Episode 85: When You're Strange

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. Dating apps? Easy. Online shopping? Simple. Banking app? Sorted. Life admin? Ugh. That's what a digital ID could change. And the government is opening a conversation to make it work for you. Your voice will shape the final product. So search digital ID consultation to have your say. Digital ID making public services work for you. This is your business supercharged with the health of zero accounting software. This is managing cash flow. This is managing your cash flow with the health of zero accounting software. These are your customers paying you. These are your customers having more ways to pay with the health of zero accounting software. This is your business supercharged with the health of zero happy you saw your cash flow by giving your customers more ways to pay. You can focus on making up business food! Supercharge your business today with the help of zero. Sir, sir, with an ex! Old gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Baker's cap Tennessee 1991. It was 4.45 on a Wednesday evening and Cody Blevin was just about what? He'd been back and forth in the company tow truck every hour on the hour since he clocked into Blevin's tow and in services. At 6th that morning. He towed two cars out of two entirely different vendor vendors on opposite ends of town before lunch. After that he got the privilege of handling two blowouts up on the interstate by exits 46 and 50 respectively. He just returned to the garage from that run when he got a call informing him that the pastor's wife was having an engine trouble out at rising creek Baptist. Since his shop had replaced her alternator last spring and it was still under warranty, off he went to work through his lunch hour in the sweltering summer sun. After he got her back on the road, another request came through on the CB radio that sent him out to Redfort Falls where some dumbass out of town had busted his oil pan. As if that pothole riddened not mayor of a road wasn't bad enough, the whole area was rife with poison oak. It had been a long day. And now he's sat in the drive through a pal's sudden service waiting for his double big pal to chili dogs, large french fries and peachy tea. Hell, he might not even make it home with his meal. He could just pull into one of the spots by the drive through and shout out right there. He had the house to himself tonight. His girlfriend Regina was visiting her folks down near Oak Ridge, so it wasn't like there was anybody waiting for it. He was off the clock at his cousin's day. He was on call for the night shift. The world was his oyster and he was hungry enough to eat it. Once a nice lady in the window handed him his brown paper bag, a heaven-scent manna and a giant styrofoam cup of the world's most perfect iced tea. Cody Blevins eased his truck into a space on the far edge of the parking lot right across the two lane road from the interstate arm ramp and set to it. He was about three bites into his double cheeseburger when he saw her. She was young, probably no older than 16 or 17, and crouched in the late afternoon shade of the overpass. Dressed in black jeans, a washed out black t-shirt and dark sunglasses, her box-died black hair hung about her face in a frizzy shroud. She was paler in the saucer a meal and looked like she was working up a nasty sunburn. He didn't seem any of the fashionably tragic around Baker's Gap these days, so she caught Cody's eye and held it. After that business few years ago with Scotty Blankenship and his little cult, the number of kids walking around in all black and raccoon eye liner had greatly declined, even over in the larger city of Tipton. Thanks to Cody and a handful of other good folks who worked behind the scenes to make sure the things that went bumping the night didn't end up bumping into the daytime. That whole mess never ended up on the evening news. But there was always talk and rumors about it about what had really happened to Scotty and his little army of weirdos who used to hassle people for fun. Baker's Gap was a sort of small town that feared few things more than teenagers in Black lipstick who listen to music their parents are sure must be about the devil. At least that's what those TV preachers say. The satanic panic as they had called it on the national news had mostly blown over in the bigger cities. With most folks feeling a bit silly in retrospect about the tizzy they'd worked themselves into and wishing to forget the whole sorry affair. But it was still alive and thriving in small town central Appalachia. Cody's family had been in Baker's Gap for a long time and he knew most of the families who had kids at age. He didn't recognize this girl. She was clearly doing her best to remain unnoticed under that overpass. He finished off his burger, took a long sip of his tea and unwrapped his first chili dog as he watched her detach from her perch and scrabble down to the road proper, slinking toward the edge of the shade cast by the highway above. An 18 wheeler thundered overhead and she timidly approached the void where sunlight meant shadow in a bright hotline. Now that she was closer he could see the sun had indeed done a number on the poor girl's skin was bright red. He wouldn't be surprised if she had blisters. Cody polished off the dog in a handful of bots thinking he'd stay out of the sun if he was that prone to burn. She hesitated at the edge of the shadow that extended her lily wide hand from the shade into the late afternoon light. There was a spark and a whisper of smoke and she recoiled as if she'd tucked an electric fence scurrying back to the spot of deeper shadow where she'd been hiding before. He took another big swallow, a sweet tea and cussed under his breath. God damn it. Look, I needed this today. Cody packed the remainder of his feast back into the bag and placed it on the passenger side floorboard as he considered what to do next. If he had just seen the girl there as he drove by he might not have thought twice about her, but watching the ways she reacted to the sunlight had summoned up a whole parade toward the red flags. There were all sorts of things in the underbelly of Appalachia that didn't like sunlight, but only a few walking around in corporeal form that could actually be harmed by. There was no shortage of stories about mysterious pale women walking out of the woods, lead hitchhikers to their demise, but those were usually not turned on. And where would she have come from? All the way out here. They were on the outskirts of town, a modern wasteland, a shopping centers and fast food. There weren't any old graveyards or dith patches of wood close by. He unfurled the map of the area in his mind and dropped a mental pin with a girl's sand. She was right off the interchange of the US-23 and State Road-107. He pondered the idea she could have come from the interstate, but that didn't sit right. What if she was trying to get to the interstate and stay? Could she be running from something? Then the most likely scenario came into focus. Hidden west on State Road-107 after it turned into State Road-81, there was a gated private drive, festooned with no trespassing sign that did not appear on any official county man. It wasn't a sort of fancy, rot iron gate that might lead to some private country club community. It was a simple sturdy affair the con meant to keep vehicles out and livestock in. Accordingly, what lay at the end of that road was not a neighborhood of many mansions, but rather a mid-sized ranch house behind which lay a scattering of single-wires that comprised a small trailer park. An old weathered metal sign I did a fight it as. Windsor Park. Windsor Park did not advertise vacancies or lots for lease, though many of its units were often unoccupied. The people who needed to know about a place like this lived, a different sort of life. Those who didn't need to know were better off. I and the pale, burned young woman and Cody's gut told him this was exactly where she'd come from. He brushed the crumbs from his beard and pulled out of the pals parking lot driving slowly under the overpass. He break as he neared the girl who had moved further up the embankment. Cody took a deep breath to prepare himself for whatever happened once she realized he was stopping. Then leaned across the seat to roll down his passenger side window. Excuse me, miss. Are you okay? Do you need help? I've really ignored him for a long moment averting her gaze to the road. Uh, miss. Can't hear me. Do you need assistance? Realizing he wasn't going away, she took off her dark sunglasses and stared into the face of the big man in the truck. Her eyes were a smoky amber. The shimmer briefly in the gloom of the road. I'm fine, sir. You can move along. I'm just waiting for my ride, is all. Cody felt the gentle push against his mind. It was a feeble attempt. Clumsy, really, to make him move on. He'd had a few things try to mess with his free will over the years, a common occurrence in his secondary line of work. And he had taken precautions to prevent such nonsense for years. Darling, you don't got a lot of me. Uh, if you need help, I can get you help. Just say the word. Cody Blevins met the girl's gaze. Let her know that whatever she had tried, what more. Oh, uh, uh, no really. Please, sir. Just go. I'm fine. My ride's just late. And, and I'll be fine. Just leave me alone, please. All right. Sorry to bother you. Have a good evening now. Cody sighed and rolled the pasture, winded back up and headed west. It's a good thing Gina wasn't waiting on him. This day just wouldn't end. And he had a feel in the night would be worse if he didn't hurry. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up to the gate outside Windsor Park, stopping alongside the cluster of mailboxes in the high weeds at the edge of the property. He checked his watch and glanced up at the late afternoon sun. Full dark wouldn't come until almost nine in high summer, so this was a safe visit any time to go. With an effort that was two parts finessed, one part elbow grease, he unlatched and swung the front gates open. Then he got back in the truck and drove on through. Cody tried not to flinch as they swung a shut and latched behind him. He continued up the hill and within a few minutes, parked in front of a shabby looking house, the color of turned man-ains. The porch was a sagging dirty structure, piled with old bicycles, stacks of newspapers, and other assorted junk. Cody reached under his shirt and pulled out a chain which held an old set of dog tags and a charm bag, allowing them to hang in plain sight. He then took a deep breath, stepped onto the porch and knocked on the front door. Glenn, hey buddy, wake up. We need that little talk. Don't act like you don't hear me, bud. Come on now. Cody blevins what in the sort of man who just go pound it on someone's door without good reason. Especially if he knew the folks inside worked the night shift, which was sort of the case here. Glenn, if I have to invoke certain rites and privileges of will, but if we can keep this friendly visit, I'd appreciate it, brother. Cody raised his meaty fist to knock again, but then the door cracked open, and a pair of blirry eyes peered from behind a chain that stretched top over the narrow passage. Oh, hey, bear. Sorry. I didn't hear you knocking. I was down the basement doing some, some work. What time is it? The man behind the door appeared over Cody's shoulder into the early evening sunlight. It's a little early for a social call, don't you think? It is, and I apologize, but I think we might have a situation. How many of you got staying in the park right now? It's a situation. What's going on? Is there a problem? None of us have left the property today, not to my knowledge at least. Miss Rosalie spends most of her time sleeping in the park, and we're not going to be able to stay here and stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. We're not going to stay here for a long time. How many folks have you got staying out back right now? Glenn Shelby was older than Cody's daddy by 30 years, but didn't look a day over Fiddy. His hair was a wild gray tangle, and his once-jowly face was peppered with a frosting of white stubble. He was technically still human, but the thing that slept in the basement of the house, the thing to which Glenn Shelby had dedicated his life, was not. Well, let's see, Mr. Thomas left three nights ago, made a safe little oval. Call me when he got there. Yes, he did end up in a misturner. I believe you met her one time. She passed through last week, such a nice lady. I appreciate you keeping up with everybody, Glenn, but that's not what I asked you. Who's staying out back right now? The old man scratched the back of his head and pulled a pair of wireframe spectacles from around his neck. Sliding them onto the bridge of his nose. He took a top-bound spiral notepad from his back pocket and flipped it open, scanning the pages. Well, there's Mr. Mowble in number four. He's here till the end of the month. Young Mr. Franklin from over in Charleston is in number six, but just for a night or two, he's on his way back home after staying the season in Indianapolis, I believe. You got a girl looks like a teenager. Maybe a little older. Oh, you mean Miranda? Just got here last week, supposed to stay full-time. Per our friends over in Knoxville. She is a young one indeed, only been in the family for a little while. Lovely girl, staying in unit number two, so we can keep a close eye on her. Cody's side. Well, you ain't doing the best job of that, Glenn. That lovely girl is currently stuck under the overpass down by piles. I don't know how she got there, but she's gonna end up burnt to a crisp if somebody don't go get her. If she's still out after dark, somebody like Bird or one of the Ares boys come across her. She's fair game. Did you not explain the rules to her? There was a thundering chain in the door, swung open when Shelby stood framed by the deep darkness of the house behind him. He was a short, dumpy man, dressed in a rumpled white button up and a pair of well-loved leave-highs. His feet were bare as Miss Rosalie didn't allow shoes on her carpet. No light entered the squat box of a dwelling. Every window had been boarded up and sealed with blackout curtains, and Cody would bet good money to lack of life, wasn't the only thing that obscured what lay with him. Well, what? Oh, my, of course I explained the rules to her Cody blevins. What kind of monster do you think I am? She is young in every sense of the world. Had it in her head, she was going back to the city for a concert of some sort, since she'd rather die than miss it. We told her it was simply out of the question and if she'd gotten a bite by the rules, dying is a very real possibility. I'm afraid I didn't take her seriously. Oh, that's on me. Let me check with Miss Rosalie and I'll go get her. Is there a... problem? Glenn. The voice that rolled from the murky dark behind the old man hit Cody blevins like a blow to the gut. He felt the pouch around his neck tremble as its tones washed over him. It was deep and masculine. Touched with fire, meant to inspire fear and unease. Cody could not see the speaker, but Glenn's eyes went wide. He spun around and stepped back into the house, pulling the door almost shut behind him, partially blocking Cody from view. No, no, no, no problem. No, no, no, no, no. Small matter of one of the other residents. Please, uh... Go, go, go, go, go downstairs. I'll be right with you. Thank you, Troy. Cody felt the presence. Heavy and malevolent. Linger for a long moment. Then withdraw into the depths of the house. As the sound of the stranger's boots on the creaky basement stairs faded. The old man turned back to Cody who eyed him cautiously. Who's that? You got somebody else standing in the house? Now stairs with your lady? You think that's a good idea, Glenn? Um, that is, uh... That is Troy. He's apparently an old acquaintance of my... uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, Miss Rosalie. He'll be staying in number eight once we get him settled. Uh... Just arrived last night. Glenn's eyes took on a far away look for a moment. Then he snapped back to attention. Oh, yes, thank you, Bear. I appreciate your discretion. I'll take the van to fetch young Miranda and get her resettled and... and then take care of Mr. Troy. Busy times? Huh? Summer is always a busy time. If he'll excuse me. The door to the rundown house shook his face. And Cody heard the turning of locks and the scrambling of the chain as Glenn slid it back into place. His supper roiled and his stomach. He did not need this today. When he drove his truck back down the narrow drive, he found the gates already open, awaiting his departure. He turned back on a state road 81 and headed for Baker's camp. He'd sit and watch, make sure Glenn collected the girl before sundown. Then maybe he could go home and get some sleep. Somehow he doubted it. There was trouble on the wind. He had the unsettling feeling something bad was coming. If not tonight, then soon. And if not here, then not far away. Why couldn't it be something simple like ghosts or even werewolves? They would go years on in without hearing a peat from the folks that came and went from Windsor Park. But when they did, they usually meant blood and misery. God damn vampires. More trouble than they're worth. When the walls close in and the light gets swallowed in there ain't no place that feels like home. The ones you love concern and the strangers and you cast your eyes through the winding road. Keep your foot on the gas, your eyes straightforward, clear your heart and mind. Bessily, them goes behind when the hearth grows cold. Home is nowhere than your mind is where. When dogs cause run like hell. The vampires were relatively rare in Appalachia for a number of reasons. For starter, there was a lot more competition for prey. Haints, boogers, shapeshifters, vengeful spirits, not folk who were not the best. The vampires were relatively rare in Appalachia for a number of reasons. For starter, there was a lot more competition for prey. The most dangerous thing was the vengeful spirits, not folk who were not the same thing as vampires and the like were here first. That's without factoring in those things crafted by the great and sleeping darkness under the mountains who've been here almost as long and can be very territorial. Second, while the members of Fangard Society might run amuck in the shadows of bigger cities primarily composed of small towns. Smaller population means people notice when their neighbors go missing. These are folks who know the score, least part of it, and are willing to take action if something new starts drinking the local barflies like bottles of Neha, just as there are bloodlines sworn to serve the green or the inner dark. There are families who have four generations, hunted anything supernatural and the name of keeping their communities safe. One can easily imagine the bloodshed that could result from such a scenario, and thus, there are rules. Ever since the first grannies clashed with things that weren't animal nor human in the deep woods, there have been treaties, agreements, and packs laid down so that those who walk by night and those who live by day can coexist as peacefully as possible. Balance and order were good things for day-to-day living, and there was no reason to burden the average citizen with the knowledge that the things beyond their kin unless absolutely necessary. When the first blood suckers appeared in Appalachia, alongside mortal folk during the Great Migration and ensuing land theft, there were those who knew what they were. Every culture has some form of lore about those who walk the night and drink the blood of the living, and most folks didn't have much love for them. Unlike the haunts and boogers that were a natural occurrence, anyplace has its own, the undead were just people who got turned into something more dangerous. They could easily be uprooted, run out of town, or slaughtered on mass. To prevent such openness plays of violence in front of the general population, the night registry was put in place shortly before the Civil War. Vampires could pass through Appalachia, even reside there for up to 90 days. So long as they dwelt in an approved domicile overseen by authorities of their kind, his job it was to ensure their transit through the region left as few bloody footprints as possible. Windsor Court was just such a place. Miss Rosalie, who spent most of her time sleeping in the basement of that old ranch-style house, was afforded the privilege of being the sole permanent undead resident of Johnson County. On the condition that she acted as the sponsor and responsible party for any of her kind passing through. She had ruled that way station for the last hundred years or so, and during that time there was not a whisper of vampires in Appalachia. Well, almost. As Cody Blevin shook off the shivers from his visit to that trailer park of the dead, a similar neighborhood filled with the livin was coming to life an hour and a half away over in Vlaemorgon, Virginia, as folks made their way home from work. Cherry Hill Mobile Home Park was a respectable family-friendly affair and such places go. Located not far from both the middle and elementary schools, and a stone's throw from the high school, it was clean and well kept. If trailer park living was your lot in life, you could do a whole lot worse. All manner of folks made Cherry Hill their home. From the family of four working their asses off to get by to the retired memo on Papal, who just wanted a smaller place to manage, to folks who could afford what they could afford, and that that meant dropping a single wide on a lot and doing the best they could so bet. At lot number 13, Denise Ramy had just returned home from a long day at the pay less, and was having a well-deserved smoke on the front steps before the evening chaos of making supper for her mom and younger cousin Micah, who were on their way back from a dental appointment over in Tipton. Micah turned 16 next month and was finally getting braces after years of delay due to his mess of family giving consent, then not giving consent, and Medicaid generally being an asshole about it. Micah had been living with Denise, her mom a Debbie, and until recently her older brother Bradley for a while now. His parents, Bunk and Winona, weren't missing or dead, they just kind of sucked, both as parents and as people. Bunk Ramy was Denise and Bradley's uncle. He was a holy roller and a hypocrite, the sort of man who sat first or second-phew ever Sunday, handraising and hollering win appropriate, then spent the rest of his time being an emotionally abusive, controlling narcissist. He had never amounted to anything in his life and was mad as hell that anybody else did. His wife Winona had left him a half dozen times, but always come back. She was a sad, bitter little woman, but being married to Bunk Ramy would do that to you. Bunk wanted a hulk and sun and a letterman's jacket to accomplish all the things he never could. He wanted a boy who would bring the family a little shine with some pictures on the front page of the sports section and the local paper. What he got was Micah, who started high school at five foot nothing and a hundred pounds soaking wet. He looked and sounded just like his mama which drove his daddy crazy. He loved fantasy novels, horror movies, and was about as tough and masculine as a my little pony hair dryer. By the time he was 14, he was sure his daddy hated him and his painted fingernails, as much as he hated the posters of Androgenous Rockstars who stared out of those staple kiss portraits that adorned the walls of Micah's bedroom. That gallery of grim races with made up faces and ludicrous hairdos drove his daddy crazy. By the time Micah was 15 and had rocketed it up to a towering five foot four, Bunkie had ripped all those posters down a million times, screaming about backward messages and devil music making his boy into a queer. When his dad had moved to take his stereo, a boom box with detachable speakers and dual cassette deck that had been a gift from Denise and Bradley two Christmas's ago, the boy hit his breaking point. He jumped up and shoved his daddy hard enough to send him sprawling into the hallway of the house he'd grown up in. Bunk rein me a clamber to his feet and a quiet fury and told him he had a choice. He could be ready for prayer meeting that night, have all that shit scrubbed off his fingernails and all him devil-worshpers pictures off the walls of his house and be ready to apologize or he could be gone. Micah had packed up his things while his folks were at work and rode his bike the 10 minutes down to Cherry Hill to stay with his cousins. He'd been there ever since. Denise was tired. She'd been on her feet all day running a register and was over it. She closed her eyes, blew out smoke and listened for the familiar sound of her mama's cutless supreme coming up the road. This was the summer after her high school graduation. She should be out partying her ass off, getting into trouble for the last time before half her friends went off to college or the military and the other half settled into jobs. Denise had taken the vocational track through high school focusing on cosmetology. Her end goal was to get her state license but the closer the day to the exam got, the less certain she was she wanted to do it. She'd really just taken the classes to learn how to bleach her own hair without it falling out and to get that Sally Beauty Supply Professional Discount card. Like many of the Glade Morgan High School Class of 91 who weren't committed to some far-off four-year school, Denise had limited options. She could enlist, head over to that brewing storm in the desert or sign up for the local community college and spinner wheels until she either earned a certificate of some sort or burned out in quid. Now their option appealed to Denise or her friends. The tale end of Generation X were a peculiar bunch. They were latchkey kids and survivors but they weren't quite as jaded in numb as their older counterparts depicted on TV or in movies. Denise and her friends still gave a shit. I thought maybe they could dread some sort of happiness out of lie. Currently the only thing that really made Denise happy was music. Local underground music to be specific. While lots of folks thought that Appalachian music was all banjo's bluegrass or particular flavor of country it's simply what and so would never have been. Every generation rebels against the traditions of those who come before it and punk, hardcore, goth, metal, dirty gut-bucket garage ban rock and roll. All these could be found around Southwest Virginia East Tennessee and Eastern Kentucky. Not so much in places like Glade Morgan or Princess Flat. Eastau's county aspiring musicians and folks who love music like Denise had to drive over the mountain to the Tri-Cities, model city, tipton and paradise, where they could see bands they'd only read about and well-worn Xerox pages of fanzines passed down from older siblings in cousin. All three of the bigger towns had their own flavor of music their parents definitely wouldn't understand. Denise loved the fact that these were kids just like her and her friends playing shows and putting out records. These weren't famous rock stars. She never took a chance to see an in concert, much less meeting. They were normal people. Their small circle of weirdos had become friends with local bands like Jabberwaki and Aggie Killer Karma who were doing their best to channel the spirit of early 90s Seattle into Eastau County and they were okay. But it was the hour-long late night drive to the warehouse skate park in Paradise or to an old office space and tipton that got her excited. That's where she can meet other people like her who hadn't grown up in shitty towns like Glaemorgon or Tom's Creek who introduced her to other bands and shows. And they were usually pretty friendly if you didn't act like a dumb hick. The Tri-Cities were great for local shows. But seeing bigger bands required driving the three hours to Knoxville, a daunting task in the 77th Chevitt Denise had inherited when their brother Bradley skipped town. A six hour round trip, not counting time spent at the show with a cab packed with small town Goths was a tall order for the ancient sticker-covered four-cylinder. If the right show come along though, she vowed to make it happen. There were times when this town threatened to smother her with its smallness and those road trips and adventures were the only things that kept her sane. The region's music scene connected into something bigger in real tangible ways. For example, her best friend, Laurie's cousin Marcus, who moved to Tipton for college, had ended up in a really good Goth band called No More Light. They played with a bunch of bigger touring bands at the office space in downtown Tipton, as well as local bars closer to campus. Last year, they opened for violent fear. Marcus' favorite band. But they'd been on a school night, so they'd missed out. Still, they were friends with a girl whose cousin had played on the same stage as the guys who wrote Neon Dracula. And that was something. Denise was shaken from her musings by the sound of her mom's car pulling into the driveway. Debbie Raimi had barely stopped the car when the passenger's side door flew open and Micah tore up the short driveway clutching a sheet of paper in his hand. Didi, you'll never believe what I found out at the record store. It's happening. They're coming back. We have to go. Can you have Laurie call Marcus? It's all ages. We can all go this time. Denise took the paper from her cousin's hand. The boy was vibrating with excitement. His eyes doy with happy tears. She looked down at what turned out to be a show flyer. Clearly constructed by somebody with access to cheap art supplies and a photocopier. The top and bottom of the page sported thick bands a black toner with white lettering. The middle was occupied with band photos and logos clipped from something else that awkwardly taped into place and zero. It read, record release show, violent fear with special guests. No more light. Tipton Tennessee and Fox Holatheist from Kentucky. Thursday, June 18th, doors at seven, five dollars. All ages. The Mercury, Knoxville, Tennessee. No, holy shit. That's tomorrow night. Please, Deity, we gotta go. I'll just, I'll just die if we don't. Well, hey there, family. Welcome to the final arc of season five of Old Gods of Appalachio Run Like Hill. We've come to the end of the season. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. I'm going to show you a few things. Andy Marie Tilney. The voice of Troy is Adam Kemparros. The voice of Denise Raimi is Adam Ugman. The voice of Micah Raimi is Aaron Bentley. Talk to you soon family. Talk to you reelson. I'm going to be a little bit more I'm going to be a little bit more I'm going to be a little bit more I'm going to be a little bit more I'm going to be a little bit more I'm going to be a little bit more I'm going to be a little bit more I'm going to be a little bit more As a lover is the time A little bit more A little bit more A little bit more A little bit more A little bit more of an aching loss is an aching loss that just I just don't trust me on track to what I'm on the edge I'm on the edge I'm on the edge I'm on the edge I'm on the edge I'm on the edge I'm on the edge