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the blackest corners of your mind, they call pulling you deep into shadow, twisting your senses, keeping you from sleep. It's time to face your darkest fears. This is tales to terrify Good evening Children of the night and welcome so December. Okay, hard to believe we're only weeks away from the holidays. I don't know about you, but it just doesn't feel

riel yet. This steaming, festering dumpster fire that is 2020 is actually coming to a close. I guess I shouldn't speak too soon, though Every horror fan knows that. It's just when the hero thinks they're in the clear that the killer pops up for one last big scare. Did I just jinx us by saying that I hope not, Just know pitchforks and torches if I did. Okay. Before we get started this week, I'd like to take a second to doff my cap to our newest patron, Lawrence Browning. Your generous support gives me the kind of goose bumps on Lee. The laughter of a child drifting up from the cellar in the middle of the night can raise. If you'd like to support the show, you know the drill. Patryan dot com slash tales To terrify ad free episodes Bonus content. We've got an extra story coming for Christmas

and a cool little pack of swag every couple of months, including a bonus for the holidays. Of course, if you don't have the extra wallet space, that's okay, too. A five star review on iTunes is an amazing gift as well, and it's a huge help for the show. Like this recent review from Chris 10 Hill. Thank you for making such a wonderful podcast. I can tell how much hard work and love goes into making it, and it's helped me get through 2020. Working from home and never leaving My apartment has been tough this year, but you've helped me get through it and feel like I'm hanging out with friends. My very creepy great storytelling friends. Thanks for all you dio and thank you, Chris, for listening and for taking the time to write such a kind, heartfelt review. It actually really means a lot to us to know that our seeping darkness has helped make the world feel a little brighter

. Speaking of making things a little brighter. If you've got horror fans on your gift list this year, why not get them a little tales to terrify merch and help support the show? At the same time Every Wednesday, Thursday and Friday until Christmas we've got 30% off everything in our new shop. Just visit tales to terrify dot com and click on the merch button at the top of the home page that will take you directly to our T public store, where you can browse all the goodies for our travels. This week we're headed to a little community called Riverton on the Icelandic River. And no, we haven't left Canada just yet. As it turns out, the province of Manitoba has a history firmly tied to the country of Iceland. In the late 18 hundreds, a group of Icelandic immigrants fleeing intense volcanic activity at home traveled to Canada and settled near Lake Winnipeg, and

the area they now called home became known as New Iceland. Riverton sits just up the Icelandic River from Lake Winnipeg, a quaint little community, a place that's not so much a destination itself than it is a place to drive past on the way between Winnipeg and Cottage Country. But for a tiny farming community, it's got a surprising amount of history, and much of that history is centered on nearby Ness Cemetery. Until 2010, when a local heritage group set up an angel statue to markets location, you'd never have known there was a cemetery at Ness at all. There were no crosses or gravestones, no buildings, roads or fences, either, but buried beneath the earth on this small plot of land are the remains of AZM, any as 100 people around 18 80

an outbreak of smallpox tour through the area. Dozens of people from the already tiny community died, many of which were Children. Some, as young, is on Lee. A few weeks and nest cemetery was where they were laid to rest beneath wooden markers. The population became so small after the outbreak that there were few people left to care for the cemetery, and with the area also prone to flooding from the nearby river, it quickly became overgrown and neglected. Now, if you know anything about Nordic cultures, they're steeped in myth and superstition. The connection between this world and the next is something that's deeply respected by most people, anyway. Magnus Hellgren person, though, didn't care much for tradition. He wasn't bothered by Superstition

Mawr. It seemed, even the concept of respect for the dead. Looking for a place to set up his new homestead closer to town, Al Grimsson decided he liked the look of the spot, and he didn't care one bit if it was already occupied by the dead. The land was well situated with tiny ness Kill Creek nearby, providing a perfect place for him to more. His fishing boat. Hal Grimsson didn't just build next to the cemetery, though. No, the spot he chose for his home was right in the center of it. He took the time toe haul off and dispose of the wooden grave markers, and then he even dug into the earth itself to build a seller. It's almost Aziz. Though he relished the thought of building over top of the dead, he named the Farmstead Nasstrom, meaning sure of

corpses, a place in the afterlife of Norse mythology reserved for murderers and criminals. Sounds like a really fun guy, doesn't he? But Al Grimsson didn't end up living there all that long. He died less than 10 years after the homestead was finished, a painful, grisly death at the hands of a bleeding tumor. Unsurprisingly, his wife and kids okay, surprising that he had wife and kids wasted little time after his death before packing their things and moving away from ness. In an attempt to make the location of little less morbid. It was renamed graft Arness, which translates to burial point, although most often it was simply referred to as ness. But the change in name didn't do much to alleviate the darkness that had moved in, and the abandoned farmhouse became the source

of many eerie tales. Good or more. Jae Gu Thompson gotta love Nordic names lived not far from the homestead, and he'd had one hell of an evening full of drinks and food and games and Mawr drinks. And his luck with the ladies seem to be strong for a change to. He'd been chatting up a pair of young women, and they seem to be into him. So when they decided to set out for home, he did the gentlemanly thing and offered to walk them home. I can't imagine he had any ulterior motives, of course, but when they reached the girls property and the two women actually disappeared into their house without inviting him in, I'm sure he was a little disappointed. The alcohol had mostly worn off by that point, though, and he debated whether or not to head back to the festivities. But they've been winding down

when he left. Instead, he figured he'd make the smart choice and set off for home himself. Good. Thompson lived just south of the old Ness homestead, and he often had to walk past it on his daily travels. It was eerie, for sure, even in the light of day, but he'd never given a whole lot of thought to it as he followed the path through the tall summer grasses. Though he could make out the silhouette of the building in the moonlight, an unseasonable chill ran down his spine, and he picked up his pace. The rains had been plentiful that year, and the waters of the river were high, turning much of the land into marsh. The loan dry path curved close around the edge of the abandoned property, uncomfortably close to the empty house. The grass danced and whispered under the breath of the

midnight breeze. The creek murmured softly in the back as he followed the path that curved closer and closer to the building. There was another sound, too, since it had come into view. Get Urmson hadn't taken his eyes off of the house. But now that he was around the other side, you could see the cellar door lay open. Ah, yawning black mouth in the base of the building and from inside of that abyss drifted a noise. A soft, high, soothing voice, a woman's voice or a child come in, it beckoned. Won't you please come in? The voice was too relaxed, too easy, too sweet to be anything good. No living person would call so calmly

from the pitch black basement of an abandoned house in the middle of the night, get Thompson. Let the icy chill of fear wash over him before sprinting away from the house at full speed. Keeping his feet dry was the least of his worries, and he splashed a straight line away from the house through the marsh. By the time he crashed through the door of his home, he was soaked through and pale with terror. Strange voices in the middle of the night weren't the only things emanating from the house, either. Neighbors from across the river reported seeing strange lights drifting in and out of the window, and others saw several shambling black creatures in and about the property. Some believed that the creatures were a group of ube fact *** physical living corpses with immense strength pulled from Icelandic myth that had taken up residence

there. No doubt the disturbed, vengeful remains of those who had once been buried at Ness, a theory that was given even more weight when, not long after the sightings, the corpse of a mangled horse was found nearby. Tourney open entrails strewn about the past year. Of course, not all of the creepiness of Nest cemetery is reserved for history or the supernatural. As I mentioned before, there's not much left to Mark Ness Cemetery other than this stone angel that watches over the property. The homestead has long since rotted away and being reclaimed by the land. But the land itself occasionally delivers reminders of the graveyards presence. Earth and Ness tends to be fairly unstable as a result of erosion and the constant ebb and flow of the marshland

around it. That means that the remains that once lay buried deep in the marshy earth have a habit of working their way up to the surface. Bones and skulls have been known to emerge from the ground seemingly of their own will. But even these grisly reminders don't compare to the more modern hackle raising tales that some visitors have reported when exploring the area around nests. Voices, it said, can still sometimes be heard drifting up out of the marshy soil. Small, soft, gentle voice is that sweetly Call out. Come in, they say, Oh, please come in voices that seem to have a physical effect. A pool that can be hard to fight, beckoning you, pulling

you deeper into the swamp into the murky waters, calling you to join them. Our first story this evening comes from Leah Cap Grass. Leah Cap Grass specializes in unsavory fiction with a focus on the adventures of a serial strangler and his partner, a very responsible cannibal. She currently co writes the Web comic modus operandi and will continue to do so long after she finishes her M d Children of the night Join me for Leah Cap grasses, Red Lotus. A tales to terrify Original. Yeah

, I screwed up. Get the fuck off me. He wasn't fast enough, and I had the sense to kick him with the foot. It didn't feel attached to my leg and whether I was just that slow or he was learning. It didn't make full contact, and he scuffled off out of sight. Consciousness spun a piecemeal. I hate this. The neuropathic pain was maddening Thai athletic. I couldn't think Did I have memories? My hands and feet burned swept the dirt out of my eyes, nimbly scratch myself and feel little of it. My heart defibrillate id a surge of nausea hit me. I wanted to throw up. Not dead. Uh, taste of rotten blood. And something else too. There are minute, but it's easy, Thio. See, once you know what you're looking for. And it was clumps of fly

eggs that pissed me off the most. How long was I dead? Hey. Yeah, I could barely hear, but yet I knew he was there. His eyes were all big with old tears. And this was the only time it looked like the kid. Iwas How long you been here? Pause out with it. Fucking Christ. 18 hours. Okay, I screwed up somewhere. You thirsty? What's your name again? James? Another pause. Sane. Give me a cigarette thing. When he left, I heaves again. A lot of stuff came up charge of black blood stunned bow flies. Now that fistful of eggs It was bound to happen with

how hot this summer has been. That's just how things go. Once a while found a cigarette. I didn't know what to do with my hands. And I ended up scanning my body with him. That helped. My fingers felt delicate, sensitive again. Skins intact. Clothes were not. I pulled an index finger through one shirt hole, then another and another another than a big one. I like this shirt. He emptied the magazine before I got here. But you are already fain was there before I had changed to push him away. He lit my cigarette for me and I relished in blowing the first smoke in his face. Hey blinked and said nothing. I did it again until he moved in this line. I couldn't see him, and I didn't care. Go on, I said. I didn't sound like

myself. Hopefully, nothing laid eggs in my throat. That's it. They buried you and left and you dug me up. Yeah. Good boy. I closed my eyes and took a long drag. Did I scream some? Mm. Did you read yet? A little. Should I feed him? Did he expect to be fed? What a goddamn pain. This is why I should have sold him when I had the chance. It's been a least two years and see kids suck the sole right out of you. The words fell out all at once. I'm not hungry, but I could wait until you're hungry. I smoked in silence until the light changed. The stars winked out with a crawl of dawn and I finally

smell the sea. Remember the deck? I remember agreeing to meet Daniel, and I remember the car tires eating the gravel as he pulled up late. I remember his buddy and his tiny little Glock. But who owed who first here? Probably drugs, I guess. And probably some snide shit. I said, I can't afford to keep running my mouth. Uh huh. I said, Give me a man and we'll get breakfast. Ah, I looked at him then He wasn't a big kid, but definitely nothing You want to sell in an auction, not baby faced or soft or pail or shy? A g N r H blocker something that would delay puberty wouldn't give him something. He never had James or feign whatever was Farrell and dark. But the child was parts of them just weren't there anymore unless he

got upset. That was only when he cried, he moved in a way that you cut in here, even if it wasn't what you would call calculated. He had in tan an intelligent I. I don't think anyone would want what he had on orphan of a bad breed of some Podunk town Do you want? Want what? Breakfast? I said we go. Do you want to see? I don't want to see what for Christ sakes, I said. And I stood up on my body, stopped making noise. A breeze rolled through and he lifted his nose to it. See, it's just not a marketable trait. Creepy is what it is. He seemed to lose his nerve and regain it all the same moment. Then he pointed to our left When he sold me look that way. He ran his hand over his mouth and his dog's

teeth, stare to the ground and sucked his lip briefly. Pleasant taste of shame got me toe stomp through the long grass to find what I might want to see. Daniel's face had a hole in it. When I rock forward on my heels and cleared the flies, I saw something carved out in the space between his Sinuses and his tongue. He and his buddy with the 10 o'clock both bodies, edges chewed, swollen from the heat. Something was up with their hands like parts for missing that leak through their clothes. And their money would be wet if I try to search for it now. But my grand anyway, serves the fuckers right. The kid caught up with me watching picker his way around the praising it all as a whole in tracing his eye on old fractions of violence. The contorted limbs, the teeth scattered like

seeds, the blister and Hema Thomas the island's holes. He stared in a way that said, Next time I could do better. I didn't see a baseball bat or a Piper. Anything laying around, What did he use and almost be worth asking? You thought I would want to see this? Yeah, I flicked my cigarette butt his way. When our eyes met, it hit him. I like that. Rip the clothes off and get the money. Fain didn't waste time. Maybe he didn't need a buyer. Don't bury him. Maybe he needed a job. I had a boy Let him ride. Maybe I didn't screw up. That

was Leah Cap grasses, Red, Lotus is read by Brian Dobbins. Brian has been a fan of horror for a long time, whether he's binging horror podcasts or teaching high school students. Special effects makeup. Brian surely has horror on the brain with a background in theater and new media focusing on building his freelance business, Dobbins Media, where he uses his skills of acting film, video editing, audio editing, slash engineering and graphic design. Brian has been working on his own podcast RPG character cast, which can be found on his Soundcloud or iTunes, or check out his instagram for silly antics of a chubby black cat. Links are in the show notes. Thank you, Brian with a M C plus. The plus doesn't just mean mawr. It means better available through the platforms are already on AMC. Plus is a premium

streaming bundle with the best of AMC, plus the complete collections of Shutter Sundance Now and I've See Films Unlimited get the latest from the walking dead with early access and exclusives bench to claim Siri's like mad men add three. And with new content dropping each week like Gangs of London ah, powerful drama about London's criminal underworld. There's always something fresh to check out. Sign up a AMC plus dot com a. M c p l U s dot com a. M c plus on Lee. The Good stuff Hey, Michael Phelps Here I want to tell you a bit about online therapy. Online therapy is not about time and place. It's any time and any place. Did you know that over 50% of Americans struggle with their mental health? I'm one of them. And that's why I'm here to tell you about online therapy and how it can change your life. Online therapy is just. Azizi is joining a video call or texting with a friend on Lee. You'll be talking to a licensed therapist from your device

on your schedule. Talk spaces more committed than ever to making therapy accessible and affordable for all, Go to talk space dot com and start working with a licensed therapist today. Brought to you by talk Space therapy for all, get $100 off your first month of talks. Space therapy with Coupon 100 for you. Our second story comes from Timothy G. Hugh Guinan, Timothy G. Huge in and grew up in the mountains of West Virginia, though he often roams the country. Hiss soul is always haunting those dark Appalachian hills. He is the author of the horror novel When the Watcher shakes and of short stories found online and in print, you can find out more about him and his writing at TG. Hugh Guinan dot com Link is in the show

Notes Listen with me. Children of the night. Two. Timothy G. Hugo en ends the Apocalypse of Moses. A tales to terrify original. I found this notebook in Moses his bag, he said. He packed it for me. I don't know how he did that, but he must have, since it has my name on the front corner and gold letters, as I reckon you already noticed before you opened it up. And

sometimes I doubted, and I close it again and look just to see for certain and sure enough, it always, says Tommy, right there and shiny gold cursive and printed on dark brown leather. Moses says things to me every so often. I don't usually understand what he means. Only I just write stuff, he says, down in here. And think about it later. Sometimes some starts to make sense after a while. Usually I start to kind of feel what he means in my heart, even though I can't never seem to get my brain to sort out all the words to explain it. So I decided I should write the start of all of this in here and maybe some of the middle eventually, too, in case I want to remember it better later, Moses says. It's good to write things, says it helps to remember and also to understand things better. And I reckon one day maybe

I really will get old and forgetful like Aunt Martha. And then I might want to read it. I'm 13 while I'm writing this, so I know a lot, but maybe I don't know a ZMA Muchas I will later on. But I would bet you the hair on my Aunt Martha's wrinkly old chin that I wouldn't have never met Moses If PD and Colin me didn't sneak out of Miss Judy's English class on my 13th birthday to smoke some A PD's daddy cigars behind the school just now, I asked Moses if I should write that if he thought it was true, and he says to write it down. Well, Miss Judy somehow got wise to it, though How she figured it out is beyond me since me and Cole and PD were extra sneaky about things, especially PD, since it was his daddy s special cigars after all. But the wind blows

where it wants to. That's another thing Moses said once. Still not sure about it. But it sounds good. And we three boys got sent straight to Mr Nelson's office. Mr. Nelson called PD's daddy and Kohl's mama and my Aunt Martha and made sure we three would all get good weapons when we got home. Actually, Aunt Martha got a head start on mine before we had left the school's parking lot. But I had just turned 13 c so I didn't cry that time. Aunt Martha was quiet all the way back home. I kept checking her face. Does she? If she would look at me or say something, since the quietness was almost worse than a yelling. But she kept her eyes on the road and her lips were a tight gray line about his tight Andreas, her hair that was all balled up on the back of her head. I don't know what happens to ladies when they get old. That they think twisting their hair

all up into the ball in the back of their head is a good idea. But, like Moses says, the wind blows where it wants to. We pulled up to the big White House across the road from the first High Point Fellowship. Aunt Martha has lived in that house, lived for centuries, it seems like, and that's where she raised me up until then, when we got out of the car, I braced myself, since I knew that during the car ride she'd been storing and all up inside and planning on how to best give me her yelling in order that I felt like the sorry heathen that I waas once my feet hit the driveway, she got out of the car and slammed her door for a couple seconds. She only looked at me then that tight gray line under her nose. Not the Harry one, but her lips, I mean, opened up, and here it all came all about what in heaven's

name I was thinking, and she thought she'd done raised me better than that node. She'd raised me better But all she thought I wanted to do is try to give her more tears to cry and gray on her head. And I told her I said, And Martha, I don't think it makes much sense to say I'm giving you Maura Gray. I ain't sure you could get much more. Well, that earned me a good pop on the mouth was stung pretty bad since it was her left hand, the one with her old wedding ring on it. But I still didn't crying, hon. I won't take none of your smart remarks, young man. She said This confused me because she was always telling me to study harder and use my brain more. But I figured I'd better not say anything more for a while. So she continued, All this time I've done my best to do right by you to raise you up in the way that child shall go and all by myself, without the help of your Uncle David. God rest his soul

, and this is the thanks I get. Listen here, Thomas. And here she held out a long, bony finger in front of my nose and wigged it up and down. You won't amount to anything in this world before the Lord, Not on the track. Your headed down cavorting with those hooligans. You wanna end up like your mother? The ingratitude? You could still be living in Augustus Valley if it weren't from me taking you in out of the kindness of my own heart. Augustus Valley. She spit a little when she said this. You know who lives in Augustus Valley, don't you? Uh, my mother, I said all though I knew my mother had long ago left Augustus Valley. Aunt Martha herself had told me once that she'd run off with some cowboy or something. Though I ain't never seen a cowboy in West Virginia, not the rial in these ways. I just thought maybe Aunt Martha had for gotten like the way she forgets some days that she already took her medicine

and takes another bums and drug abusers living Augustus Valley. Thomas leeches good for nothings. Do you wanna end up like that? Do you want to end up a drunkard? No, man. Because that's what you'll be if you go down this road with those those hooligans. But Aunt Martha, what do you want me to do. Stop talking to my best friends. If that's what it takes, you can never be too careful. That was one of Aunt Martha's favorites, one that she set her clock by. You can never be too careful. I knew better than to argue against that one, so I just said, Yes, ma'am. And then at Martha's, lips tightened all up again, and I could see that she had done said all that she had planned to and wanted to wait longer and store up some more for later. She removed her finger from my nose and shoved me toward the front door of her house. Get to your room, she said. I

opened the door and started up the stairs. Actually, she called after me, sounding really tired. Before you do that, bring me my medication. I don't feel well. I must have forgotten to take it this morning. See what I mean? And then go up and think about what you've done. There will be no supper for you tonight. I did like she said. At first I didn't mind about not getting supper since that cigar PT gave me had made my stomach feel really queasy. But I did feel bad for upsetting at Martha so much. If I'd have known we get caught and she would get so upset, I never would have done it. I could tell she really waas trying to do her best to make a righteous boy out of me. Once I got to my room, I thought that if I lay down, I might make my stomach feel better. Turns out I was pretty worn out after Aunt Martha's yelling

and I fell asleep about as soon as I hit my creaky old mattress. And I don't know if it was left over from the cigar or it was from the yelling I got or from not eaten or what. But the dream I had next was really something, and I thought I'd better write it down to. I dreamed I was a grown man and on my own, except I still looked the same as I do now, but it ended up that I was living in a cardboard box in Augustus Valley, just like Aunt Martha said I would, and I was walking along with PD and coal. We all lived in boxes next to each other, although Coles box was the nicest one. A G refrigerator box. And then a woman who was my mother came out from a crusty apartment building. She was so beautiful. She had long, curly black hair and blue eyes. I've

never seen my mother in real life, but I'm pretty sure she must really look like that. Especially since her hair was a black his mind. Waas. I could see when my mother looked at me that she had been crying before. I could ask her what was wrong. She said to me, Run, Tommy, you gotta get out of here. And just then, in the dream, my Aunt Martha came out from the same building, yelling and carrying on. She stopped when she saw me in PD and cold standing there with my mother. Then she took a big white cross out of her pocket. I begin to suspect then that I was dreaming because the cross was way to big toe fit in any normal pocket. Anyways, Aunt Martha started beating me and my mother with the cross while PD and Cole ran away to their parents houses. It was the middle of the night when I woke up, I could hear at Martha's voice, muttering softly from her room across

the hall. Kind of creepy, right? My window was open and a cool spring nights breeze made the curtains float around like they were magical or something. And maybe they were magical. Never mind, Moses says. It was only the wind blowing where it wants, you know, laying there on my bed and watching my curtains float around. I started thinking about where I was going in life, and I heard about Augustus Valley from Aunt Martha, and I knew I didn't want to end up There is a lazy leach or a drug dealer or a drunkard, even if my cardboard box was Assn. Isis Coles was in the dream. Also, I figured maybe I was headed down the wide roads of un righteousness. His Aunt Martha Ann Creature, judge from First High Point Fellowship, would say, and Martha took me the first high point every Sunday. So I knew a little bit about unrighteous nous. To be honest, mostly, I

would daydream during the sermons. Sometimes I would think about sneaking out of my house after church to go fishing with coal and PD. It was next to sin to fish on the Lord's Day. Aunt Martha would say, You can never be too careful. She caught me once and I told her I was just trying to honor the Lord because wasn't the Lord of Fishermen. And she sent me to my room. Or more often lately I would daydream about Mary Beth, who sits in front of me in school. She has this long, silky blonde hair and brown eyes that remind me of the rust under the train trestle over the Augustus River. But I did hear some a preacher judge sermons enough to know what the wide roads oven righteousness were. I knew that you surely didn't want to be a Democrat at first of all, almost as bad as the Democrats was having sex. There is no sex in heaven, you know. Beer

is a pretty bad sin, too, and I don't remember for sure. But there must have been a sermon in there somewhere about cutting class and smoking cigars with your best friends, those the big ones, at least there other sins, too. Littler ones gossip in being stuck up hating people in like I thought, Preacher Judd once said that all sins air the same in the Lord's sight. But I must be remembering that wrong, because those first ones, I said, are the ones he yelled most and loudest about. And that couldn't be on accident since preacher Judd got a whole week in between each Sunday to store it all up and plan out his next Yellen. Now, I didn't think I was a Democrat, but Cole's parents were Democrats, and they were really nice to me. I liked them, too, which was probably bad. Plus calls. Family lived in Augusta's Valley. Also

, whenever I saw him, Mary Beth at school, I knew that I wanna have sex a lot. So that was a bad sign, and I hadn't had any beer yet. But I had tried that cigar with PD and cold during class. So it seemed like if there was a wide roads, oven righteousness, I was barreling down them full speed ahead. I needed to put the brakes and get cleaned up, as Aunt Martha might say, got to take the exit ramp off this unholy highway, as preacher judge might say, I decided I would tell all this to Aunt Martha since she was awake. I also decided to tell her that I didn't even like the cigar, and then it made me sick, and maybe that would help things. I walked over to Aunt Martha's room. The door was cracked open. It occurred to me that she might not be awake. She might only be sleep talking, so I peeked inside, real quiet to check. She wasn't sleep talking. Instead

, she was on her knees at the window outside her window. It's a straight shot across to see the big white steeple of first High Point Fellowship, and when she got into a praying mood, she would always open up her window, set hers knees down on the floor and then proper elbows up on the window sill with her hands clasped. Even in the winter time she did this, I had lived with Aunt Martha long enough to know that the next time I ever interrupted her when she was in a praying mood would be my last. So I tiptoed back to my room, shut the door and thoughts and more. I tried to think of what Aunt Martha might say to me, and then I thought maybe I ought to try to get into a praying mood of my own. So I walked over to my open window and looked out. My room's window faced the other side of town instead of first High Point fellowship. All lifestyle

with some other houses. The big maple tree that I'd sneak out by when I would go fishing and the full moon big and white and bright. I got to my knees. I made sure there was about a shoulder with the part, just like Aunt Martha's. Then I propped my elbows up on the window sill in class my hands together, just like Aunt Martha's. I always figured that you had to get the angle right with those class pans. Tilt them just so from the wrist for some sort of spiritual antenna. I think I must have been very wrong about this because I just asked Moses about that, and he only snorted the laugh. So I made the necessary adjustments, but I still felt like something was wrong. I went over everything in my head window check knees, check, elbows check hands, antenna, check. Then I realized

I was still missing the steeple. I shut my eyes tight and tried hard as I could to picture a big white steeple in my head, complete with a big white cross on top, like the one Aunt Marthe had beat me and my mother. Within my dream, I was ready to begin. Dear first High Point Fellowship. I prayed. This is Tommy, but I didn't get any farther with my prayer because all of a sudden I heard the sound of a horse. It's nickel in in the yard below. Open my eyes. Standing there in the moonlight was a great dark stallion, as black is my own hair and with glowing red eyes. When I say his eyes were glowing red, I don't mean like Rudolph's nose or like Christmas lights. I mean, they were a low light, a reddish orange like a camp fire that has burned down to embers while those fire em brize smoldered. Clouds

rose from his nostrils like smoke. And sometimes I think maybe it really was smoked, too. I'm too afraid to ask Moses this. It seems like kind of a personal question. It was surely the most beautiful and the most scariest thing I've ever seen. Even counting how beautiful Mary Beth is in that pink dress she sometimes wears when it's warm and even counting how scary Aunt Martha is when she stormed up all her Yellen's inside for later, the horse stood there looking at me for a bit, all majestic and terrifying, with the full moon casting a silver outline all around it. I wanted to call Frank Martha, but then I remembered she was in the praying mood, and I kept my mouth shut. Also, just then, I was too scared even to speak. Then

the horse spoke to me. My name is Moses. It said. I didn't know what else to say. So I just said, My name is Tommy Moses snickered again. It was a friendly sound, and despite those hot coal fire eyes, it comforted me a little. I've come for you, Tommy Moses said. I know. I'm not sure what I said that, but right after I did, I realized it was the truth. Don't ask me to explain it any more than I can explain where the wind goes. Then Moses stepped forward a little more until we used looking up at me from under the maple tree. He didn't have to say what he said next, because I knew that already, too. But he did anyways climb on my back. Those fiery eyes almost hypnotize me to climb

out there without even thinking. But then, at Martha's voice sounded in my head. You can never be too careful. It was so loud and clear in my mind that I turned to check if she was standing behind me. Of course, she wasn't there. She was still in a praying mood at her bedroom window facing the church, but never in my life had those words felt more right for the situation as just then. So I said to Moses, My Aunt Martha says, I can never be too careful. Moses stepped back from the tree, looking a little offended and mighty more scarier. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I wanted to please Aunt Martha. You know, I'm sorry, Moses, I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. But I'm trying to get into a praying mood, and my Aunt Martha does that a lot, So if she says I gotta be careful, then I'd reckon that's part

of getting into a praying mood. Moses snorted, and a big puff of smoke came out of his nostrils. I still haven't asked him, but I'm certain now it was smoke. Your Aunt Martha means well, he said. But anything of worth in life requires risk. I thought about that for a second. It didn't seem like something that Martha would say it all. But it did seem right then again, that cigar had seemed right at the time. Look atyou, though. I said if Aunt Martha was here right now, she would say you were black as sin and anything that looks like sin is probably the same. Our next to it. Moses again stared me down. Ah, forever moment with them burning eyes of hiss. Then he said, You were a boy. The time

is ripe for you to become a man. You alone must make this decision. Not your Aunt Martha. There was something about those eyes and the way the smoke came out of his nostrils in the moonlight that got me to thinking about some. A preacher judged Yellen's on horseman and monsters and the end of the world. So I asked, Is this like the apocalypse? It is an apocalypse of sorts, but it is not what you are thinking. That was only the first of many more strange and ponderous. Moses is ISMs to come. Another one was how he answered my next question. Are you the Lord that they preach about over at first High Point? I asked all from that assembly. Proclaim me, he said. But

few of them have met me before. I could really try to digest this one. I heard the floor Creek, like Aunt Martha was standing up from her praying mood at the window. She must have heard me in Moses talking. Moses stepped under the maple again. No more time to discuss this climb on my back. Or don't heard Aunt Martha step out into the hall from her bedroom. I was just about to take the exit ramp, I said to Moses nervously. I was just about toe get in a praying mood like my aunt Martha, Moses shook his long, kingly horsehead. His main danced like the way at Martha's Old diamond ring sparkles when she turns it in the light. That way on, Lee joins on to erode. That feels much safer. A goes to the same place, you

said, and it is just as wide. Then at Martha knocked on my door. Tommy, are you all right in there? I'm okay. I said over my shoulder to the closed door. I'm just, uh, trying to pray. I stuck my head back out the window. Will it be dangerous? I whispered to Moses, Yes. You said, Let me come in and pray with you, child. And Martha said I could hear the door knob turning Moses staunched and snorted smoke again. Now I jumped out the window and onto the big maples limb like I was going fishing again. Except this time I clambered from the tree onto the back of the biggest talking horse I had ever seen. There was no saddle, only a bag strapped to his side. I could hear him, Martha, above us, looking for me in the room

where the rains, I said, Do I look like a tame beast for you to stare to your own will? Moses said. And I promise you that his eyes got a brighter orange when he said that. Now hold on tight to my main. Then Moses let out a loud, long Winnie. I suspect the whole town woke up and heard it. And I suspect, further that Moses meant them to. Aunt Martha certainly heard it for his. Moses took off. I heard her screaming out the window behind us. No, no, not Tommy, too. Not Tommy, too. Even though it was night, the full moon let our way. As I watched all the houses zoom past, Moses pinned his ears back, and every time I thought we were going as fast as a horse ever could go, he got a little bit faster. Everything

became a blur, and I turned around to see first high point fellowships. Big clean steeple disappear from sight. We're going so fast, I said, And the wind rushing her against my face stole the sound from my words. We're going so fast, will be halfway to Beckley in seconds. We weren't going towards Beckley. We were going the other way toward Augustus Valley. My heart sank a little bit in my chest, and I began to get nervous about my decision. Moses must have sensed it. Don't be afraid, he said. That's just some of your Aunt Martha in you. Everyone has a bit of Aunt Martha in them. You're more like her than you think? And soon the rotted old wooden sign that said Welcome to Augustus Valley flew by so fast that I

couldn't even read it. And then in another second, we were halfway through town where the train tracks cross Main Street. Moses turned on the tracks. Justus. The red lights started flashing. I could hear the train whistle behind us. As Moses raced along the railway towards the river. It seemed like Moses had slowed down and the train's whistle was getting louder. I turned and saw the train rushing towards us is gaining on us, Moses, it's gonna run us over. I knew Moses could run faster than that train, so why was it catching up now? I didn't really cry, but I have to admit that my eyes got a little wet when I thought that maybe Moses was actually the devil, like a new Aunt Martha would have told me, and maybe he was doing this all on purpose. Then we were on the bridge, and the train was so close I could smell the diesel in the steel, and I let out a little

bit of a scream, and Moses said, Hold on and before I could even think. He turned and leapt between the trusses, and we dove down into the raging Augustus River. We were underwater for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes to me. I could hear the train rumbling on the tracks above, and the washing of the water is it pulled us, and Moses is powerful legs turning to bring us back to the surface. We emerged. I cough the water out of my lungs and breathed in new air. For some reason, everything around me seemed cleaver and brighter. Moses swam us to shore and kept galloping on into the night like nothing had happened. What did you do that for? I said, still trying to shake the water out of my ears. Wait a minute. There was

something different about that water. The Augustus River. It's usually dirty. That water was clean, almost sweet tasting. Something's changed. Hasn't even the air seems different? When Moses didn't immediately answer, I looked down at him. Why? You ain't black after all? Almost shouted, You're white whiter than snow. Yes, Moses said. Is he ran. I had to go through some very dirty places on my way to get you and I could see that he was telling the truth because as the water dripped off both of us, I looked down and saw the blackness still washing off of his legs. It looked just like the time when Aunt Martha made me shower. After playing in that abandoned coal mine, I had scrubbed the cold

dust good with pomace soap, and eventually it had mixed with the water and ran off my body in little black waterfalls everywhere. Open my bag, Moses said. I opened the bag. There was this notebook, a pencil and a little silver handled mirror inside. Somehow all these things were still bone dry after a plunge in the river. Look in the mirror, Moses said. I held it up to my face. Everything looked the same except for my hair. While most of it was still jet black like it always had been, there was one thin streak of white running through white like Moses is now. There is something different about that water, I said when we jumped off that bridge, I knew

where we were, but when we came out, are we still in August, this valley Moses Moses was at super speed again. So of course, we were already a long way from town. By now he knew what I meant. Yes and no. He said, I have not pulled you out of the world, you know. Rather, I have pulled another facet of this world closer to you or pulled you closer to it. I should say I am master of the spirit realm and the material realm together. Now, with me, you dwell in both. I didn't say anything else that night. I had a lot to think about. I thought and Moses ran and the wind blew. I've

been writing with Moses for a while now. I think I've counted about 40 days since then. In fact, I look into that silver mirror every day and every day it seems that streak of white and my hair gets wider some days more than others. Moses said that one day my main, it's funny, he actually calls it that will be all white, like hiss. Until then, I ride and I hold tight to his mane while he steers us. And even though Moses never really tells me where we're going next, I hold on tight and let him run wild with the wind? Yeah

, yeah, that was Timothy G. Hugo Knin's The Apocalypse of Moses is read by Scott Phillips. Scott Phillips is a narrator and voiceover artist. When not disturbing your dreams with tales of horror, Scott can be found in Washington, D. C. Where he works as a restaurateur. He currently resides in that most haunted of Commonwealth, Virginia. Thank you, Scott. Well, Children of the night through Our is late and we've run out of tales to tell. For now, tales to terrify is made possible by the tremendous generosity of our supporters through Patryan and PayPal. If you're not already a supporter, head over to patryan dot

com slash tales to terrify for a look at all the awesome perks from ad free episodes and bonus content to shout outs and swag. Every dollar helps, and we appreciate it so much. If you're looking for another way to help, why not drop a rating or a review on apple podcasts, Spotify stitcher or wherever you listen to podcasts, Ratings and reviews are an easy way to show your appreciation and help us spread the darkness. Tales to Terrify is produced by Seth Williams, Pete Marcelino, MEREDITH Morgenstern, Julia Zelman and myself. Drew Sabbatini with original theme by nebulous entertainment Tales to Terrifies distributed under a creative Commons attribution. Noncommercial No derivatives license. Join us again next week as we summon restless bones with MAWR

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