Well hey there family. If you love old gods of Appalachia, I want to help us keep the home fires burning. But maybe you aren't comfortable with the monthly commitment. Well, you can still support us via the ACAST supporter feature. No gift too large, no gift too small. Just click on the link in the show description and you too can toss your tithe in the collection plate. Feel free to go ahead and do that. Right about now. On BBC iPlayer, the audience is the unique ingredient of Question Time. I play for the local brass band. I work in the kind of EV sector. I'm vice principal at a local school. You never know what the audience are going to say. We love a debate, don't we? It's nice to be able to say something that's really important to me. That is the joy and the jeopardy. It gives me the chance to actually take politicians to account. Bringing power to the people. Let's get our first question Question Time Thursdays on BBC iPlayer. Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Pauli Barrow and the two hollow men who were her closest associates, Henrakes Crane and Johann Churchman, had driven deep into the wintry backwoods of Prince County. Stoppiting Kingston to trade their fine limousine for a brand new fort, have to unpick up with tires wrapped in heavy chains that would allow them to navigate the snowpacked rural back roads of West Virginia. They were headed toward a mass grave of depleted mines and coal fields that once promised barrow mineral resources riches beyond imagination. After a year of digging strange, incompostible lumps of inert coal from one field and pumping naturally occurring asphalt that would explode at so much of a heated word from another, such dreams of profit died on the vine. Look unpicked tomatoes in a particularly dry season. The road to Turnicott West Virginia was no longer maintained by the county. It would not last for much longer. The frozen roadways that snaked around and through the mountains of Central West Virginia were certainly beautiful in their icy crystalline glory. But they were equally deadly. Johann Churchman was well aware of the dangers. And though they were all certain to walk away from any violence so mundane as a car crash, such an accident would cost them time in trouble. Thus his driving was measured cautious and tediously slow. Polly Barrow had passed the time of the long drive reading over the message she'd received from her older brother, Conrad. According to his memo, their father had assigned each of the metastas to complete while he was immersed in the unknowable depths beneath Barrow House, where he retreated to commune with those who sleep beneath. Her lovely face creased into an incredulous scowl as she mockingly read the end of her brother's telegram. Consider it our gift to you, to allow you to behold our father's true face in private. We also thought you best suited for this errand as you were capable, durable, and cunning enough to deal with whatever may be left inside of Babylon and the most likely of the three of us to return with father's portrait in one piece. Who the hell does he think he is dealing with? I mean really, sending me out into the wilds of West Virginia again? To turn a kid no less? He knows I can't verify this task with Daddy, nor can I risk failing him again. Normally I'd just ignore him, but I do believe the old boy might have me properly hemmed in here. Thoughts on the matter, Mr. Crane? Henraica's Crane, first among Polly Barrow's hollow men, did not turn, but kept his eyes out the passenger side window, scanning the surrounding countryside for any threats. When he spoke over his shoulder it was with a familiar deference. I do not know, ma'am. There is a portose of your father there, though. I have seen it. Oh, have you now, Henraica's? I have heard the stories about Babylon. You never struck me as the type who would patronize such a... disreputable establishment? Yes, ma'am. Though I have never partaken of the pleasures on offer at Babylon, I have provided security for your father and his guests there many times. I never got to go. By the time my schedule had any flexibility at all, the town was a husk of its former self, and Babylon was considered horribly unfashionable. Or was it unfathomably horrible? Potato, potato. But imagine an entire nightclub in the middle of nowhere catering to those with discriminating tastes and pleasures of the flesh? I heard there was a whole dance floor dedicated to erotic vivisection. Can you picture it, Mr. Crane? I would rather not, ma'am. Oh, come now, Mr. Crane. You never wanted to strap someone down, still screaming and breathing, and split them open, and then shove your hands in and start pulling things out just to see what happens? I... to each their own, ma'am. I'm told there was a little voyeur's amphitheater that surrounded a place called the Well of Remembrance. Patrons would bring an offering, some pathetic human, I assume, and they would be forced to walk through a sort of gauntlet. The well would make them live through the most soul-crushing torments of their lives over and over again, while the audience watched them suffer and slowly fall to pieces, and, of course, eventually die. I am positively green with envy that you got to see such things, Mr. Crane. It was an experience, ma'am, to be sure. I am concerned, however. Your brother must know that Babylon has not been safe, not even for our kind for many years. I would not dare to speak ill of anyone in your family, but... He's trying to kill me, I know. And yet, still we go. Of course we go, Mr. Crane. I wouldn't respect Conrad if he didn't try to kill me at least three times a year. I don't respect Benuel at all, so I expect him to try even harder. It's nice to confirm the last remaining portrait of Daddy is hanging in the foyer, though. Is it true that he had all the images of himself removed from Barrow House when he went below? He did, ma'am. Removed and burned. Most of the artists were killed. He wanted no imminent of what he called his lesser form to remain. The portrait in Babylon was likely overlooked because your father had long since become bored with its entertainments. Or perhaps by the time it was remembered, the place had become far too dangerous. Well then, let's go see my Daddy's handsome face before it's too late. Mr. Churchman, the next turn should be our last. When the walls close in and the light gets swallowed and there ain't no place that feels like home. The ones you love are turning to strangers and you cast your eyes to the winding road. Keep your foot on the gas, your eyes straightforward, clear your heart and mind. Best to leave them ghosts behind. When the heart goes cold, home is nowhere, then you might as well. When darkness comes and runs like hell. You Meanwhile, hours behind Polly Barrow and her loyal underlings, her siblings made their own way through the treacherous winter night. Conrad had insisted they set out for Ternacut at once. They would not hurry, as their sister would require time to reach the place herself and once she was inside Babylon, who knew how long it would take for the place to devour her? Still, they must verify she had been properly dealt with once and for all. At the wheel of one of the company's fleet affords was a slender man in a dark suit. His gloved, near-skeletal hands gripping the wheel at ten and two, his eyes locked on the road. I don't understand why we're traveling like this, Conrad. I could have opened the ways of the dead and had us there in no time. Instead, we're packed like sardines in this infernal contraption. As the truck's wheels skidded on a patch of ice, its rear-end fishtailing for a moment, Binyul shot his brother a sour look. Do you want to join me in the afterlife, dear brother? Why are you leading that old thing drive anyway? He never drove farther anywhere. The hollow man behind the wheel briefly narrowed his eyes at Binyul in the rear-view mirror, but showed no other reaction. Marcus Trench had been E.P. Barrow's personal hollow man, one of the earliest to volunteer to be hollowed, and had passed into Conrad's service upon his father's asinche. Mr. Trench is a man of many talents. He is perfectly capable of getting us to our destination. Father had a whole staff of servants that catered to his needs, but I find such frivolous expenditures unnecessary. We are in good hands, brother. Thank you, sir. The hollow man's voice was like gravel being raked over an open wound. I hate being cooped up like this. Are you sure I can't just go on ahead? I could pass right through the side of this mountain and meet you there. No! The collapse of Babylon has rendered the entire region unstable. Who knows what might happen if you passed through the mountain and came out too close to the town. It might decide you were an offering or worse. No. This is a family matter, and we will suffer through it together. It's similar to the new protocol I've been developing with the cattle in the lower offices. I put them in miserable situations where the only way out is to work as a unit in order to comply with senseless, petty instructions that yield no real result other than meeting some arbitrary goal that we don't actually measure. It breaks their spirits in a whole new way and all but ensures their utter compliance. I call it team building. It's providing extraordinary results. We will see this through together, or much like the lads in accounts receivable, we will die trying. In the deep snows of West Virginia, Johann Churchman drew his party's vehicle to a careful stop on what was once the vibrant bustling downtown of Ternigate, West Virginia. The sun hung low in the sky as the horizon called it to its bosom, the air growing ever colder. Little evidence remained of the public houses and brothels that had lined the main thoroughfare of what was essentially a red light district the size of an Appalachian coal town. Even the brick and mortar structures had crumbled under the weight of weather and time. Some had been crushed by fallen trees years ago. Others swallowed by sinkholes are struck by lightning and left in ashes. Snow covered it all now. A suffocating blanket of white obscuring all but the strip of the ground beneath the truck's wheels. The once busy boardwalk was barely a visible footpath. The ice cloaked green encroaching on all sides, slowly erasing the town's existence. A single building remained largely intact. A malignant tumor thrust up from the ground in defiance of the healthy growth on all sides. It was a squat structure painted stove-piped black with one word stenciled in white faded letters over the simple iron door. Babylon. Polly Barrow clapped like a child on Christmas morning, excitement overcoming her usual icy composure as she stepped from the truck. Oh, there it is! A little underwhelming, but still exciting. Who was the facade any different when you came here with my father, Mr. Crane? Mr. Crane? Mr. Crane? When there was no reply, Polly glanced around her. To her surprise, the two hollow men were gone. The only answer came from an onslaught of huge wet snowflakes that poured from the heavens like powdered sugar on a funnel cane. Mr. Crane? Mr. Churchman? Mr. Churchman? Mr. Crane? No one answered her calls. The heavy cloak of snow swallowing her words in an almost reverent silence. Looking behind her, she could still see the truck where they'd left it parked on the street, but there was no sign of either of her men. Their footprints were rapidly filling with snow, as if the wintry green itself had reached out and erased her hollow men the same way it was erasing the town of Ternachit. And now she and Babylon stood facing each other, twin monstrosities from different eras built by the same loving hands. She had begun to take a step toward the door when the smell hit her, the musk of an animal, large and powerful, but more than that. Infused deep into the scent was the primal heat of the soil, of tree sap and the ever-burning sun. It was the smell of clean running rivers and wind touched by the silvery light of a full moon. It was the smell of life and death and the endless cycle of the green. Polly spun around, drawing on the well of darkness buried deep within her heart, preparing herself for combat. Her bone armor tingled beneath her soft pale skin, ready to erupt at a moment's notice. She expected a great beast or perhaps some witch's snare that her brother had led her into, but instead all she found was a man, a tall man with dark skin and a darker beard who wore a modest but well-cut suit. He stared past her at the looming black edifice at the end of the street. There were tears running down his face and he looked very tired. He turned eyes upon her that held both sadness and fury, seeming both puzzled and enraged at her presence. His voice was low and warm, but there was an edge to it that terrified Polly. She felt as though she had stumbled upon a wounded animal that was far stronger and more dangerous than she even as it bled. Hail Polly, daughter of Elias, called pretty by those who think you wretched, true heir to the deepest grave, defiler of families, slayer of children, iron-boned blade of your father and abomination before the green. I see you. I name you. And I ask you now, girl, can you give me a single reason why I should not kill you where you stand? Polly Barrow, deadliest weapon in the arsenal of the Barrow family, looked up into the face of an avatar of the green and was lost. Her mind reeled. This man, his, his power, she shook her head trying to make sense of the aura that radiated from the figure before her. He was no mere man and he was simply more than of the green. Somehow he was the green. How could she stand against it? You see me now, do you, girl? Look upon me and see the face of all you have set out to dominate and control and enslave. See me and see the fars you've burned, the men you've entombed in the mountain's belly. Do you see the widows and the orphans, the lives you've destroyed and for what? Money, power, promises whispered to your lunatic father while he swings through the darkness in his pretty box. I will give you one chance and one chance only. You vile thing. Walk away. I have more important matters to attend to than ridding the world of the likes of you. The tall man turned from her, his gaze returning to Babylon, his expression a mask of helpless sadness framed in lines of disbelief and shame. So, so you won't hear from me? What interests have I and one such as you? You will be dealt with in your own time and without my help I expect. I am here to witness the death of this place, to honor it with a proper burial. You were mourning the death of Babylon? We built this place and it, it failed. From what I can see it appears your lot is taking it back. What is it for you to mourn? You've won. A flash of blue white light illuminated the windows of Babylon and the ground shook. The black bricks shuttered but did not fall. The thing that resides within Yon building was once its own dominion, a living, breathing, sentient part of the green. A wild and dangerous ground that would torment the minds of men if they wandered into its clutches, for there are places in this world that men were never meant to see. But you and your family were not men, not exactly. You carved this place out of that patch of feral green and bent it to your will. You fed it the minds and bones of your victims and your lovers until it lost itself. You caged it and twisted it into something I barely recognize. When the building falls, it will be loosed upon the world and I do not know how to stop the destruction it will cause before it dies. How do I kill a piece of myself? I know few of sufficient power and strength that stand against it and even they would likely be lost. Polly stared up at the structure thoughtfully. She had been unaware of Babylon's origins though it made sense given the tales she'd heard. No wonder Conrad had sent her to this place. He expected she would be consumed by it as so many others before her. Thought he could tempt her into carelessness with promises of their father's portrait and he had nearly succeeded, nearly. But not quite. She had come here expecting to walk away victorious and she still planned to. Yet it wouldn't hurt to have a little insurance policy in her back pocket. She turned back to the man, observing all the old courtesies as she addressed him. I see you know my name, stranger. And thus you have me at a disadvantage. May I know yours? You know me well enough, Polly Barrow. But in the interest of conversing with Ease, mortal folks have called me Bartholomew. You may address me so. Very well. I am prepared to offer you a bargain, Bartholomew. What could you offer that I would want, Miss Barrow? Polly nodded up at the façade of Babylon. I was sent here to die. Oh, it's true. My brothers have been trying to kill me since the day I took my first steps. They look at me and see all the love our father never gave them. They look at their own wretched lives and know that when the great darkness falls, they will be cast down like all flesh. There's no shame in it. It's just how they are. They can't kill me themselves, so they are relying on this entity you describe to do the job for them. I came here to... well, to make a bit of a point. It just so happens that our interests coincide. If you allow me to pass, I swear to you that I will do my utmost to destroy the cage that imprisons a part of you. If I have to tear it down, brick by brick. You believe you can stand against it? Let's just say I have abundant motivation. And if you die in the attempt, then I die. I don't anticipate failure, but if so, I would appreciate it if you'd allow my associates, assuming they're still alive, to leave this place, unmolisted. The things that serve you are whole and will remain unharmed. Then we have a deal. Shake on it. The avatar of the green eyed her outstretched hand with distaste and spat on the ground. My word is enough, but I wish you luck, daughter of Elias. With a vinyl grief-stricken glance up at the hulking structure before them, the construct known to mortals as Bartholomew turned his back on the scene and disappeared into the swirling snow. Polly Barrow eyed the building, surprised to find that she was smiling, albeit grimly. She always enjoyed a challenge, and this might even be fun. She lifted her chin and strode across the snow-packed earth to the black iron door, and grasped the handle in a gloved hand. Even through the thick fur-lined leather, she could feel the chill that radiated from its surface. It occurred to her that the latch might be frozen, but it yielded to her slightest touch, and the door swung open without so much as a creek. Peering through the open portal, Polly saw nothing but unrelieved, inky darkness. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Well, hey there, family. My, my, my. Ms. Polly Barrow is up to her eyeballs and troubled this go-around. The green to the left of her, her siblings to the right, and here she is stuck in the middle with us. What secrets lie inside a Babylon, do you think? Y'all just gonna have to come back next time and find out now, won't you? Wrap this baby up. I think you will. Speaking of wrapping up stories, our family over in the holler just got the final episode of part three of our anthology of animal companion stories, familiar and beloved. That means there are now three complete story arcs featuring Emeline Underfoot, the gray ghost of Black Mountain, that fearless and good boy Sam from Over in Baker's Gap, and now a tale of the Walker's very own house cat, Vespertilio. Totalling over six hours of amazing adventures of our furry-footed friends, on top of so much more content available exclusively for paid subscribers, head on over to Old Gods of Appalachia.com slash The Huller and move on in today. Now, this is here. Did you ever think you'd see Pretty Polly Barrow and Brother Bartholomew face-to-face reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of deep nerd media and is distributed by Rusty Quill. Our theme song is by Brother Landon Blood and our outro music is by those poor bastards. Today's story was written by Steve Shell and Cam Collins. The voice of Pretty Polly Barrow is Tracy Johnston Crumb, the voice of Brother Bartholomew is Dr. Ray Christian, the voice of Conrad Barrow is Cecil Baldwin, and the voice of Ben Uel Barrow is Brandon Bentley. We'll talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon. The hunt, it is over, the Lord he won't answer, the walls run with blood, oh, this house is a cancer, and in this abyss I've lost all control, is this path to glory? It's so hard to tell, through God's dark heaven, go I, go I, through God's dark heaven, go I, through God's dark heaven, go I, through God's dark heaven, go I, through God's dark heaven, go I. On BBC iPlayer, the audience is the unique ingredient of question time. I play for the local brass band. Work in the kind of EV sector. Advice principal at a local school. You never know what the audience are going to say. We love a debate, don't we? It's nice to be able to say something that's really important to me. That is the joy and the jeopardy. It gives me the chance to actually take politicians to account. Bringing power to the people. Let's get our first question. Question time, Thursdays on BBC iPlayer.
