Not Thirsty & The Donkey Lady

Today's episode is presented by Vampires of the Velvet Lounge, in select theaters March 20th from Strand Releasing. Deep in the American South, a back alley absinthe bar harbors a deadly secret. Countess Elizabeth Bathory and her glamorous coven of vampires keep their killer instinct sharp by preying on lonely singles through dating apps, seducing and slaughtering to preserve their youth. But when Elizabeth swipes right on the wrong profiles, a cunning undercover vampire hunter and a band of emotionally stunted bros, the hunt spirals into hilariously horrifying chaos. Wristcutters' a love story producer Adam Sherman writes and directs this hilarious horror comedy that stars Mina Suvari, Stephen Dorf, Tom Berenger, Rosa Salazar, Tyrese Gibson, Lockman Monroe and more. Don't miss Vampires of the Velvet Lounge in select theaters March 20th. Tickets on sale now. From the executive producers of Stranger Things, comes a series that asks the question, Are you sure he's the one? Something very bad is going to happen is an atmospheric psychological horror set in the five days leading up to an intimate wedding, starring Camilla Morone and Adam DeMarco. This isn't just a story about cold feet. It's about the visceral anxiety and mounting terror of realizing you might be marrying the wrong person. As Rachel questions whether Nikki is truly the one, her doubts spiral into something darker. And the show explores the ultimate horror. How can you ever be certain you've made the right choice? It's edgy and it's not a spoiler if it's in the title. Something very bad is going to happen. The only question is, what is it? Watch Something Very Bad is going to happen on March 26th, only on Netflix. Morning. The following film is so intense. We are only allowed to advertise it for 15 seconds. Excuse me? Zussie Bates. They will kill you only on theaters March 27th. Ready to hear? No. This is Creepy, a podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or our simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Hey, it's Nicole. I got a missed call last night from a 612 area code and thought that might have been you. Some of the other narrators said they haven't heard from you in a while. Hope everything is okay. Hey, it's JV. I got a missed call last night at like 3 a.m. Was that you? Call me back and let me know you're okay. Hey, it's Alicia. I didn't really want a call. I don't know why old people insist on actually calling people, but the rest of the team said that we need to keep trying to get in touch with you. If you get this, please don't call me. Call Owen or something. You can text me, but only text. Hey, Michelle again. I'm not sure if this is the right number, but I did get a missed call last night and figured it was you burning the midnight oil. Sorry I didn't pick up, but you know it was 3 a.m. Call me back. Hey, Owen here. I've been going through my notes and I can't quite figure out if we actually had a safe word or if that was something from Tales from the Gas Station. I love that series so much, even if playing Jerry is a huge departure for me. I mean seriously, who lives their life in such an absurd and careless... careless... Hold on. There's a raccoon outside staring at me. Did you send me a messenger raccoon? You co-lever son of a... And then we high-five an armorous soul like in Predator. Okay, love you, bye. Hey, it's Nate. You know I got your back, right? So I think you need to know there are some weird rumors floating around the production team about what's going on with you and none of it's flattering. Although my favorite is Jimmy's theory that you've become convinced that using the phone is stealing parts of your soul, hence why he hasn't called you. Which is kind of sweet when you think about it. Okay, but seriously, call someone back, please. It's Rissa. I don't care if you call me back, but can you please call Owen and tell him that raccoon messengers aren't a thing? I just spent the last hour on the phone with him trying to explain that to him and got absolutely nowhere. And since you're the only one around here who speaks Owen, we kind of need you. Oh, and pay the invoices. Bye. Why is this happening to me? I don't understand. First, from writer and loopy and narrated by Danielle Hewitt, creepy precents, not thirsty. I've always loved vampires. I read all the books, from Dracula to interview with a vampire to the historian. I watched all the TV shows. Although nothing ever surpassed the classic charm of Buffy, I played vampire video games, V Rising Forever, and watched all the movies from Universal to Hammer to the new Nosofratu. I even found this obscure black and white and red faux silent ballet Dracula from this weird Canadian director. My vampire cosplays were popular at all the conventions, and I probably could have been Instagram famous if I hadn't been so introverted and camera shy. Which is all to say that when the news report said that vampires were taking over Chicago, I went towards the city instead of away from it with everybody else. It didn't hurt that the timing was perfect for me to make a drastic change in my life. I was in my 40s. My honey-get-off-again boyfriend was currently off in a getting married to someone else sort of way, and I had been laid off. My boss had decided, along with everyone else in my industry, that my job could be done faster and cheaper by AI. Notice how I didn't say better. But there was all this pressure from the C-suite to incorporate AI. So quality was sacrificed in the name of progress. I bummed around Chicago for almost a week, going out every night to seedier and seedier nightclubs in my search, until I finally spotted one. He was sitting alone at the bar, and the way I could tell was that he wasn't drinking anything. Not even a bottle of water in front of him. So I took a chance and asked if he was a vampire. He nodded, not speaking, and I asked if he could change me. It took him a minute while he tilted his head to the side like a curious dog, wondering if you were offering a treat. But then he nodded and took my hand. He led me out to his apartment in the building next door. At least I assumed it was his, until he broke the lock, leaning on the door with his shoulder when I was in the kitchen. The woman inside screamed and he leapt on top of her, bringing her to the ground before I knew what was happening. Her screaming stopped shortly after he vomited up these thick red strands, like webbing that attached themselves to her face and neck, and really any exposed skin that it could get to. These vampires apparently weren't the fang kind of vampires, and I watched as the red webbed pulse, pulling the woman's blood into my eyes. I waited several minutes for something to happen, and offered to leave if he wasn't going to do anything else, but he motioned for me to wait and sit down. He obviously couldn't speak with all those strands coming from his mouth, so I pulled up a chair and sat and watched as he ate. Eventually, a spot in the web that had very much looked like a clot at first, began to grow and pulsed with its own rhythm. It was incredibly disgusting and vile, like a boil about to burst. Soon after, it did just that, breaking apart to reveal a small insect. The six legs curled up and grabbing at the air. I had plenty of time to sit there and rethink all my life choices while this was happening. I would have tried to make a run for it, but the vampire was both fast and strong. I didn't think I'd even make it out of the apartment. Certainly not now, after I'd gotten his attention. The woman on the floor was dead by the time he got up, her eyes staring lifelessly up at her attacker. He handed the newly hatched insect to me and mined, swallowing it. I took it in my hand, giving one last thought to escape, and then swallowed it whole. He took my hand and led me back into the poor woman's bedroom, where he had me lie down. I waited. But this time, what I was waiting for was obviously much more quicker, as there was a sudden pain in my chest. The insect must have caught itself about halfway down my esophagus. The sharp pain of all those little legs breaking through the tissue shocked me. I screamed, and the man was waiting for that and put his hand over my mouth to quiet me. The legs grew into my body from their perch, and I could feel them spreading through my chest. The body of it grew too, both up towards my throat and down into my stomach. This didn't happen quickly. I kept passing out from the pain and hoping it would be over by the next time I woke. But each time I woke up in pain, the worst part was when it grew out of my esophagus into my throat, and my gag reflex kept my body trying to heave this intruder out of it. But of course, it was so thoroughly stuck at this point that there was nothing I could do to dislodge it. What happened next was almost as terrible when it filled my mouth, and I suddenly realized why the man who had done this to me hadn't spoken. He couldn't. The insect inside of him was taking up that space. I wished then that I had said something more clever with my last words than lamely offering to leave if he wasn't serious about changing me. If only I had known. Had done more research on exactly what I was asking for. Once the pain subsided, the man who I was with went and got someone else, a frail older man from one of the other apartments, and the thing inside me spewed out those horrible, tendril-like veins, and had its first meal. Over the next few days, he took me on a tour of the city of Chicago. We ate together side by side, as this thing inside of me insisted that I feed it. It wasn't thirst that drove me. It was the fear that the parasite would feed on my own body if I didn't supply it with fresh blood. I could tell when I had waited too long. It would make me weak and dizzy, barely able to stand until I found another victim. It was only when I had sex that I felt human again, although even that was beginning to feel tainted as the urges from the insect took over my subconscious. I went with the man who changed me, and we met up with others, meeting at the American Girl's Store on Michigan Avenue. Like we were there for tea and cakes at the fancy cafe with the children and their dolls. They, of course, were long gone. The entire Chicago area was cordoned off, and the leaders of the group were strategizing on how to break through the blockades to find fresh blood to feed the monsters within us. A group headed north took me in as one of them. It was too dangerous to drive, so the group hiked across country once we got out of the city proper. We went past farmhouses and through cornfields, going around the sprawling suburbs full of identical houses when we could, or through them during the night when we couldn't. We didn't dare stop and feed our parasites. The group needed to stay off the National Guard's radar and remain undetected. My body grew weaker each night, but the thing inside me seemed to know that I was trying, that I meant to find it something better if it could only wait a little longer. The Wisconsin-Illinois border was the dangerous part. The group hiked through the scraggly woods between the network of highways on a lovely day when the sunlight streamed through the trees. But I was tired and had no appreciation for things of beauty. Suddenly the man up front held up a fist, a sign for us to pause. My parasite could smell something now, a scent from the ground before us, something that smelled of metal and chemicals. Landmines. My human brain interpreted the signals from the beast, and our one group split into three. Each leader went carefully between the mines, able to sense them the same way I was, and the rest of the group followed, stepping carefully in the same places as the one before them. My group walked like this for over an hour without incident, but the extra time at the border crossing had cost us, and the parasites could hear troops coming. We were through the landmines now and could make a run for it, but the insect in my throat was throbbing with excitement over the chance to kill without restrictions. I could see the others felt the same, and two of the men at the front of my group grew extra arms, two on each side of their bodies, insect-like appendages to give them an advantage in the coming battle. They leapt at the attackers, getting to them before the gunfire had even started. The extra arms holding the soldiers while their original human arms were tearing holes in the soldier's clothing so that the webbing could find a bear patch of skin to sting and poison them. In the ensuing chaos, I saw one soldier run for it, whether to flee the battle or simply to find better vantage point to use his automatic weapon. I'll never know, but he was alone and isolated, and my parasite took control, and we jumped on him, catching him by surprise. The webbing shot out of my mouth, finding a gap in the junction between the mask and his turtleneck under the heavy bulletproof vest. We didn't have time to feed, so we killed him quickly and turned back to the fray. The parasite and I, we killed four more men that day, so quickly that the human part of my brain could barely keep up. We were working together for the first time, and my instinct for self-preservation aligned with its instinct to kill. We ate briefly on the last one, seeing that there were no more men left, but we knew we had to keep moving. The group headed north just in time, as the land behind us exploded. The jets had dropped bombs where we had been, burning the forest and the bodies of the soldiers that we left behind. Another day of hiking to the north brought us to the place the leaders had decided to split. The larger group headed northwest to Madison, while the smaller group, the one we were in, went east. The group came to a farm, and while the majority went for the barns where the farmhands were working, we went to the house. The farmer's daughter was compatible, and we were chosen to birth the child that would take her. It took a while, our first one, but it was good, and we were proud of it as we pushed it inside her mouth and forced her to swallow. There was no time to wait for the child to grow, so one of the men was chosen to carry her. He had grown a shell on his back, and we admired him and his strength as he lifted the girl as if she weighed nothing. A detour was needed the next day, as we sensed two more compatible hosts nearby. We were chosen to birth the children for both of them, and raised them both during the same feed. That night, we mated with the one who had a shell. It was clear now that the sex was for both of us. But we didn't mind sharing the pleasure of it. We stayed there for a few nights, since carrying three was too much for our little group. Once they were ready, we walked those last few days to the east, until we arrived in Lake Geneva. We chose a home near the lake, one of the many large homes with enough space for all of us, and took it over quickly. Only a few minutes from the first knock on the door to the last of the occupants falling beneath us. The housekeeper arriving the next morning was compatible, and we held her while another ran out to find a victim for us to feed on while we created the child that was needed. It didn't take long. A random passerby was fine, and our numbers grew by one more. The group stayed for a few months, keeping our kills quiet, trying to take only what was necessary to change the ones we could. Once we were certain that the town was ours, we left the rest of the humans as food, and we headed toward Milwaukee to the east. Two drivers were chosen from amongst the most recent converts, as they looked human enough to pass. We were in the back, the farmer's daughter and I. We appeared merely pregnant from a distance, but once one was close enough, the movement of our children within our bellies made it clear that we were no longer one of the humans. The checkpoint outside of Brookfield was the only dicey moment. We were hidden underneath blankets in the darkness of the black and white van, but the guards barely glanced at the papers that the drivers presented to them and waved the van through. The guards were clearly not expecting us to come from this direction, if they expected an attack from Chicago at all. Our leaders had known that coming north would be unexpected. It was much more likely that we'd go around to the bottom of Lake Michigan, to Indianapolis, and then to Cincinnati. My handler and I were dropped off first at an apartment building on Blue Mound Road. We followed a dog walker into the building, a young man with a golden retriever. My handler fed off the man while we killed the dog. It was then that I knew that I had lost the last of what made me human. I'd always loved dogs, and I would never kill one. But we needed it dead so the humans wouldn't know we were here, and so it was done. We went into the bedroom, although perhaps I should say that I went into the bedroom. There was no more separation between the parasite and the human parts of me, and I lay down, and I began to give birth. I could sense there were at least two in the building who could host these children. The babies would scurry through the hallways and under the doors and wait until nightfall. Then they would crawl into the mouths of their new bodies while they slept. The sting as they slowed their descent near the heart would be the only sign that they were there before it was too late to stop them. I had regrets, of course, but I knew now that I had become a queen because I had chosen this of my own free will. I would rule here, in Brookfield, in Moshaka, and the western edges of Milwaukee. While the farmer's daughter took Milwaukee proper from the recently revitalized Third Ward, I would stay here and birth my children, and they would feed me and keep me safe until the city belonged to me, the vampire queen of Brookfield. In a world of noise and uncertainty, IG is the investment platform that backs you. Take a flexible stock size, which gives you the freedom to withdraw funds anytime and replace them in the same tax year, all without losing your £20,000 tax-free allowance. And if that's not enough, pay no commission on your stock shares and ETFs when you invest with IG. IG. Trade. Invest. Progress. Your capital's at risk. Other fees may apply. Tax treatment depends on individual circumstances and is subject to change. And next, from writer C.W. Stevenson and narrated by, Nate Duford, Creepy Precents, The Donkey Lady. Outside of San Antonio, the dead were supposed to be here, and he wanted to see them. Juan wasn't religious, but it wasn't for lack of trying. If he could catch a glimpse of something unexplainable, an apparition, a sign of the supernatural, anything, then perhaps he'd find God in the darkness. Unlikely. Stories. They're only stories. La Yerona, La Plancha, El Cacui. He'd heard all the ghostly tales from his grandmother. Abuela was the one who'd first told him the tale of the Donkey Lady and the area she haunted. The Medina River. The surrounding woods where her home once stood. And the bridge. People from all around, mostly high school kids, came to Old Applewhite Bridge, more commonly known as the Donkey Lady Bridge, to see the benevolent spirit for themselves. Some came away from the bridge, telling tales of a wailing woman with a screech of some unknown large animal. Others claimed coming away from the bridge with car dents shaped like hooves. Juan suspected the evidence went hand in hand with the booze and dope the kids brought with them. They wouldn't be at the bridge tonight. Half the damn city had gone to see a new up and coming artist called Selena, all the youngsters were raving about. Just me and the Donkey Lady tonight. Juan clutched his abdomen. The gas station burrito the old man had given him wasn't sitting well in his stomach. Remembering the pieces of fried flour and beans falling from the man's toothless mouth and into his lap made Juan's stomach feel even worse. At least he'd had a few good cassette track tapes in the old farm truck to choose from. Together they'd listened to Gentle on My Mind and Wichita Lineman by Glenn Campbell, while the old man lectured him about the dangers of hitchhiking. Juan wasn't much one for American music, but he had to admit the old man had good taste. He whizzled Gentle on My Mind as he walked. Around him oak trees lined the rocky unpaved road. An overgrowth of weeds and tall grass made it nearly impossible to see into the woods that surrounded him. Crickets began to sing their own familiar tune. As he rounded a bend in the road, he saw it. Consisting of half rotten wood, the narrow bridge stood over the gentle flowing waters of the river. Somewhere nearby it was said the woman's house still stood in the ruins, charred rocks mostly, the only thing not destroyed in the flames. Juan had scoffed it as a boiless tail, but could not deny the way it left his stomach a hollow shell. After a young man had toyed with one of her donkeys, the animal had savagely bitten him, ripping away two fingers in the process. Running home to his wealthy father, his father and several men under his charge returned to the farm and rounded up the woman, her husband, livestock, and three children to the house and burned it down with them screaming inside. But the woman had unmercifully survived. Left with hands melted down to nubs resembling a pair of hooves and a charred elongated face, the donkey lady wailed her pain and fury for years, promising vengeance on those who disfigured her and murdered her family. No one had believed the words of the hideous peasant. Her life in shambles, she plagued the countryside with her insane ramblings of vengeance and disfigured form, terrifying all who crossed her path. She survived long enough to be considered an old woman, mostly by foraging and begging for food from those with the heart to help, all the while still living beneath the blackened ruins of her home. Until one day, the young man who'd been bit on her property confronted her while crossing the bridge near her home. Juan walked closer to the bridge, the same bridge, his gate a mite slower, his head darting from the woods to the road, a feeling of being watched, quickly sending his mind into near panic. He stopped for a moment to control his breathing. Having regained his composure, he walked on. He grabbed the side of the bridge as he went. It wasn't difficult to imagine the donkey lady being tossed over the side of the bridge by a young man to her death. Like Juan's grandmother, he imagined a frail woman, light withered skin clung tight to old bones. With a quick splash, she would have sunk into the river, her dress weighing her down, her nubs poking through the top of the water for a savior to pull her free. But no one would come, no one had come. No, she had drowned. Disfigured, then murdered decades later, her family unevented. I'm sorry, Juan muttered, speaking as if he were at the foot of a grave. Then away he was. Taking out his last cigarette, Juan lit it and stared out across the water. It wasn't so bad here, he decided. In fact, he found it quite peaceful. No car horns and bright city lights, no shops, no crowds of people, just insects singing in the quiet trickling of flowing water. In this rare form of silence away from it all, he found solace from the horrors that befallen this place. It seemed impossible such a tragedy could have taken place here, comical even. His lips had begun to curl into a smile when he heard a screech. Eyes bulging, he searched the trees for an owl amidst the branches. He found nothing. It was almost dark now. The lush vegetation seemed to press around him, skeletal branches seemingly reaching out toward him for a final embrace. Not far down the banks of the river, something that had been crouched stood upright. It could make out a dark shape, but it was soon lost in the dense forest. Whatever that had been there, crouching, had been watching him. The notion was disturbing, animal or not. A vagrant? It was possible. He cursed himself then for not bringing so much as a pocket knife. Some protection was better than nothing. Juan stopped leaning on the wooden rails. From one end of the bridge, the road turned into a dead end. No one lived out this way any longer. The other end was the way he'd come. Any sane person would have left, but not Juan. This was the feeling he'd been waiting for. The sign to leave was the sign to stay. Wait for it. Witness it. Then run. The logical part of his brain ceased to ridicule his paranoia. In the most likely of cases, he'd seen a raccoon or perhaps a possum. They grew to monstrous proportions out in the countryside, with so many insects to eat. It made sense. Yes, that's it. Large forest animals. Maybe a deer. Probably that. Hell, he'd passed three dead ones on the side of the road while hitchhiking. Juan chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the situation, blowing a plume of smoke along with his laughter. He tossed the cigarette into the river below. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something at the end of the bridge he'd come. No. Someone. He turned a look, then screamed, surprised his voice could make such a sound. So, hopeless, resigned to death. The donkey lady screeched through melted lips. Black hollows were its eyes, but Juan knew they were gazing at him. Mostly, its face was a lump of elongated flesh, similar to that of a horse or a donkey. At its sides, nubs for hands pinched incisively at a partially torn dress, a dress unfitting for this day and age. Juan looked around, searching for evidence that this horrific thing was an illusion or some part of an elaborate joke. His stomach sank when the horrible truth dawned on him. He was alone. Nothing but him, the bridge, the dead trees, and the dead thing now limping its way toward him. It came fast despite the dramatic way it hobbled. Its jaw hung slack, its burnt fleshy skull, bobbing up and down as if it hadn't control of its neck muscles. One nubbed hand reached out for him. Mijo, Juan thought he heard it say. He stumbled backwards. Juan yelped as a splinter from the rotted wood entered his hand in the fall, pulling it free. Blood trickled from the wound. He tried to get up, but to his horror he realized his right foot would not move. Mierda! he yelled in as much fear as pain. The thing was but a dozen feet away now. It screeched again, black bile leaking from where its eye should be, its nostrils, its lips. His right foot was lodged into a rotten hole in the bridge. Juan tried to twist it free, but it was stuck tight. Undoing the shoelace, he pulled his foot free, shot up and darted for the dead end of the bridge where the planks met a wall of dark forest. He felt a sharp pain in his foot and yelled out again, looking down a rusty nail protruded from the bridge and coated with his blood. Much to his regret, he glimpsed the creature, stopping to bend low where his foot had been caught. It stooped lower, sniffing until the leaking slits that were its nostrils found the small pool of blood from his hand. A tongue lulled out from its slack jaw and lapped at his blood, smearing with its own black liquid, running down its face. Its head jerked up at him, and once again, it stood. Mee-ho! it wailed, this time clearly as its dead lips mouth the word long and terrible. I'm not your son! he shouted back. I'm not your son! He's dead! gone! Mee-ho! it said in defiance. Its brow furrowed. Turning to flee, one limped on one leg from the foot wound, one limping creature coming after another. He searched for an escape. Straight ahead took him into dense forest, its domain. Behind him, the donkey lady was nearing. The bridge was narrow enough that she could simply lunge out and grab hold of him. To either side, there was a steep decline to the banks of the river. Stay where he was and accept his fate, or head to the river. It was no choice at all. Juan picked the less steep climb to the water. He sat and began to scoot his way down. Above him, the donkey lady peered over the side of the bridge, a long string of its dark eye-core sliming its way down until it met the water. He went quicker, scooting down, down, down, gritting his teeth at the pain emitting from his hand and foot. Still, Juan persisted. He looked back up toward the bridge. Nothing. But behind him, the creature was crawling after him. Dios mio, please, please, no! He was going too slow. At this speed it would catch up. Then who would he need to convince that it was real? Perhaps he would haunt alongside the old crone once he was dead. And others like him would come to this place to catch a glimpse at the impossible things that dwelled here. There was a loosening of rock and soil, and to Juan's horror, the donkey lady was flying toward him, or so he thought. No, she was falling. Having lost her clumsy footing, the creature fell into the very water she'd perished so long ago before in. Reaching the bank, Juan stood. He was just about to keep moving when the two nub hands of the donkey lady burst from the water and caught him around his injured foot. She was pulling him into the water with her. No! Juan grabbed handfuls of grass and soil, but it did little good. Whatever the woman had become, it had become strong and unrelenting in its pursuit. His injured foot held tight between the thing's nubs, twisting, pulling, doing all it could to bring him into the river. He felt its mouth on his foot. He felt a cold tongue flicking at the hole the nail it made, sucking, slurping, stealing all it could of him for itself. He dug his fingers into the soil of the bank and held on for dear life. Please, God! He believed now. He realized his faith found on the banks of a small Texas river on an unspeakable horror attempted to drag him in. He might have laughed if he were capable at the moment. Like his father who devoted his life to God on D-Day, promising to serve him after he'd witnessed his closest friend, blown to red mist by Nazi artillery in the foxhole beside him, he'd survived and had become a man of the church. To his great shame, only his eldest son Juan had not followed in the footsteps of Christ. Now he would gladly do so, that is, if he lived a tell-the-tale. Determined to escape, to survive, Juan kicked with all of his might into the face, arms, and chest of the undead creature. One more vicious kick with his free foot to the jaw, still trying to get that the bloody wound in his foot sent the thing sinking back into the river. Finally free of the monster's grasp, Juan limped away as fast as he was able. When he looked back, nothing had emerged from the water. His foot throbbing in pain after a little less than a quarter mile away from the bridge, Juan was bloodied, covered in sweat, cobwebs, and mosquito bites. He was exhausted. Worst of all, he was out of cigarettes. Off to his right, the trees gave way to a small field surrounded by woods. In the middle was a small rock house. He could only just make out its form, a place to hide, or at least to catch his breath. The last sliver of light had faded only minutes ago. He needed somewhere to stay, and the Lord had provided. Holding his hands together to the heavens, he began making his way to the rock house. Inside, there wasn't much more than rubble in a dirt floor. Weeds had grown over the open window slot. There was a nest of red wasps in one corner of the main room. Juan sat in the corner opposite of that. There was another room, but he wanted the closest access to the front entrance, should he feel the need to flee. Juan examined the wound on his hand and his foot. His hand would be okay, but he'd need to get a tetanus shot for his foot. After all, the nail he'd stepped on had been ancient and rusty. Carefully, Juan used the rocks from the wall to hoist him up and peeked over the edge of the open window. He couldn't hear the river, but he knew the rock house was only a short distance away. Chills crawled up his spine as he heard it. Mi-ho! it called out. He could not see her through the darkness. That made it all the worse. He could barely see his own hands in front of him. She continued to call out, her voice getting further and further away, traveling down the side of the bank as he had. He prayed that she would continue on her way. Juan shook his head, then buried his face into his hands. How had it come to this? He had come here for a sign of the supernatural and had witnessed it. He was the trespasser, the interloper who'd come to antagonize the dead. This was her territory he'd now resided in. Taking a deep breath, he tried not to think about what he couldn't change, only what he could. Juan needed rest. At dawn he could sneak his way back to road and hitchhike his way home. If he arrived back in time, he'd attend church with his family for the first time since he was a child. He promised himself he would not fall asleep. A little rest was all he needed. He'd just shut his eyes, only for a short time. He closed them. Crunch. He peaked one eye open. Crunch, crunch. Then the other eye. Something was walking across the dead grass outside the house. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. It stopped then. For a long moment he remained still. He'd wished he had some light. He needed to see if the creature was near or if it was just some varmint coming to investigate him. The lighter. He removed the cigarette lighter from his pocket and quickly held it out in front of him. The flame illuminated the cabin in its entirety. The rocks were far older than he anticipated, dark with mold. He held the lighter closer to the wall for a closer look. No, not mold, he realized. Juan's eyes went wide. Charred. It was her home, the home that had been burned with the donkey lady and her family inside. He cursed himself for being so ignorant, but he was so tired, so afraid. He wanted out. The comfort of his bed, his grandmother, he just wanted to be home. Mama, came a whisper in the dark. From the corner of the other room, a small hand split skin and burned to a crisp, reached around the opening where a door once stood. Another hand reached around the other side and another on top of it. Three figures emerged from the door. The children, their dead faces gaped open like their mother. Their father's shadow cast over them in the glow of the small flame. It pointed at him. Intruso. At the main entrance, the donkey lady smiled at the shriveled walking corpses that had once been her family. What they were now, Juan couldn't guess. Monsters, spirits, dead things, but not people. Not anymore. All five rushed for him, their inhuman cries of rage piercing his ears. Grunting as he hoisted himself upward, Juan dove through the open window, landing with a hard thud as he hit the ground. He tongued at a cracked tooth and felt a rock against his jaw. Painfully, he pushed himself upward and began making his way to the river in pure darkness. He limped forward, tripping several times as he stumbled over rocks and small bushes. No! He screamed, hearing the noisy sound of small, hurried feet behind him. The children pulled at his pant legs with what should have been weak hands, but instead were powerful in gripping him tight, keeping him from walking any further. In his desperation, Juan held the tiny flames of the lighter against one of the children's faces. It cackled at him and continued to tug until he fell. His mouth filled with blood as he felt another one of the children rip a large chunk of his cheek away. Please! he whispered, doing his best to crawl away from the tiny devils. If he could make it to the river, he could let the current carry him down and away from these nightmarish creatures. Then his own nightmare could end. Whether he'd drown or grab onto the bank in time to save himself, any outcome was better than being ripped apart by these things. Then he felt a large hand grab his shoeless injured foot. It snapped it to the side, breaking his ankle and tearing the cartilage inside. Juan screamed again, this time for his mother who'd passed away long ago, then for his grandmother who'd become like a mother. Neither came to his side, took the pain away, or saved him. The children held him down as their father snapped his other ankle to the side. Intruso! One child cried out, a little girl by the looks, only a few strands of hair hanging from one side of her misshapen face. Intruso! The other two cried after their sibling, digging their tiny hands into his forearms. Their father dragged him back across the dead grass, the rocks, loose soil, entering his bloody mouth, the children skipping close behind with glee, back to the cabin. Juan's teeth clattered in fear at the dark outline of the donkey lady, crouched in the same corner he'd first chosen, awaiting him with outstretched arms, her nub hands wriggling, beckoning him to come closer. The dead man flung him by one leg. Delivering him to the feet of the donkey lady. A nubbed hand, shakenly stroked down his bloody cheek. Mio! The donkey lady said lovingly, continuing her tender strokes down his cheek. Juan did his best to smile, to make himself into the loving son this thing wanted, or that he thought it wanted. He could play the part if it meant life, but the strokes came rougher, the nubby ends of her hands pushing into his cheek, into his wound, opening the hole in his face wider, tearing it apart, tearing him apart. He would have screamed for God if he were able to. The last thing he saw before his eyes were torn from his skull was the dead man and children rushing over to join the feast. Feeling their teeth rip away skin, suck his blood, and gnaw on his bones. He prayed the pain would end soon. He prayed. You know, I've been having a hard time trying to explain what midnight burger is, so how about I let them give it a shot? I just wanted to let you all know that I really, really appreciate midnight burger. I just wanted to let you know that you definitely have a huge fan here in the Middle East and the GCC. Just wanted to give you guys a shout out, tell you how much I love you guys. All of the weirdness is really my jam, really right up my alley. First, I love your podcast, it's been pure joy to listen to. Just here to say, keep up the great work. That season was amazing. I wanted to thank both of you for everything you've done. We really love this show. Your podcast is amazing. It's such an amazing show all together. It's really nice knowing that there's another dimension that I can travel to and kind of escape. Guys have actively ruined all other audio dramas for me. You can't get people to understand the humaning that happens in this damn show. Keep doing what you're doing because it's awesome. I love you guys. Can't wait for more. Thank you so much for everything you do. You are hope. You bring hope with you and you might not think it, but you are far more important than you realize. Thank you. Take care. Love you. We open at six. At the nexus of all things, there is a diner. Look for midnight burger on your favorite podcasting app or just go to weopenatsix.com.