'Till Death Do Us Part

As I lay me down to sleep, I pray that all the things that creep, bite, and suck, and scream, and jail, will disappear when I awake. I've crossed over the spoon. Stay tuned. First, you must understand that I loved him. Loved. Loved him. I loved him no matter what lies they say. No matter what you think I did, Peter loved with his words. John with his eyes. Thomas loved his doubts. Matthew only loved himself. I loved with my whole being. I watched in awe and respect to learn the mystery of it. The magic, the spells, the bread, the fishes, the wine, we both knew that miracles are never free. It all takes coin, and for the coin, for the things that matter, there are never twelve disciples now. Now there is only one disciple, me. The only one he trusted. Me. Me. Me, one deserving to stand at his right hand. He read my intentions, my secrets as easily as he read the scriptures. I could sooner flap my arms and fly into the sun than deceive one such as he would. Yes. Yes. I argued. I fought. I begged him not to do this, unbended knees. I begged him. But in the end, I did take the thirty pieces of silver as he commanded. Do you imagine he did not know when I knelt before him at the final meal, trembling, calling him rabbi, master, kissing his cheek. He smiled at me then, embraced me as the soldiers waited. He held me. He pressed the vial into my hand, whispered to me as I wept, give this to the woman at the end. And she became his god. And even as I seized him, beat him, wrapped him in chains, he asked my forgiveness, my forgiveness. Sometimes I think he knew he charged me with the more difficult path. I could not stay in the city. I could not witness their glee, the savage joy of those who had once called him lord, lord. I should have stayed with him. Besides him, my sin, my real treachery was to flee. As he commanded. Snoop stars. Now. Now.哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎 It isn't as final as we might think. Our next story takes us to Jamaica. It's the 1970s and our story to the Claudia. It's just 15 years old. Claudia, take it away. It's an area where there's no electricity. At night time, we use oil lamps and the moon. Up on the hill where we live, we have a little stream. We call it a gully. You'd either go to the gully and wash up. Just go out there and wash up your arms, legs, feet. Or we'd go out and we'd fill up our basins with water and leave it in the sun to warm up, right? So we can have a bath at night time. Everybody knows everybody's business, especially over in our area, because it's so small. And like everybody has kids, so all of us kids all hang out together. So you know what was going on in everybody's house, whether you want to or not. Claudia's closest neighbors were an older couple, whom all the kids in town called Uncle Pam and Aunt Sill. Everybody loved Aunt Sill. She was such a sweet woman. On Sundays, she'd make fried omelette and fish, cod fish and ackee. And then after church, she'd bring it to the church for the kids and for the kids to eat. And then she'd bring it to the church for the kids. And for people who will not be having a Sunday meal, you could smell it coming. You could just smell that thing. Oh my God, every time you smell it coming, your belly start rolling because you know it's going to be good. But Uncle Pam was not a very nice man. One day we're playing marbles, for example. One roll right on under his fence and he's right there. And you look straight into his face and he says, you know you're not getting that back right. The man walked right towards us and picked up that marble and put it in his pocket and walked away. He was mean and he was mean to the neighborhood. So a lot of people did not like Uncle Pam. Sometimes the kids would spook his donkey. But I didn't do that. You know, he was a grumpy old man and I accepted that he's a grumpy old man. So I got a little bit of a shock. But so I got along with him. It was about dusk. It's about six o'clock in the evening. It's still bright but it's getting, you know, dark because there's no electricity for miles and miles. I'm sitting on the rock washing my foot and I can hear the donkey coming, right? So I turn my head and I see Uncle Pam. He's going home on his donkey. So I said, hey Uncle Pam. And he says, hi Joyce. In Jamaica, everybody's got a pet name, right? They never call you by your real name. There's got to be a name. So mine was string bean because I'm tall or Joyce. So he says, hi Joyce. And I said, good night Uncle Pam. And he says, good night. Wash up, went back in. We ate dinner and go to bed. The moon was shining. Around nine o'clock that night, right? I'm laying in my bed half asleep. And I hear this wailing coming. Like people just crying. The crying sounded like it was coming from Aunt Sill and Uncle Pam's house. To hear a screaming like that, you know something bad happened. Now I'm like okay. We gotta go find out what's going on. Claudia, her younger sister Sharon, and their grandmother, whom they called Mama, got dressed and walked down to Aunt Sill and Uncle Pam's. By the time they got to the house, most of the neighborhood was already there. People were crowded around Aunt Sill, consoling her. Uncle Pam was dead. Apparently Uncle Pam hadn't come home from work that day, so a group of the men from town had gone looking for him. They found him at his farm, dead from a heart attack. And it seemed like he'd been dead for a while. Because he was cold and a piece of his lip was bitten off from rats. One of the rats bit a piece of his lip off. And I'm like, but Mama, Uncle Pam couldn't have died. I saw him. And they look at me and like, but you couldn't have seen him. I said, I saw him. He was going home on his donkey and he said hi and I said hi and that's it. And then Mama was standing there and I just put my head on Mama's chest and just started crying. Because I could see him. I could see this man going home and I didn't want to see it. So I'm just bawling my face off saying, Mama, he's not dead. He says hi to me. He's not dead. And she's like, Jais, he's dead. They have his body. He's dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. And I'm like, but Mama, I'm not dead. The evening of Uncle Pam's nine night rolled around. When you die in Jamaica, we have a thing nine days after that they call nine night. And nine night is like a celebration of your life. But in my memory is the celebration of eating. Everybody eats. They come for nine night and it's a celebration. They party. They eat. They drink. There's music. People are singing. People are dancing. His wife, she was out there. My grandmother, everybody, the neighbors. Everybody was out there, you know, the neighborhood and extended neighborhoods. You see some of the church sisters in the neighborhood, even though he was not religious. But church sisters always come. They wear the long white robe and they have a wrap on their head, which is white. And they bang their tambourine at a just sing a dance. We're just chilling, running around with the other neighbors kids, just my inner own business. So as we're running around, right, I look over towards my left and there was Uncle Pam. He was standing right on this palm tree just steering in our direction. He was wearing a black tie and he had a felt hat on his head, right? Yeah, he was just looking at the party, just leading up against the tree. And I stop and I said, there's Uncle Pam. There's Uncle Pam. And everybody's just stop and look in the direction that I'm pointing because I pointed right to the tree. And nobody saw Uncle Pam. And I said, he's standing under the coconut tree right there. And I told him exactly what he was wearing. One of the people that were there, she says, that was what he was buried in. That's what he went to wear. That's what he buried in. That's it. I let him wear. This lady said, she must have seen him because only children see Duffy and she said what she's wearing. She must have seen him. People talk about Duppies in Jamaica. That's what they call ghosts, right? And that freaked me out because you don't want to listen to Duffy. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I look around, there's mama. I just run to mama and start crying and I put my head on her chest. And she's like, come, come. She took me as Sharon and walk us halfway up the path, right? Then we went home. I couldn't sleep. I was terrified. I was sitting there thinking that this dead man came back. I just saw Duffy. I just kept saying it over. I just saw Duffy. I just saw Duffy. Uncle Pam came back. So I just sat there freaking out because I can't believe I just saw a dead person. And that's the second time I'm seeing him. A few days later, Claudia and Sharon were home alone, waiting on the porch for mama to get back from town. I think we're probably more than likely playing marbles because that's what we did or we had not better to do with our days. My mama comes back and she said, Ansela's not well. Oh, and she said the dog isn't well. I come to them sick at the same time. She says, well, you know, them tink say Uncle Pam, I play with our food. What? They said Uncle Pam is playing with our food. I said Uncle Pam can't play with our food. Mama, Uncle Pam is dead. That's what them say. The word around town was that Uncle Pam wanted his wife and his dog with him on the other side. And he'd do whatever it took to make that happen, even if it meant poisoning their food. Every single person, every single person is saying that's why they're sick. Within five days, the dog was dead and then Ansela was taken to hospital. Thankfully, Ansela started to get better. But then one of her daughters, Faye, went to visit her. And suddenly, Ansela got worse. So they believed that he followed Faye. They told us like you can't go visit her straight. Don't go straight. So in order to visit her, you'd go here, there and everywhere. Then you would go visit. Because they're saying that Uncle Pam is going to follow you if you go straight. So at first, what Faye used to do was she'd go to work first and then from her work, she'd go visit her mother after. She was doing good. She was doing much better. So because she was doing better, right, Faye figured it's okay. So she just got up and decided she's going to go visit her mother first, then go to work because she had the time. So she went straight to visit her mom. And all of a sudden, Ansela got sick, like seriously sick. Within 24 hours, Ansela was dead. The day of Ansela's funeral, the little Pentecostal church in town was packed full of people who wanted to pay their respects. The sisters are wearing their white robes and their white wrap around their heads. The family all sits up front. In Jamaica at the time, it was common for people to be buried at home. So after the service, everyone made their way back to Ansela's house. The pallbearers, they took the coffin from the hearse. They're all grown men, young fit men in their 20s. Everybody gets ready. The sisters all stand behind the coffin and we all start singing because taking it to the grave, you've got to sing. Shall we gather by the river? The beautiful, beautiful river. They were comfortably carrying her and then all of a sudden their arms were breaking. As we're getting closer to the grave, the coffin starts dropping lower and lower. This coffin, that way to feather, just became an elephant. They were sweating. No way should six grown men be groaning. Carrying this little wee lady. The distance that they were taking her from is not that far that you should be even breaking a sweat. And I'm telling you, no lie, that coffin was almost touching the ground. These men, their arms are stretched to the max, trying to move this coffin. And now people are freaking. She don't want to be buried beside him. She don't want to be buried beside him. Lord Jesus, look. So then they finally get the coffin to the grave and they use the ropes to lower it. But that coffin did not want to go there. It did not want to go. After the funeral, I couldn't sleep for days, right? I was terrified. I thought Uncle Pom was going to come and get me. Claudia was so scared that eventually her grandmother went to a healer in town for help, who told her how to cast a spell for protection. So my grandmother ended up giving me a bath. She puts in there a dime, a scallion, frankincense and myrrh, a product called blue. They use it to whiten clothes. So you just put it in your water and it just dissolves. And she puts me in this water and she read a chapter from the Bible in Psalms. While she made me sit in this nasty bathtub of nastiness, it was gross. But I felt good after it was all done. I had never had any more problems and I felt good. I don't know if it's because what my grandmother did worked, or maybe because he came for his dog and he came for his wife and he got what he wanted and he didn't come back. I never saw him again. But as the years went on, she would think about him sometimes and wonder why Uncle Pam had chosen her, out of everybody in the neighborhood, to reveal himself to. I never harassed him or his donkey. That's probably why he showed himself to me. I just let him be. We want to thank you. Thank you, Claudia, for sharing your story, your energy with our show. And I want to let you know that sadly, Claudia passed away recently. And the entire Spook team wants to extend their deepest condolences to her family and Claudia. If you are listening, we wish you all the peace and all the joy on the other side. That story was scouted by Paulina Creakey. The original score was by Nicholas Marx. It was produced by Zoe Friigno. I could not witness their glee. The savage joy of those who'd once called him Lord, Lord, I should have stayed with him. Beside him, my sin, my real treachery was to flee. So I ran through the night, his vile, his promise, tucked tightly under my tunic, alone down the dark road, alone in this task again. I was his only disciple, charged to give away what by right should be mine. Running, walking, tripping, stumbling, crawling, and from that darkness, I beheld an end. I looked up to see her. Barefoot. A village woman, barely more than a girl, clutching a candle, shimmering golden light. I wanted to laugh, to weep. She said, you have arrived. As if all I had done, all I had seen, had suffered, had sacrificed, was but a road leading to an audience with her. She extended her hand, motioned for me to follow a gesture for a dog, but still, even here, even now, I obeyed. Through a war of twists and turns, she led me through the dim. We passed to either side, lovely, bedecked women in multicolored feathers, jewels, painted skins, feline. The men, their silent partners decked with gold and silver, all wore patches of bright cloth, with their eyes at once bent. They moved with such grace that watching them felt lowly uncouth. Perhaps this was the hell he had spoken of, or maybe the heaven. Then the sightless began to sing. To scream and harmony, mouths open, arms outstretched, the woman stopped then, sat on a chair and listened. To their voices, grew silent. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting, the vile, thrummed, next to my breast, feeling suddenly alive. It waited, too, to remake the world, wanted to betray everything I had suffered to build. Still, still, I reached to gift it to her, as he had commanded. But then she leaned toward me. Eyes eager, fingers splayed, to receive my gift, she smiled, and I stopped. How dare he? How dare he pour the power of creation into her dirty hands, casting aside his true servant, me. Me, I would not. I will not. The sightless danced around us now, swaying to the same rhythm as the hungry vile beating next to my breast. She answered my unspoken why. She said, they danced to remember. You'll dance to forget. The night was over. Madness. She looks down, as if ashamed of the gleaming knife clutched in her hands. We must sacrifice. We must all sacrifice. I remember his eyes then. His words, when he embraced me, whispered into my ear, yours, he promised, will be the most difficult path. I felt a shock. Like ice water, I looked down, and saw that she had stabbed me with her blade, her eyes wet with apology. Then I felt the same sharp sting from behind. I gasped, anew, as another blade protrude from my abdomen. As I screamed, the shadow dancers each stabbed through my body in their turn. They stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed with steely knives as if I were a beast. But I did not die. I did not fall. I did not bleed. I opened my eyes, in wonder, to stare at them, staring at me. I drew, each blade in turn from my flesh and tossed it to the ground. The skin beneath my tunic glistened, unbroken, whole. The vile burned. It would not let me die, cast unfulfilled. They bowed, blind heads to me. I turned, and fled. Back past the grasping hands, past the shadow, past the maze. I ran for the door, desperate to find the passage back, crashing through shadow, through darkness, back to the road. And I ran, and I ran a thousand years. I ran. Forever young, unbroken face staring back in the mirror. Two thousand years around me, the world ages, crumbles, rebuilds, crumbles again, through plague, empire, cathedrals, kings. Sometimes, I awake, back in the master's chambers, unchanged. He chose death for himself, but cursed me with eternal life. Again and again she waits, again and again I flee, running, still clutching tight the vile that should be mine. In the quiet, I hear the master laughing. Mocking. He knew even then he asked the one thing I could never give. He knew me better than I knew myself, and I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. Yes, the girl whispered, smiling. Run away, for it is mine to receive. The part of me time you'd like, but you will never leave. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. Now, some of us, for lack of a better term, are given tasks. Things that we have to do before we depart this place, and a very small few, from extremely early age, know exactly what those tasks are. If you, or someone you know, was given a task, I would sure like to know about it. I want to know who gave it to you. I want to know what you're charged with, and I need to know what the cost, both for you and the rest of us, is if you fail. Please let me know. Spook and SnapJudgment.org, because there's nothing better than a Spook story from a Spook listener. Spook Studios flows through a raging river of infinity underneath KQED in San Francisco. No Snap Studios content may be used for training, testing, or developing machine learning or AI systems without prior written permission. On Team Spook, the union-represented producers, artists, editors, and engineers are members of the National Association of Broadcast Employees and Technicians, Communications Workers of America, AFL, CIL, Local 51, and... Spook is brought to you by the team that knows to separate the sacred from the profane, except of course, from Mark Ristage, because he believes profane is sacred. There's David Kim, Zoe Frigno, Eric Yanas, Marissa Dodge, Regina Berriaco, Miles Lassie, Tael Descartes, Paulina Crikey, Elizabeth Z. Pardue, Rithyamatu, Lulu Jemima, Nicholas Smarks. The Spook theme song is by Pat Bacidi Miller. My name is from Washington. And recently, in a home turned museum in downtown Manhattan, the owners took a second look and there, built into the hallway, set a dresser. When they pulled away the heavy bottom drawer of this dresser, they discovered a rectangular opening, panes takingly cut into the floorboards. Curious, they followed this mystery downward, through the hidden bowels of the home and there, they found neatly preserved, enclosed space, just two feet by two feet, tiny, tiny, almost impossible to detect beneath that. A ladder, leading down to the earth, in this case, leading down to freedom. Because what they had uncovered was a very secret stop on the Underground Railroad. Hidden in plain sight that someone, probably a man named Joseph Brewster, had purposely built into his family home in direct defiance of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, with demanded harsh punishment for anyone daring to give aid, assistance, or passage to an escaped enslaved person. Consequences, defied, makes me think, what I do then, slave catchers roaming, terrorizing, armed with the full weight and sanction of the federal government, more importantly, what am I building now?哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎哎