One Last House

Well, hey there, family. If you love old gods of Appalachia, I want to help us keep the home fires burning, but maybe aren't comfortable with the monthly commitment, well, you can still support us. Be it the ACAST supporter feature. No gift to large, no gift to small. Just click on the link in the show description and you too can toss your tie in the collection plate. Feel free to go ahead and do that. Not about now. Welcome to the speed co-star. With Plusnet, great broadband isn't just about award-winning booters. It's also about speed. Wow! Before the 25th of March, whoa! Get full fibre that you can rely on with speeds up to 900 megabits available from 2299 a mum. Ah, that's a plus. 2699 from the 31st of March, 2027. You customers only limited availability terms applied. Imagine winning the Euro millions, 14 million pound jackpot. On Friday the 13th. Or even becoming one of our 13 guaranteed UK millionaires, you'd laugh in the face of luck. Friday the 13th will be lucky for some. Yes! Euro millions from the National Lottery Play-On-A. Estimating jackpot account terms, rules and procedures applied. Players must be 18 or over. Grab the maltese's. Because that's the ping-ping-ping of pre-ear being added to yet another group chat. This time it's Bristol High reunion hall. Wine emoji, dance emoji, pokedong emoji. Apparently to arrange a holiday with 15 women who haven't hung out since... ...Jeggings. Shove some more maltese's in because we're still debating a chat name. And frankly, have more chance of shaving a unicorn in a phone booth than the plans making it adder this group chat. Maltese's. Look on the light side. We're on! June 2029. Hey there, family. I know y'all didn't expect to hear from us so soon here on the main feed, but it's a special time of year. And we thought you deserved a little treat. First of all, it's our birthday today. Six years ago on a dark and spooky Halloween night, the very first episode of Old Gods of Appalachia, crawled from the shadows and into your heart. We want to thank y'all for sticking with us over the past six years and helping us build a community that has exceeded anything we could have ever dreamed as just this past week. We exceeded 30 million all-time downloads. You heard me? 30 million. So from the bottom of all seven of our shriveled and blackened hearts, thank you, family. Thank you so much. And now for your treat. We had prepared a spooky holiday episode for the residents of the holler, our paid subscription service, and thought that on this very special birthday, we'd share the candy with everybody to give y'all a little taste of the sort of bonus episode that the residents of the holler who subscribed at the $10 level and up enjoy every month. In addition to this juicy little story, there are hours of existing stories to explore such as Bill Mama-A-Coffin, door under the floor, blackmouth dog, and familiar and beloved and more. So if you like what you hear and you want to tie yourself over until we return in January of 2026, visit Old Gods of Appalachia.com slash the holler and move on in with the rest of the family today. Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listen to discretion. It's advised. Halloween of 2014 was an unusually cold one in Mavisdale, Virginia. The high temperature hovering a few degrees below 50, instead of the usual balmy weather in the 60s residents of Hazell County had come to expect. By the time local parents had gotten home from work and began getting their offspring ready for the Friday evening spooky festivities, the temperature had dropped precipitously. And most mamas and daddies were insisted on coats over costumes. The chorus of but moms from the town's little goblins of this pronouncement could be heard from one side of the mountain to the other. Kevin Jesse's children were no exception. As the two girls winds harmonized rising in pitch, he glanced at his wife with a long suffering look that conveyed in the telepathy couple's develop once their children gain linguistic skills. Is this really the hill we want to die on? Alicia's raised eyebrows and firm nod made her position on the matter clear. Given that Kevin will be the one taking the girls out tonight, however, she was gracious enough to step into the role of Bandcom. Alicia Jesse's hands went to her hips as she turned away from the vegetable she was chopping on the counter. You can wear your jackets or you can stay home. But mom! Taylor protested, propping her hands on her own hips in a gesture that so perfectly and unconsciously mirrored her mother, the Kevin had to suppress a grin. The costumes are the whole point. You can't even see them if we have to cover them up with coats. At 12, their oldest daughter was the spitten image of Alicia. She was in more ways than one. Everybody needs to see my dress! Hannah, who was eight, chimed in to support her sister, spinning around in her sparkly blue and white Disney Princess costume for emphasis. Taylor rolled her eyes and sniped. As if anyone on the planet at this point hasn't seen an Elsa costume. Taylor Louise Jesse. There was a warning note in Kevin's tone as he fixed his elders with a stern look. Taylor was a great kid. Whip smart with the quickest wit he'd ever seen, but he had an inkling her teen years were not going to be easy. Like a lot of smart kids, she lacked patience with anyone who wasn't on her intellectual level. Or those whom she perceived to be beneath her level. Such as her annoying parents and little sister. To her credit, though, Taylor's expression grew contrived at his gentle correction and she apologized without being prompted. Sorry, Hannah. Waiting into the fray to avoid further argument, Kevin Jesse raised his hands and a piece making gesture. Alright now, I'm sure there's some way to keep y'all warm without spoiling your costumes. Let's put on a problem solving hats and figure this out. Taylor rolled her eyes again at his hokey dad speak, but wisely kept her mouth shut. In the end, Alicia loaned their older daughter the use of a sleek brown leather jacket Kevin given her for Christmas the year before. Which fit better with her Hunger Games costume than Taylor's own pink puffy coat and a loud enough room for her to sling a quiver of arrows over her back. For Hannah, they fashioned a makeshift fur cloak out of a fuzzy throw blanket and a fancy looking costume jewelry brooch that it once belonged to Kevin's own mama. With the girl situated, Kevin pulled a fleece over his own head, having no desire either to fight the battle with Alicia himself or endure the girl's questioning of why he didn't have to wear a jacket for the next two hours. And the three of them piled into the family's outback and headed into town. The student parking lot behind Maviselle High School was lined with minivans and hatchpacks with their trunks popped open. While other vehicles jockeyed for spaces in the big field behind the tennis court used as an overflow lot during football and basketball games. Lots blazed in both the parking lot and on the football field chasing the shadows of dust from every corner of the school grounds. The earth was still a little soft from yesterday's rain and not for the first time Kevin was grateful the car had all wheeled drive. Once a volunteer had waved them into a space he and the girls picked their way carefully across the muddy field and onto the welcome solidity of the asphalt lane headed into the parking lot. Hannah held onto his hand, swinging his arm along behind her as she danced toward the line of cars set up for Maviselle's annual trunk or treat of it. Once they reached the safe zone past a row of traffic cones set up to prevent other cars from driving into the area where families were milling about his youngest let go of his hand dashed towards the nearest trunk. Taylor trailed behind her more or less keeping pace with her dad. She sighed and muttered something under her breath. A toe of her boots into the gravel spinning across the asphalt. What was that? I said it's lame dad. This isn't trick or treating. It's just walking around a parking lot. Kevin really couldn't argue with her there. This carefully curated and ruthlessly organized version of the holiday held none of the excitement that had made Halloween special when he was a kid. The fun of digging through your parents closet or memo's attic looking for treasures to cobble together or costume. Going house to house, lugging increasingly heavy bags of candy, older siblings trailing somewhere far behind and electing their shaperone and duties to hang out with their own friends. Checking out the neighbor's Halloween decorations. Some folks got into the spirit more than others but there were always a handful of families who went all out with creative and sometimes terrifying displays. The feral joy of running through the dark with your friends amidst a horde of other goblins, some of whom you might recognize while others were a pure mystery. The way the air was filled with the heavy pagan aroma of bonfires lit under the silver's sickle moon. In central Appalachia that iconic autumn scent came mostly from wood burning stoves and a bit of leaf burning though the forestry service strongly discouraged at these days. But on Halloween night, the source was just as lively and actual bonfire as some field party or another. It had been pure magic. And like all true magic it had carried just a hint of danger. These days Halloween had become little more than another market employee. These days Halloween had become little more than another marketing employee. Even regular department stores like Walmart were filled with dozens of mass produced costumes, let alone the spirit Halloween shops that inevitably sprung up and whatever shuttered storefront was available. Most parents were too afraid to take their kids from door to door, let alone allow group of kids to run around the neighborhood unsupervised. So many didn't even bother filling a bowl of candy anymore. We're lying on the popularity of trunk or treats, brightly lit, sanitized events organized by churches, schools, or even shopping centers to allow kids to control the environment in which the bag for candy. You're not wrong kiddo, it's a hell of a lot different when I was a kid but it is safer for everybody. Oh come on dad, you know as well as I do that all that bullshit about poison candy was just that bullshit. You better not let your mother hear you say that, Tay. Taylor rolled her eyes again and Kevin had to fight down the urge to pair it his own daddy's words at her. You keep it up and your eyes are going to get stuck that way. Then she nodded in grudging agreement so he can see to the point. You're not wrong, you're what a bunch of people out there poising the kids candy but it could be dangerous. There was stuff to be afraid of and there still is. Even in our own backyard. I know dad, stranger danger and all that, I'm not five. Kevin shook his head, his expression growing serious. He glanced around for his youngest daughter who was a few cars ahead, chattering excitedly with a friend from school safely out of your shot. Turning back to Taylor, he took a deep breath considering whether he should tell this story or not. Well it's not just that. Listen. Oh God, Zimbabwe Lacha presents. One last house, a tale for the season. Mavis Dale Virginia, 1981. It was a perfect night for trick or treating. A crescent moon shone overhead amidst a field of stars, not a cloud inside. The temperature hovered just above 60 degrees as Kevin Jesse and his older brother Stevie sat at the kitchen table at their dad's house, putting the finishing touches on the Halloween costumes they spent all Saturday afternoon pulling together. At 13, Stevie was getting a little old for trick or treating. But taking responsibility for his little brother granted him another year's leeway before the folks handing out the candy started asking, aren't you a little old for this son? The past few years, playing Shaperone had fallen to their older sister, but at 15 she had finally been granted permission to attend a Halloween party with some of her high school friends, so she had skipped this weekend to dance. That suited Kevin just fine. Jenny, who lately had begun insisting on being called Jennifer, used to be fun, but these days she acted too much like their mom, constantly correcting their grammar, harping at them about whether they'd finished their homework, and nitpicking every little thing they did like she was the queen of Mavis Dale or something. You always ready? Gary Jesse walked into the kitchen, tucked in the tail of a clean plaid shirt into his jeans, hair still damp and the scent of old-spice lingering on his freshly shaved cheeks. Simon, the snowshoe-siamys cat, who'd been part of their family since Kevin was four, trotted in after him, leaping up onto the kitchen table and button his head into Gary's arm, begging for attention. Simon was an outgoing friendly cat. The kind of cat who'd never met a stranger, but their dad was by far his favorite person. Gary's Gritch just chin-absently as he admired the two boys costumes. Kevin were one of the white button-ups their mama had bought for him for church. The sleeves rolled up to his elbows and had fished an old brown fedora out of the attic that once belonged to Peppa Jesse. Stevie wore an old pair of Kevin's coveralls and a Michael Myers mask he'd bought at Ben Franklin with some of the money he'd saved up Mow and Yard's that summer. He'd asked to borrow one of his daddy's hunting knives, but unlike the machetes, Gary kept those sharp. So the boys had agreed to take turns carrying that. Stevie's voice was muffled behind the white face rubber mask over his head. Kevin's face lit with a gap toothed grin as he shot their dad a thumbs up. Yep, ready to head. Let's go then. The plan was for the boys to ride into town with Gary, who was headed over to Jaco's bar and grill for his regular Saturday night out. The Jesse farm was on the outskirts of Mavisdale and didn't have many close neighbors. Kevin and Stevie's parents had always preferred they do their trick or treating in town, where there were sidewalks and streetlights and plenty of other kids running around whose mommies and daddies drove them in for the same reason. The sort of folks who had nice houses within the town limits tended to be doctors, lawyers, dentists and accountants and the like. Community leaders that parents felt more comfortable trusting not to hand out candy that was doped or gone for bit poison. From their young and prospective, they were also the type who could afford to give out the best candy. Recycups and Kit Cats, Hershey bars and Starbursts. As opposed to the weird stuff like liquorice whips and butterscotch chews, health, one of the local judges was even known to hand out full-size, snicker bars. Gary pulled his old blue and white two-tone F-100 into the parking lot behind Jaco's in the three of them filed out. He surveyed his boys with a look filled with both love and caution. You too mind-curve you. Don't be knocking on anybody's doors after nine, okay? You got your watch, Stevie? Yes, sir. If you boys don't feel like walking all the way back home, you couldn't get me at Jaco's. We'll be fine, dad. All right, y'all have fun, be careful now and check that candy before you eat it. You hear me? Yes, sir. Gary gave the oversized Fedora on Kevin's head a playful swat and turned a head into Mavistale's only pub. Set free at last, Kevin and Stevie ran down the street to join a gaggle of other kids approaching the door of the nearest house. The soft orange glow of the street lights above shone through the trees overhanging the streets of the sleepy little town, painting the sidewalks and shifting leaf-deppled shadows as a cold breeze blew through their branches. Dead leaves in a riot of oranges, reds and browns crunched underfoot, and the wood-smoke scented air raying with the crackling of little witches and the giggling of baby ghouls. They took in a good haul that night. The orange and black plastic bags they carried way in heavy in their hands by the time folks started turning off their porch lights, sighing when it was time for the local ghouls and goblins to head on home. The two boys were about halfway down a narrow weed choked dead in street. Its trees draped in a strangling cloak of kutsu when lights behind them began winging out. Stevie paused under a street light, pulling his mask off and pushing up the sleeve of his cover-alls to look at his watch. Eight fifty-five. It's about time to head home. Kevin shot his older brother a pleading look. Oh, come on. Just one more. Stevie hooked a thumb over his shoulder with the darkened porches behind them. It looks like everybody's done for the night. Once they turned off the lights, they're probably out of candy anyway. Not that one. Kevin pointed in the direction they'd been heading. At the far end of the street, past a rusty boarded up trailer and an overgrown lot with a set of steps heading up to a barren space where a house must have once stood. A lone porch light flickered weakly through the leaves of a massive oak tree. Stevie sighed. Okay, one more. And then we're heading home. Got it? Got it. Kevin sprinted toward the end of the street. His sneakers crunching over dead leaves, busted bits of sidewalk and rocks as paved road gave way to a thin layer of gravel overpacked dirt. The property at the end of the street was surrounded by a battered chain-link fence that dragged the ground from a bent left gate post. It's busted gate, swaying in the breeze. The house itself, a narrow Victorian with a rusted tin roof, a weathered porch whose rotting boards listed to one side and a couple of with three windows that have been boarded over. Set back from the road behind a pair of ancient-looking oaks whose branches hung low over the front yard, burdened with the weight of both time and the kudzu vines that spread between them over the roof of the old structure. If he'd seen it in daylight, Kevin Jesse would have thought the place was abandoned. And get, from the inky shadows beneath the ageboat roof overhanging the porch a bare bulb, emitted a weak, stuttering glow, just illuminating a ragged-looking scarecrow propped up next to the front door. On the opposite side a scorched jack-a-lantern sat dark. It's candle-guttered. Stevie's footsteps crunched over the gravel as he caught up, but Kevin still startled when his brother's hand landed on his shoulder and Stevie chuckled. You want to one more house, kid? Look like you picked a winner! He nodded toward the front door. Come on! The front steps creaked. The lappodated wood sagging underfoot. As Kevin stepped up onto the porch, his eyes taken in the details of the scarecrow garden the door. A stitched-together burlap sack formed a misshapen head that leaned to the ride. Its blackened eyes, appearing almost burned in the gloom. It had no mouth. And the head was secured to whatever formed its body with a rope tied into a noose. The orange-plad flannel at war looked almost new as did the jeans that made up its legs. A pair of white converse hot tops protruded from the cuffs. Well, that's creepy as shit. Yeah, it's really good. Kevin turned toward the door. It was an old-fashioned number made of a thick slab of heavy oak that those varnish had long since peeled away was nonetheless still solid as stone. A wide-sinter panel that had once no-del held a thick pane of leaded glass, maybe even stained glass, had been half-ass repaired with a piece of plywood. He wrapped his knuckles lightly on that hardwood. Trick or treat! As they waited for the occupant to answer, Kevin glanced down at the creepy scarecrow. With a startled cry, he stumbled away as a fat cockroach wriggled out of one of the effigy's empty eyes, sockets. His older brother chuckled, though he too took a cautious step away from the scarecrow. Gross! I don't think they heard you. Let me try. Stevie raised his hand to the door, applying three solid thunks to its surface. This time they both called out. Trick or treat! The latch gave a soft click. And the doors went open on silent well-oiled hinges, revealing a darkened foyer within. To the left, what must have once been a grand stairway rose into darkness. Its carve railing now coated with a thick layer of dust. To the right, they could dimly make out a bulky lump in shape resembling an old hunt-back sofa draped in a sheet. At the end of the hallway ahead, a faint beam of light stretched around a corner. An elderly voice called to them from the direction of the light. Come in, dear! Come on and get your treat! In the back of his mind, Kevin could hear the voices of his mom and daddy, never getting a stranger's car. A stranger's house must count, too, right? I'm afraid I can't make it to the door again tonight. It's my arthritis, you know? Kevin glanced up at Stevie. His older brother shrugged and leaned down to whisper to him. It's okay. She's just an old lady. Come on! Kevin stepped hesitantly over the threshold. His slow footsteps carrying him toward the line. There was a strange, musty smell to the air. It reminded Kevin that the smell of addicts filled with old clothes, but carried a hint of clothing sweeteners twined with a bitter width of ammonia. To his ride, a morphous shape's loomed out of the shadows of what must have been the living room. From the porch, he had seen a wide bay window that must be in there, but its drapes were pulled tight, admitting no light from the straight. A head, a one-yellow glow, illuminated the stretch of cracked ladnolium in the corner of a cabinet. As Kevin and Stevie approached the doorway at the end of the hall, the elderly woman's voice came to them again. Very faintly, a gentle cruelly sound, shesl... yes, my baby, shesl... sooon... sooon... Kevin wondered if she was looking after a grandbaby tonight, or maybe talking to a little dog. Though, if so, it wasn't much of a watchdog, maybe a cat. As they stepped into the kitchen, his ears picked up a soft, skittering noise. Must be a cat, Kevin thought. Their cat had never run when somebody visited their dad's house, but some of their friends' cats were afraid of strangers. The noise hadn't really sounded like a cat. Not exactly, he didn't quite have the weight of a cat's feet scrambling on a smooth surface, but what else could it be? Something small? A kitten? Oh, maybe the old lady had mice and she needed a cat. The kitchen, Kevin, and his brother entered was decades out of date. Its fixtures and appliances relics of a bag on air, which was no surprise given the condition of the home's exterior. The cabinets which must have once been wide, re-yellowed with age, and warped with damp. A hulking wood-burning stove positioned against one wall where it connected to a metal pot that must lead to a chimney consumed the majority of the space. A double basin sink, its porcelain, chipped and stained stood adjacent to it, stacked high with dirty dishes that nearly obscured a small window like most of those he had observed from outside, had been covered with cheap plywood. The cracklinoleum under their feet was patterned in sort of a blocky black and white zigzag. The room was far dimmer, and dirtier than any kitchen Kevin had ever set foot in. There were black stains along the edges of the floor and dust bunnies like tumbleweeds in the corner. The stovetop looked greasy, and the musty-odor they had noticed when they entered the house was overlaid here with a sour tang. His memo he thought would have been horrified. His mama too, hell, even his daddy and his fishing buddy Mr. Collins kept better housed than this. At a small square table was spindly legs in a four-micotop that might have once been wide under decades of nicotine stain and coffee rings, set the owner of the voice that had invited the two boys inside. The woman appeared ancient. The topography of Tom carved into her face like a mat. Her shoulders hunched under its burden. The pattern of the brown dress that draped her spindly frame was near and desiferable, though Kevin thought it might have been meant to look like flowers. A ragged black shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and an old-fashioned black tobacco pop with a curved handle rested at one elbow. At the side of them, black eyes squinting from behind a pair of round coat bottle glasses. The old lady picked up the cane that rested at her knee and pushed shakily to her feet. Yes, come, come in, come in children, it is so lovely to have young people visit again. She had an unpleasant way of speaking. Her words accompanied by a sort of smacking sound, her tongue darting around her mouth and over her teeth looking unruly little dog jerking at its leash. Come, boys, hey, don't be scared. I won't mind. The lines of her face parted in a smile, revealing a set of teeth that seemed almost too large for her face. Her gums were blackened with what looked like disease, and the teeth were yellowed with age and tobacco stains, though for all that they weren't worn to nubs. They were large and sturdy and shiny with spittle. As a graying pink tongue darted across them again, Kevin had the unsettling impression that she might very well bite after all. At a nudge from Stevie, Kevin realized he must be staring, thumbling he stammered to trick or treat. The old lady cackled with delight. Oh my goodness, it is how I was even in my baby's town. Where did I put my candy ball, though? Kevin shot his brother in nervous glance as she turned away from them. Shouldn't she already have the candy out? There were Halloween decorations on the porch she didn't bite them in because he'd yelled trick or treat. Stevie just shrugged and subtly twirled a finger at his temple. Just a crazy old lady, Kevin interpreted. Right. Sure. The elderly woman tauted over to the counter and began rooting around a lower cabinet, keeping up a low pattern under her breath. Oh, yes, yes, my baby's candy, candy for the children. Treats for my babies, yes, sing my love, please, my darling, so soon. Yes. Kevin felt the hairs rise on his neck, wondering again, just who or what she was talking to. The old lady spun back around with a surprising speed, lunging at them across the kitchen. Kevin took it in voluntary step back, startled and she cackled again. Trick or treat. Her black eyes flashed. And Kevin almost thought he heard a note of mockery in her voice as she parried at his words back to him. Here you go, boys. Help yourself. In her arms, she carried a green carnival glass punch bowl filled to the brim with rainbow colored hard candy wrapped in clear plastic. They were peppermint rounds and lemon drops, buttermints and liquorice sticks, chicken bones and toffee shoes. Memo candies, Kevin and Stevie had always called them, not a fun-sized snickers or many Reese's or even a tussy pop inside. When Kevin hesitated, though, the old lady thrust the bowl at him. Don't be shy. Kevin forced a smile and reluctantly reached into the bowl, pushing his hand below the top layer to feel around, just in case some more appetizing offering might lurk beneath the surface. Something grabbed onto his finger and then his wrist and then another finger. Within the space of a heartbeat, the moment it took to draw a breath something was crawling all over his hand, Kevin jerked his hand out of the bowl staring at it and shocked. A dozen or more of them clung to his hand, beginning to crawl up his exposed wrist. He started to scream, what the fuck? The old lady screamed with laughter as Stevie pulled the Michael Myers mask out of the pocket of his coveralls, using it to swipe the fountains off his younger brother's hand. Kevin's heart thudded in revolving and terror and he thought he might wet his pants. His face was wet with tears and his skin crawled, though he could see they were gone now, he could still feel tiny legs all over his arm. The bowl of candy, Royale, a choppy rainbow sea, as the roaches hidden beneath the layer of sweet throes to its surface, the old lady's face split in a rapture as deaths had grinned. Come out, come out my babies, come meet who's come for dinner. A skittering, chirping hum rose around them, growing in volume, the shadows seemed to gather and see as a rising tide of gleaming brownish black carapaces rolled from every dark corner. Stevie grabbed Kevin's arm and jerked him into motion, out of the kitchen and back into the narrow hallway, that heavy slam that go through out the old house, shaking the rotting walls, and Kevin knew even as the two boys fled toward the front door they would find it shut tight. Stevie reached at first, yanking at the latch but the door wouldn't budge, it was locked he realized, though he couldn't fathom how, they had left the door open behind them, he had neither seen nor heard anyone but the old woman, who screeching latch was still carried from the kitchen. Kevin pressed closer to him, his voice high and keening with panic Stevie, Stevie get the door they're coming! Behind them, a tide of chattering darkness was filling the house, marching across the floor and crawling up the walls, spreading over the ceiling like a coat of oily black armor, and they were getting closer. As he watched a few scouts began to pull ahead of the whore and running straight for Kevin's sneakers, where the yelp Kevin stopped them and discussed, Stevie! They had to get out of this place, squinting in the dim light of the foyer, Stevie let both his eyes and fingers roam over the door, searching for some way to open it, the lock was a deadbolt, heed on both sides, and both the door and the trim looked unaccountably sturdy for what appeared to be a wreck of a house. When his fingers found the old piece of plywood that covered the window pane, he curled them against the edges of the wood and yanked. He got only scraped hands and splinters for his trouble, but an idea occurred to him and he grabbed his little brother's arm. Where's that machete? Kevin bleaked in momentary confusion. He had forgotten all about the rusty old knife, their dead old let them borrow for their costumes, and he fumbled with the leather cord he used to secure it to one of his belt loops and then passed the machete to his brother. Stevie wedged the long blade behind one corner of the plywood panel, wedged his foot against the door for leverage and pulled on the handle with all his strength. Wood and rusty nails groaned and for a moment he almost thought this wasn't gonna work, then there was a tearing sound and the plank came free, spilling them onto his back and taught the incoming flood of cockroaches. Stevie Jesse had never jumped up so fast in his life, ignoring the roaches now clinging to his back in his hair, he grabbed Kevin by the shoulders and spun him toward the hole in the door, all but shoving him through it, the younger boy scrambled out onto the porch, then turned back waiting for his big brother, go kev! Run! Kevin however could see what Stevie could not, a figure looming out of the darkness behind his brother, the hunched back monstrosity, humanoid in shape but covered, in roaches moved with uncanny speed. Kevin grabbed his arm just as the clawed hand seized on the back of Stevie's coveralls, if he hadn't been holding onto him, his big brother would have been pulled down, even with Kevin ganking him to the door, Stevie could feel the roaches spreading over his coveralls, beginning to wriggle under the collar, and climb up his pant leg. He reached and found the zipper and yanked it down, shrugging his arms free, he dove through the hole, spilling onto the porch, momentum and the grasping thing inside the house pulling his sneakers off, along with the legs of his coveralls, Kevin grabbed him by the back of the t-shirt he wore underneath and hauled him toward the stairs, Stevie stumbled to his sock feet, grabbed Kevin's hands and the two brothers ran, down the rotting steps and threw the overgrown front yard out into the street. They didn't slow until they reached the parking lot where Gary Jesse had parked his old F-100, and the welcoming familiar neon glow of Jocco's bar and grill. I didn't get any skittles! I'll trade you my skittles for a bag of recent pieces. As he sipped on a beer in the kitchen and listened to his girl's giggling and trading candy over the soundtrack of a scary movie in the din, Kevin Jesse was pretty sure his elders hadn't believed the story he told her earlier that evening. If he hadn't known better, he probably wouldn't have believed it himself. Uncle Stevie could have verified the tale if he was willing to talk about it. Stevie, who preferred to be called Steve these days, didn't like to talk about that though. Over the years he had mostly tried to forget, and Kevin didn't press him on the matter. Their daddy had believed him when they stumbled into Jocco's that night, Stevie's costume lost and both their candy halls abandoned in that monstrous house, he'd even driven over to the rotting old Victorian the following morning. No one had answered his knock, and he'd seen no sign of the old woman Kevin had come to think of as the Roach Mother, or even so much as the creepy porch decorations the boys had described, though he had found one of his older sons abandoned sneakers on the porch. Gary Jesse had good reason to believe. As he told Kevin some years later, Gary had seen a lot of strange things in Mavistale, and one point Kevin had asked him, why didn't he just move away? And his daddy's answer had always stuck with him, every place has haunted. Sometimes it's just best to stick with the haunts, you know. Well, hey there family. Hope we didn't ruin anybody's appetite for candy. We just wanted to share the holiday spirit with y'all on this most hallowed birthday night. Now this is your y'all weren't kidding about the bugs in that content warning reminder that old gods of afflatches a production of deep nerd media and is distributed by Rusty Quill. Today's story was written by Kim Collins and narrated by Steve Schell. The voice of Alicia Jesse was mandolinnerd, the voice of Taylor Jesse was Kim Collins, the voice of Hannah Jesse was Antonia Trasotti. Our intro and outro music is by our brother Landon Bluh. We'll talk to you soon family. Talk to you real soon. This is your business. 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