, bringing food, and most important, staying inside after dark. I swallowed. My throat still ached. I guess I'd learned my lesson. I think I've got the message, I said. They departed and climbed into a white minivan parked at the curb. As Nora was buckling the toddler into his car seat, Avery turned to look at me once again. She squinted in an invisible repeat of her question. I mouthed the word, girl, and she nodded in acknowledgement before climbing into the van after her sister. So that was the morning. The day only got weirder from there. It was my first Saturday at the shop, and I couldn't believe how busy it was. The temperatures had finally dropped and the air was crisp. The leaves were turning riotous colors and seemingly everyone in New England had decided to go antiquing. By mid-afternoon, I'd sold more than all the other days of the week put together. I didn't know how much of an eye out I had to keep for shoplifters. A mother and daughter duo, mimosa-flushed from a late brunch at Susanna's, were bent over a display of vintage lucite bracelets in the front corner. I was keeping an eye on them, so I didn't see the man until he'd moved well into the parlor. My heart leaped out of my chest to throttle me. It was Charlie. His back was to me. He wore an aubergine blazer I didn't recognize. Maybe his new girlfriend had bought it for him. My heart was hammering away in my throat and I clutched the scarf I draped over my bruises. Had he changed his mind? Broken it off with her and driven north? Had he come to his senses and realized once and for all that the only woman he was meant to be with was me? Then he turned and I caught sight of his profile. With a sick pang of something, relief or disappointment, whatever it was, it was poisonous and sharp. I saw that it wasn't Charlie at all. just a man of similar height and build even his hair was a different color redder and darker than Charlie's shock of blonde he caught my eye I guess I was staring I looked down and away but he moved closer lovely shop you have here he said he had the very faintest trace of an accent the way a Canadian does just a little bit off in this word or that Are you the Finney of Finney & Co.? I'm a Finney, yes, but it's not my shop. I'm looking after it while my aunt takes a sabbatical, I said. He was at the counter now, smiling down at me. He was quite tall, just like Charlie. Early thirties, just like me. I'm Abe, he said, proffering his hand. Clover, I responded. We shook. An electrical shock accompanied the touch of our skin. His fingers were long and strong. He wore a tarnished silver signet ring, but no other jewelry. His hazel eyes were quite far apart. There was a cough, and I glanced away, realizing with a blush that several seconds had elapsed. I withdrew my hand, which tingled. The mom and daughter stood behind him, looking amused. The mother held forth three bracelets. I'll take these, she said. I busied myself ringing up the sale and wrapping the bracelets in tissue paper. The front door opened and shut, and a new group of shoppers entered. In the next half hour, I sold a burl chest of drawers and a set of pink depression drinking glasses. By the time I had another minute to myself, Abe in the elegant eggplant jacket was gone. I had to kick out the last lingering shoppers at half past six. I locked up and went through the yard to the carriage house. It was well into twilight. I wondered if Aunt Margaret closed the shop earlier than six in the winter. After today's sales bonanza, there were now more than a few gaps in the inventory. Maybe she'd have leads on estate sales for me, or tips on whether I should be arming myself with garlic and wooden steaks. I put the mac and cheese in the oven at 3.50 and tried my mom's phone again. Mom said to check in the shop basement for any excess inventory before taking the time to pursue new avenues. There was a note of reserve in her voice, and suspicious, I pressed. Before she broke down and admitted that earlier today, Aunt Margaret had been placed in a medically induced coma. The doctors believed the break for her brain would enable her body to heal, but it was now likely that her recovery would take longer than the six weeks initially optimistically suggested. Is that unusual for a heart attack? I asked. Now my mom sounded worried. That's what's weird, she said. They're no longer certain it was a simple heart attack. It's almost as if she was, I mean it sounds ridiculous, but it's like she was frightened half to death. I was silent, chilled. Mom. I tried to find words to ask about Banish and the no going out after dark, but she interrupted me, saying, Anyway, sweetie, I don't know how much longer we're going to try to keep Margaret's shop open. Let's just take it week by week. I have to go. I've got a dinner party. Mom was a successful real estate agent. When she wasn't at showings, she was schmoozing with the Boston elites. It was a lifestyle that blended poorly with my father's deadhead status, and they'd split up when I was two. I scampered across the courtyard in the dying light to check the shop basement It contained a few pieces of furniture that could probably be moved upstairs to sell along with a large collection of iron fireplace tools Not wood and stakes then, but close enough. I took an armful of pokers back to the carriage house to examine further. As I crossed the threshold, a cloth-wrapped parcel fell out from within the tools. I set down the pokers inside the door and picked up the bundle. When I unfolded the fabric, a handful of crystal salt cascaded to the floor with a clattering sound. Packed in with the salt was a book. It looked to be from the 1950s, judging from the tattered cloth binding and mid-century typeface that read The Untold History of York County by Clement H. McClellan. The oven timer was beeping, so I pulled out the casserole and dished myself up. I sat down with the bowl and the book. Perks of being single, there was nobody to nag me about reading while I ate. I flipped through the pages, wondering as I did so if Aunt Margaret had hidden the book and what the deal was with the salt, until I found the entry for Banish. It was typical of the 1950s in its omission of the history or the perspective of the Native Americans who were the land's original inhabitants, focusing instead on the white colonization of the town. Banish was originally a fur trading post at the junction of the Ossipee and Socko Rivers. It was not incorporated as a town until 1793. The genesis of its name is unclear. Today, it is commonly believed to have been named after Sir Malachi Banish, a wealthy Englishman whose patronage the settlers presumably wished to procure. However, this author's research has been unable to turn up any evidence of such a person ever existing. An alternate history persists in the memories of a few long-lived old-timers who claim to have heard it from their grandparents. In this account, the name Banish arose after the trading post, by then a village, became the home for a group of prisoners who had been banished or expatriated from overseas. The nature of their crimes has been lost to the centuries, but that the newcomers may have once been aristocrats is suggested by recurring references to this group as the gentry. I set the book aside and picked up my phone. Searching up gentry, salt, and iron brought me to some truly strange websites. I filtered out the romantic-y fanfic and was reading a blog post about changelings when I heard a sudden bang at the window above the sink. I looked up. A face was pressed against the glass. It was pale, wide-eyed. On either side of it, small fingers grasped the window's bars. I recognized her because of the spectacles. Trent's oldest daughter, Avery. help she mouthed and then she was gone hurtled backward into the dark like she'd been yanked maybe I should have taken a beat to google Trent's phone number or Nora's or anyone's but my heart was pounding in my ears and I couldn't think straight images of the woman who'd attacked me flashed before my eyes I couldn't let her do the same thing to a child I flung open the back door There was no trace of Avery in the yard. The forest beyond was eerily silent. I was struck once again by how close the tree line came to town. It was as though Main Street, rather than cutting through the center of the town, was its outermost northern border. Behind the shops on my side of the street, the dwellings dwindled away and were swiftly overtaken by trees and brush and lots of ferns. I crept into them. Tonight was clear. The full moon sent down enough light that I didn't need my iPhone flashlight. I could easily see where the ferns and underbrush were crushed, trod. In a flight or a fight, I followed the trail. It led me deeper into the forest. The trees towered over me. I felt very small. I was puzzled by the immensity of the growth. I was familiar with how tall main trees could get, but these seemed better suited to a redwood forest out west. It was a long time since I'd been in the woods at night. It must have been giving me flashbacks to childhood, and that's why I felt so little. I caught a glimpse of something several yards away. The moonlit hit it in an angle, causing a glint. I crept up toward it. Sure enough. a pair of child's eyeglasses. One stretchy earband had been snapped off. I peered ahead and after a moment saw the missing piece dangling from a root. I crawled toward it and hesitated. Perhaps I ought not touch it, ought to leave it for an investigating police officer. Police. My heart sank. Aren't the first minutes and hours after a kidnapping the most crucial? every moment counted. I kept going. Then I found it. A tiny fairy house built against the base of an enormous spruce. It was in the shape of a lean-to. Propped together, twigs held up a roof of bark. Underneath this shelter, a stone table had been laid with acorn stools and a mushroom feast. Miniature toys, maybe Barbie accessories, had been placed around the table. At one end, a hammer, then a pair of scissors and a scrap of fabric, a sword, a mask. Set opposite from these was a teeny tiny pen. Smaller than my pinky nail, but easily recognizable. The level of detail was extraordinary for a plastic toy. I reached out to touch it. It wasn't plastic. It sparked, sending an electric shock into my flesh. I jolted back, but it was too late. Welcome to the realms of peril and glory. Explore the mechanically magical vistas of Vale, the paranormal mysteries of Liminal London, and the cyberpunk chaos of Cyborg. Be awed by our incredible guests from familiar shows like Oxventure and No Rolls Barred. Search realms of peril and glory to find out more. The war is over and both sides lost. Kingdoms were reduced to cinders and armies scattered like bones in the dust. Now the survivors claw to what's left of a broken world, praying the darkness chooses someone else tonight. But in the shadow dark, the darkness always wins. This is old school adventuring at its most cruel. Your torch ticks down in real time, and when that flame dies, something else rises to finish the job. This is a brutal rules-light nightmare with a story that emerges organically based on the decisions that the characters make. This is what it felt like to play RPGs in the 80s, and man, it is so good to be back. Join the Glass Cannon podcast as we plunge into the shadow dark every Thursday night at 8 p.m. Eastern on youtube.com slash the glass cannon with the podcast version dropping the next day. See what everybody's talking about and join us in the dark. The world of Sonic the Hedgehog has been thrust into a not-so-dark, not-so-stormy, hard-boiled detective story that probably nobody saw coming. Follow Sonic and the intrepid Chaotix Detective Agency as they take on their biggest case yet. This high-flying, action-packed adventure will take them across the world, fighting for every clue they can find. It's one heck of a tale. Which is good, because this story might be the only thing that can save their lives. Well, if that's all, I can just dispose of you. Wait, what? All will be revealed in... Sonic the Hedgehog presents The Chaotix Case Files Listen now wherever you get your podcasts The Chaotix are on the case The low evergreen branches parted like curtains folding behind me as though they were ushering me into a church or a castle I rose and took a few steps forward, mesmerized. The ground, carpeted and dried pine needles, was soft and springy under my feet. I was in an entryway of sorts, a private glade or clearing within the forest. To either side of me, mismatched branches, life-sized versions of the fairy house's twigs, supported a canopy of sweet-smelling birch paper. Striped moonlight shone through the thin bark like sun through stained glass. I wanted to see just a bit more, just a few more steps. I was still in the same forest, but the immensity of the trees was now no longer quantifiable. I was small as a chipmunk beside their mountainous height. Only the moon and the sky kept its same size. I was a fox kit. I was a baby squirrel. I was insignificant as a frog in a meadow, unable to orient myself without my pond to guide me. I came to a door carved of rough bark and pushed it open. The room beyond was a banquet hall. tapestries sewn onto enormous dried leaves hung down from the wall supports I leaned in close to look at the thread which sparkled in shades of gold, copper, brown and silver after a moment I realized it was hair I shuddered and turned toward the center of the room where an immense stone table had been laid for a feast I walked around the table The seats were tufted in brown velvet and carved to look like acorns. No, they were acorns, huge ones. Each of the place settings bore a tool or object made of gleaming silver. I found the hammer, life-size now. Then a pair of pinking shears, a military sword, a masquerade mask, a mental bell rang. tinker, tailor, soldier, spy how did that old nursery rhyme go? I made my way around the table careful not to touch anything at the last place was a fountain pen my skin crawled there was no trace of Avery or any living creature I felt suddenly consumed by an urgent desire to get out of there it was time to go back to my kitchen and call in someone else to recover the child. The bark door would not open. I pushed, then pulled, then flung myself against it. It refused to budge. I trotted around the perimeter of the room, only half noting the fungus that sprouted in the corners, the vines that crept up the walls and their veined tapestries, searching for a way out. I couldn't find one. You need to pick up the pen. It was a child's voice, thin and clear. I spun around. The bark door was still shut, but now a small figure stood in front of it. It was Avery. Without her glasses, she appeared even younger, but her eyes were impossibly old. Pick up the pen, she repeated. Once you join us, you'll be able to move freely. Why do I feel like there's a catch, I said. I was relieved that she was alive and seemingly safe, but something felt very wrong. There's always a catch, she said. But you have no other options. Join us, serve us, or you'll fuel us, and you will cease to exist. Who is us? I asked. I had a bad feeling that I already knew. the bark door opened fully and people began to enter the banquet hall I recognized them from the town the coffee shop barista the woman who'd crossed the street to avoid me the green-eyed girl who'd attacked me and more they left the door ajar and took up places at the vast table there was Trent he went to the seat with a hammer Susanna's place had her frittata pan, not iron, but shining silver. Frank went to the sword. Dorothy to a gardening spade. Nora, toddler on her hip, to a baby rattle. They all had rolls, I realized. Abe, the man in the purple jacket I'd thought was Charlie, took up the spy's mask and put it on. He sat and the townspeople followed suit. He smiled at me. Needless to say, I no longer found it alluring. Welcome, Clover, he said. We're so glad you moved to Banish. I didn't move here, I said. I'm helping out with my aunt's shop while she's sick, then I'll be on my way. Clover, he said, still smiling. Your aunt's not coming back. She's outlived her usefulness to us. She refused to join us. For many years she served us and it was helpful to have someone to go back and forth, fetching things, selling things, but how many antique stores does one town need? That's a rhetorical question, by the way, he adds, flicking a masked glance at Trent and Frank. We love the shops, they do brilliantly at luring newcomers, constant little tidbits of outside energy to keep us seated. I honestly have no idea what's going on, I said, my voice steady. But now that I can see the little girl is safe, I'm happy for you to get back to whatever townie cult shit you're up to. Just let me out. It's too late for that, Abe rose. Pick up the pen, Clover, Avery urged again. We've been needing an artist, Abe said. A map maker specifically, but I can visualize many potential uses for you. So can I, said another voice. It was the green-eyed girl who'd bitten me. She leaned forward and licked her lips. You see, you've got a choice to make, Abe said. Pick up the pen, take up your roll, you'll have plenty of time for your own art as well. And if you want to keep your aunt's shop going, by all means be our guest. or refuse and we'll let Wilhelmina here finish what she started. Maybe I could string them on long enough for them to let me out of here. So I just join your little club and I can go back to my house? Nothing is ever quite that simple, of course, said Abe. It's not a little club, but something far grander, far older. Surely you've figured that out by now. I scanned the people around the table. The people? The beings? My gaze landed back on Avery. Banish is where humans and fairies commingle. Her voice was confiding, trusting. Its innocence at odds with the dark, ancient knowledge in her gaze. You'll live forever, Abe said. You'll gain powers, Trent spoke up. You'll be able to go out at night, Susanna said. She winked at me. I shivered. But you can never leave, Nora said quietly. Avery circled the table and wrapped her arms around her mother's neck. Nora subsided. I watched her knuckles weigh in where they clutched her son's leg. He squirmed. I wondered suddenly where the middle daughter was. A small price to pay, Abe said, for ceaseless revels, otherworldly talents, and an eternal life. He could see he had my attention. We already know all about you, Clover. About everything you've lost. He tapped the stone table, and its surface glimmered like glass. Images began to take shape there. I recognized them. Me as a child, shuttled between angry parents who hated each other. Then, as a young adult, a new city, studying art and finally beginning to bloom, just in time for Charlie's entrance into my life. The ensuing decade of friends to lovers on and off, soulmates to situationship, alone and unemployed in my aunt's carriage house, trying uselessly to sketch. The picture shifted Now I was ensconced and banished Brilliant maps and drawings flowed seamlessly from my silver pen I glowed with power and radiance a beautiful and terrible galadriel with ink fingers But I didn't even glance his way, because a line of hopeful suitors waited for my favors. I looked around the table. Could they see the images too? So many eyes turned toward me, some more widely set than others. I could discern now the difference in species. The ones who had been born into this, like Abe, Dorothy, Wilhelmina, and those who had joined, Susanna, Frank, Trent, and Nora, willingly or not. Why had Aunt Margaret resisted? Would I be betraying her by choosing differently? What's the after-dark rule all about? The sound of my own voice surprised me. The table surface hardened back to opaque stone. Abe laughed. A hand-me-down from when we first arrived. We made a deal with the settlers who were here at the time. We'd leave them alone during the day, but they were fair game for us if they left their homes after nightfall. Most of them are long gone now, but the agreement still stands. But if you wanted to feast on me, then why warn me at all? I snapped my glare from Dorothy to Trent to Frank. Not all of us want to feast on you, interjected Susanna. That's correct, said Abe. Those bloodthirsty urges are what got us banished from here in the first place. Kicked out a fairy for developing desires that went beyond the pale. He didn't seem particularly penitent. And it's much more difficult to hush up disappearances and gruesome murders now than it was when we first arrived, he continued. So most of us do attempt to resist the compulsion these days. Some more successfully than others, though. So it's best not to tempt fate, shall we say. Hence the warnings, which you disobeyed, proving you possess more courage than your aunt. We took notice swiftly. Trent spoke up. You're more valuable to us as an addition to our number than as a snack. And honestly, Clover, you should be flattered. We don't ask just anyone into our ranks. Others would kill for this opportunity. I thought of the strange websites and the fawning romantic fantasies crowding the bestseller lists, and I knew he was correct. Abe leaned his weight on his fists atop the stone table. Come now, decision time. The pen gleamed at me. I stared at it. My fingertips fairly itched. Immortality beckoned. Unending years populated with pleasure, nature, art, and power. Who could resist such an offer? But what would it mean to give up all future choice, all future freedom? The green-eyed girl was watching me lascivious. She was not the only one. Avery watched me too. She still clasped her mother's neck, the picture of an affectionate clinging embrace, or a vining, confining grasp. She smiled at me. Oh, so winsome. Join us, Clover, she said. They were all looking at me. In that moment, I wondered if I'd misread everything, if what I'd taken for lasciviousness or bloodlust was actually welcome and encouragement. If I was so unused to it from so many years living in cities that I'd failed to recognize simple friendliness. My hand hovered over the silver pen. I didn't remember moving my arm. I felt a pull so strong, so insistent that it drew my fingers closer like it was a magnet. I knew without question that once I picked it up, my artist block would be gone. My creativity would flood back to me. I'd finally have a home, a community of my own. These people would greet me in the street rather than cross it to avoid me. I knew all of this in my bones, and I wanted it so badly. My fingers crept closer to the pen. Their gazes were fixed on my hand, on that final inch of distance. Avery tightened her arms around her mother's throat. I felt rather than heard Nora's gasp of pain an intake of breath that echoed inside my own lungs and that's when I ran I was through the bark door in an instant I heard acorn stools clatter and the scramble of pounding feet there was no exit sign to light my way where was the evergreen curtain that had shown me the entrance one massive tree looked like another I ran blindly If my injured leg throbbed, I didn't feel it through my adrenaline surge. I heard panting behind me. It was all the more terrifying for the silence that accompanied it. Their footsteps were silent on the bed of pine needles. They wasted no energy on yells or shouts. I spared one glance behind me in time to see a flash of white hair. Dorothy leapt on me at the same instant that I tripped on a tree root and went sprawling. She overshot me but landed gracefully like a cat, like fish and chips who obeyed her so readily. I rolled and burrowed beneath a cluster of dead fallen leaves. They were so enormous that just one of them covered me like a duvet. I wriggled under and threw to the other side and came out of my crouch in a sprint. They were stronger. They were faster. They knew this outsized forest and I didn't. but I was desperate. It's almost like she was frightened half to death, I heard my mother say again. Poor Aunt Margaret, trapped here her whole life, repaid for her service in fear and pain by the same beings who were close on my heels. These woods were vast, not as vast as the rage that coursed through me. I ran like I had sprouted wings, and perhaps in this realm's realm of possibility, I really had. And that was Banish by Laura Bernier, performed by Janice Morgan with sound design by me, Fred Greenhalgh, and music by Blue Dot Sessions. Banish is a Daggaz Media production And also the last episode for now in our familiar Haunts miniseries. I hope you've enjoyed these as much as I have producing them for you. Undertow will be returning in 2026 with new bone-chilling original audio fiction. So stay tuned and thanks so much for your support this past year. Undertow is a production of Realm. Its theme music is by Marcus Magala, executive producers Fred Greenhalgh and Molly Barton. And as always, thanks for listening and stay spooky. Legendary stories, awe-inspiring sound, and endless adventure. Welcome to the Realms of Peril and Glory. Explore the mechanically magical vistas of Vale, the paranormal mysteries of liminal London, and the cyberpunk chaos. of Cyborg. Fall in love with our core cast or be awed by our incredible guests from familiar shows like Oxventure, Three Black Halflings, and No Rolls Barred. Ignite your imagination and discover the Realms of Peril and Glory today. Go to RealmsPod.com or search Realms of Peril and Glory wherever you listen to podcasts. For eight years, we've been asking the same question over and over again. How did this happen? My name's Mandy. And I'm Melissa. And we're the hosts of Moms and Mysteries, the true crime podcast with over 55 million downloads. We're two Florida moms who are obsessed with mysteries. Each week, we do deep dives into fascinating true crime stories. We cover everything from infamous cases like Casey Anthony to the bizarre and complex crimes right here in our home state, like the shocking murder of FSU professor Dan Markell. We bring you the facts, but with warmth and width, you'd only get from two friends who have been hooked on mysteries since childhood. Join us for new episodes of Moms and Mysteries every Tuesday and Thursday. Listen to Moms and Mysteries on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.