Creepy - The Call of the Coqui

Episode Date: September 19, 2022

Can you hear them?***Written and narrated by: Jimmy Ferrer***Bonus Episode: "It Wasn't A PSA" written by Sum Gigh***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Welcome to the bloody disgusting network. Please join me in welcoming and thanking new patrons. Five inches of pure horror. Are you in? Dernage, you're right? The Pingable, Joseph Amley, Melanie Bird, Alexander Regal, and Jet. To see how you can support the podcast, and get rewarded with early commercial free access,

weekly bonus episodes, immediate access, over 600 patron exclusive episodes, and more. please check out our donation to that patreon.com slash creepypot. Now, this is creepy a podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing

creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or our simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphics, Decisions of violence and explicit language.

Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. Call of the Koki. Written and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer. Puerto Rico is the most gorgeous place on earth. The calmest I experience any time I step off the plane, driving hours into the wooded wilderness in the mountains is unmatched to the stay. While tourist spots like San Juan have their own beauty, there's something about the remote

placement of the small cities, way in the mountains on the opposite side of the island that brought me peace, specifically the towns of Cabo Rojo and San Hermann. But like most truths in life, they are often horrors hidden in the beauty. This was the case when I was a child, and the call of the Koki captivated me, leading me to a place. that by sheer luck, I was able to escape. You may be wondering why I gave the name of the small towns where this happened in the first place. Often these retellings start with an attempt to hide or dissuade others from following in their footsteps and avoid whatever potential demise awaited them.

I don't really need to, though. Explaining that, I just need to mention that Hurricane Maria and the absolute destruction that ravaged the island. These events took place about 20 years ago in 2000. After Maria hit in 2017, a lot of the island was left in tatters, including all the trees vegetation that hid the gorgeous lone tree and its endless shadow beneath. The trees have regrown, but are now surrounded by an impenetrable wall of thorns, razor grass, and barbed wire tossed from countless nearby farms.

Most of my visits to Puerto Rico were the same. If I didn't fly in with my mother, I flew by myself and met my father at the airport. Always a San Juan airport. And we would rent a car and begin our drive to Cabo Rojo. Which, while Google Maps will tell you is about two hours, it often took us three to four at the minimum. But this never bothered me. Drive was cathartic, cutting through the island and across the shoreline. looking at the mountains covered in houses of all colors.

The lines of trees, a gorgeous contrast to the green up against the bright blue sky. As night would hit, as it often did when we passed through Ponce, the sky would light up with stars and shimmer off the waves splashing against the coast. Now, if you aren't familiar with the remote areas, you may find the concept of few to no streetlights alien. This was the case in my little hometown. We always got to my grandma's place at night. When you're further away from the last big city area of Bonte, you see less than less artificial light.

If the sky is overcast or the moon isn't prominent, surrounding areas are absolutely pitch black. Nothing but shadows can be seen outside of the light beams of the headlights. This is often a problem for drivers unfamiliar with the area. You see, the roads are much smaller than you might be used to, and the roads can often just barely fit two cars passing by each other. These roads wind up wildly up the mountainside with steep inclines, which only increased until you get near the top. Cheap aluminum barriers, your only guard against dropping hundreds of feet to your death at any given time. My father being comfortable with these roads, he's driven all of his life, shoots up these like his life to be. depends on getting up the mountainside in 30 seconds, throwing my body wildly about the vehicle,

hands grasping for anything in reach. My heart pounce frantically until we reach the top of the hill where my grandmother's house rests. We'd pull up the driveway, and in the first moment I'd opened the car door, I'd be greeted by my favorite sound. Sound of the Koki. I have always loved this sound, and being in Puerto Rico was my only chance to hear, The sound came from a nocturnal frog called a cookie. They're the tiniest little things, as big as if not smaller than a fingernail,

but you could hear them loud and clear all across the island at night. While my dad carried out our bags into the house, I always made a point to follow the sounds in hopes of finding one of these beloved creatures. This was before I had a smartphone, so I didn't have any type of flashlight on me, and the only available light was whatever shown from the house. or the car until my dad shut it off. As expected, the sound would stop whenever you get close. But if you stayed still long enough, you could hear him even louder.

And if I was really lucky, I would find one, often nestled inside water-catching vegetation. Every night during my visit whenever the sun fell out of the sky, and was replaced by a gentle blue light at the moon. I would take a flashlight and follow it. the call of the cookies. When the roosters crowed to signal the rising sun, I would hop out of bed and chat with my father and grandmother until it was time for breakfast. Usually we'd go to a bakery that was to die for.

Mostly, though, it would consume my thoughts during the day at this age was exploring the surrounding woods next to the house, a close second being all the food and the beaches. Something of note is that while you're in Puerto Rico, you can taste the beach almost anywhere you are, even in the mountains. There's a magic in the calm that the island seems to command. While there, I was always flooded with a sensory overload of calm. The smell, gentle breezes, kindness of everyone around me just added to disarming any sense of caution I would feel the need to have.

Each day, it was filled with calm. Each night, anticipation. waiting for the sun to set, and to hear that familiar sound I loved more than any. As soon as night hit, I went out flashlight in hand. Off at first, but I would turn it on in the event that I would hear a cookie close enough I might be able to spot it. This night and the following nights would be strange, in one critically important detail that I didn't really pay attention to at the time. I only heard one cookie, and nothing else.

If you're familiar with the ambient noises of the night in Puerto Rico, you'd be privy to the detail that the sounds of the night are a chorus of insects, birds, and bats, and countless cookies. Sometimes in sequence, sometimes together, but almost never alone. Furthermore, to hear nothing else but a single cookie should have caught my attention. But it didn't, and it wouldn't until decades later when I would reflect back on the events that led me. to that tree, lonely, top of the mountain, shadow of an endless black beneath. My grandmother's home, like as the norm in Puerto Rico, is solid cement. Being an island hit by intense hurricanes more often than not, solid cement house has become a necessity. They're often painted bright colors as well. Yellow, blue, green, and so on.

My grandmother's home was a type of salmon or a pink. If you'd go out through the back door, there was a retaining wall, almost entirely cement with metal reinforcements within. The song of the cookie called me to the backyard. I walked around the shed, coconut trees with the hammock hung upon him, and down the stairs that led to the driveway, but I couldn't pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Eventually, I noticed it was coming from above the retaining wall.

This wall was about seven feet. and as a small kid I couldn't just jump and pull myself up there were however two barrels in the backyard that my grandmother used to keep water for emergencies I climbed up onto one and went to jump on and grab the top of the wall as my hand reached the top it caught on a rusted exposed piece of metal and sliced my hand open a shock of the pain caused me to tear my hand away from the wall and fall to my ass right off the barrel I shine the flashlight it onto my hand and saw the cut but no blood yet it was one of those cuts that was so deep that it

didn't bleed right away oh but when it did it poured right out sniffling i jogged over to my dad to show him what i had done he got me taken care of right away i needed stitches my adventure was definitely over that night being the awful child that i was i knew my dad was going to keep a closer eye on me that point. So I knew I'd have to wait until he was asleep to go on my next expedition. During the day, though, I looked at the wall to see where the best point of assent would be and put one of the outside chairs in that spot. I also threw a towel up on top, just in case. When the night came, the song started again. Still, single coquing against a blanket of dead silence. Luckily, the noise was coming from the same spot on top of the wall. I climbed up and

listened again. Something I may have failed to mention is that the placement of my grandmother's home on the mountain face, with more mountain above. This is what I was greeted with at the top of this wall. Grass about four feet tall in front of a line of trees sloping straight up the side of a mountain. I kept the flashlight off. Luckily for me, it was a full moon, so there was some light for me. I hated this grass, though. I nicknamed it Razorgrass, because while it doesn't necessarily make you bleed, walking through it makes you feel like you're being covered in paper cuts.

Stubborn child as I was, though, I pushed ahead until I got to the line of trees, where there was a fence, a barbed wire. Now my next thought was, is this strong enough for me to stand on and climb over? Not the best train to thought, but that's what I did. The barbed wire held fast and tightened, allowing me to get over. Not without tearing a hole in my shirt, though, of course. I rested on the ground for a minute, listening for the cookie to continue, or for my dad to yell at me to get back in the house. Lucky for me, the former was all I heard further up the mountain.

I gathered myself and dusted my clothes off. Listening closely, I continued through the trees and up the mountain. I was getting closer and closer to the noise until I was sure I was right on top of it. When it was at its loudest, I got to a clearing and saw one of the most beautiful things I would ever see. And the clearing was an open field, grass sloping down for a distance before quickly rising to a peak where a huge tree rested. It looked like some type of willow tree, but a little bit of a little bit of the tree. but that couldn't be right. I don't ever remember seeing one on the island before,

certainly not one this bay. Stretching from the tree was the darkest shadow I had ever seen. It was like looking into the void of space, a perfect black against the moonlight blue landscape. Only then did I notice that the Koki had stopped. I waited for a few minutes, but I heard absolutely nothing. I walked down the slope towards the tree to get a closer look. As I got closer to the tree, I went to step onto the shadow, but my foot didn't stop,

and I fell into it with a splash. I panicked and thrashed in the water for a moment until I could pull myself out. After catching my breath, I pulled out my flashlight, and tried turning it on. Thankfully, it worked. When I shone the flashlight where I fully expected water to be, I was confused. to say the least. Wherever I was shining my flashlight was nothing more than grass, like everything else around me. I stepped back a few feet and turned the light back off to gaze into the black hole before me. I took off my shoes and carefully dipped my foot into it. Again, it was liquid, warm and

comfortable. I decided to turn the flashlight on and put it at my submerged foot. To my pan-o' my foot was in the ground, but no matter how hard I pulled, it would not come out. I turned the flashlight back on and quickly removed my foot from the black waters. I didn't really understand what was happening. I didn't know if I should be excited or afraid. So I just sat and looked at the shadow moving with the moonlight. I eventually worked up enough courage to slide myself to the edge and hang my feet into the water. I did my best to keep my butt firmly planted out of the shadow, but as I relaxed I fell in.

But eventually I didn't worry anymore and just swam around. I even dove downward and tried to swim down as far as I could. This was strange for me because I'm absolutely horrified of bodies of water. But the calm of the island, combined with the magic of the black pool, lulled me into a feeling of safety. I swam down for what felt like minutes without touching anything. I hurried up for air and hit a hard surface. I moved around a bit thinking maybe I'd move too far out of the shadow but no luck. I panicked and slammed my fists against the barrier, keeping me from much-needed air.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and I started to flail and move side to side, swimming back and forth, reaching up, begging for my hand to feel the cool air of the night blue. low over it. I kept pulling myself along the wall until I saw a crack of moonlight several feet to my right. I swam over and yanked myself out of the water, coughing up black water and gasping for air. I rolled away from the now much smaller shadow. As I rolled, I noticed a cloud slowly pulling away from in front of the moon. What I think happened was when the last light of the moon was blotted out by the clouds. I was trapped in the void, the shadow with no escape until the moon was able to shine its light upon the tree. Realizing this, I felt less like

I had escaped a trap. I was satisfied that I was simply unlucky in the moment I chose to emerge from the depths. It was because of this, watching the cloud crawl away from the moon. I was again able to calm my fear. In that moment, I knew I would return. Sometimes, though, I wish I didn't. Suddenly the night erupted back into a course of all the sounds of the night that I had become familiar with over the years. I took this as a signal of urgency and put my wet shoes and socks back on and ran back down to the house. I threw my wet clothes in the washer and my shoes outside. Only by sheer luck did no one hear me this whole time. I crawled into bed, shut my eyes, and fell asleep. I dreamed of that endless black, but it wasn't like when I swam in the black

pool. I stood in the clearing of the trees looking down towards the hill where the tree was. That was all I could see. It was like this area existed in a bubble, black water. Sensation of warm water washed over me. Calm being the dominant feeling. I could not see beyond the bubble. Looking to the sky above the tree line was trying to stare through a pane of glass, painted black on the opposite side. Under water. There was a definite beginning and end to the black. Shadow beneath the tree was conspicuously missing.

But something was off. It was the tree. As I approached it, the cookie growing louder as I closed in, I stopped 50 feet from the tree, closer than I ever got when I was awake. I could identify what was bothering me. The entire tree was writhing, up and down, the entire length of the trunk. I could hear something else now, but it was faint, like a moaning or a groaning, but I really couldn't be sure.

I didn't get any closer and backed away from the tree. Something else was bothering me in my dream. When I looked up, I noticed something swimming in the black bubble around me. Eels, maybe? Something with tentacles? Just floating black seaweed? I really couldn't tell. But it writhed like so many black snakes, only briefly being able to see some contrast between the black on the black. With no warning, the bubble popped and the black rushed in to fill the void. Just before the tidal wave of black rushed over me, my eyes jerked open, but I didn't move. I took a moment to let the room come into focus.

I really wasn't sure what to expect. When I did, it was nothing out of the ordinary. I decided not to dwell on my dream. My next thought is that I need to take shower. Heated water is not common in this part of the island, so the water is freezing cold. I was too preoccupied with this fact at first to notice that the water, running off my body, looked like there were streaks of black, also rolling off me, like drops of ink.

I couldn't really be sure that was the case though Because it wasn't all of the water and it wasn't consistent I had to be imagining things Still influenced by my swim the night before in the subsequent nightmare My entire day was off My entire family could tell and asked me if anything was wrong The truth was that there wasn't anything wrong But I couldn't stop thinking about going back to the tree

Swim again to submerge myself in that feeling of calm to which nothing could ever compare. It's a lot like fire. You know it's dangerous, but nothing feels better than warming yourself in its roaring embers when you become used to the cold. For most of my life, anxiety was the norm, and calm was the flame that would warm my soul. My decision was already made far before nightfall. I was ready this time, though.

swim trunks under my pants, I wrapped my hands and my torn shirt. I brought two flashlights and wore a long-sleeved shirt. Even found a rope that I figured I could tie to the tree in case there was another cloud incident. I would at least know where I needed to be and could wait for the moonlight to break the cloud line to release me from the pool. I walked outside and headed back up that wall, over the barbed wire, and up the tree line. This time I did notice that when I arrived to the border between the trees and the grassy slope, that I only heard the wind. No sounds of night like I was used to, no cookie that led me here the first time.

This made me truly uneasy. Nights were not quiet here, ever. I even had second thoughts and stepped back a second. As if on cue, a single cookie began to sing from what I could, Guess would be near the tree. I took a few deep breaths and shook off my apprehension. Shadow was bigger than before, almost engulfing the entire area beneath the tree. I thought about tying the rope to one of the trees where I was, but I knew the distinct

possibility the shadow would move away from the line where I was, and the rope would disappear into the ground. My only choice was to swim over to the tree and tie my rope off there. I left all my clothes on the ground and kept a flashlight in my pocket. Through the coil of rope over my shoulder and started swimming around the edge of the shadow towards the tree. At least that's what I intended to do. If I was any smarter at that age, I would have used the knowledge I had from the last time I was there to shine my flashlight at the ground and walk up.

But I was a stupid kid. As soon as I hit the water, a sense of calm destroyed my thought process. I just wanted to float in the water. I just wanted to shut my eyes and enjoy this sensation. And I must have. I must have drifted off. Because when my eyes opened again, I couldn't move. All I could see was clouds rolling across the night sky, blocking any light reaching the tree.

I tried to stay calm, being confident that the clouds had to stop at some point. It would be no big deal. and I would be able to go swimming again. But these clouds kept on rolling. Only my face, shoulders, and part of my torso stuck out of the ground. I had no use of my hands or feet. I could no longer feel the water. It was as if the submerged portions of my body had become one with the earth.

I lost my calm when the clouds never seemed to stop, and an orange light started to pierce the sky, and I could hear my father and grandmother yelling for me. I couldn't scream. I could barely whisper with the air I had available. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. The sun rose and shined on my prone body. My panic seemed to do me no good,

my breasts becoming shallower as time passed. The sun was beating down on me all day. felt like I was cooking. My only reprieve was that any cloud that rolled by or any shadow cast it down over me from the trees. These shadows, however, did not free me. It was only by the light of the moon that the black pool would open. The next problem about laying in the grass in the daytime is the ants,

specifically a type of fire ant that I nicknamed an electric ant. I nicknamed them this because of the intensity, of pain from the bites. It's almost like I was getting tased. I saw the small golden ants crawling along my chest. I tried to move, but that would only cause them to bite me. So many stings, like searing hot needles being pushed into my flesh and held there again and again. With these stings and bites, the pain doesn't stop once they let go. It lingers. blisters forming with every bite. After taking what it felt like dozens of these bites,

I held my breath as long as I could. Stayed perfectly still. I was still bitten anyways, but less than when I was trying to move, which was useless anyways. I did all I could and waited for the night to come back. As the sun fell behind the trees,

I breathed a sigh of relief and looked for the moon desperately. But no matter where I looked, all I could see was clouds. I was desperate for the smallest beam of blue light to shine through. And in that moment, it did. I saw the bright moon crawl out from behind the clouds, more brilliant than it ever shown in my life. The shadow cast from the tree was further to my left. I was still stuck. even with the shadow no more than a few feet from me.

I wanted to cry again, I couldn't. But feeling as dehydrated as I was, I don't think anything would have come out. My lip trembled and I felt something jump onto my nose. It was wet and small. Crossed my eyes looking at it. Before my eyes focused, it announced itself. It was a cookie. But it wasn't like the others I had seen.

It was black like the water I was swimming in, its eyes the color of the moonlight. It hopped down my cheek, and I felt my left arm could move again. The shadow now covered where my arm was, and my first instinct was to raise my arm out of the water, into which the cookie jumped. I splashed the water over the rest of my exposed body, cooling my burn and blistered flesh. Eventually the shadow crawled over me and I could swim again. Cool sensation against my sunburned body was as refreshing as I'd ever felt, calm rushing over me. But this time I had a sense of urgency. It was entirely possible a cloud would crawl by and stick me in the ground again.

And I knew I could not survive another day like this. I yanked myself out of the waters. I wanted to leave, but before that I had to see the tree. All this time, I was no closer than 50 feet. I had to. I limped up the hill and finally there it was. There was nothing seemingly special about this tree from where I could see until I looked down into the shadow from the tree itself.

In the shadow I could see its black roots of infinite size, writhing in the darkness even darker than the waters itself. The pool looked truly endless, as the roots did. Somehow in the blackness I could see this infinite space. I didn't know why, but when the time came, this is where I'd want to come take my last breath, in this endless pool of black. Next day I told my father I was stuck in the woods and was just able to get back. I had a hunch so I needed to go back in the daytime.

So I did the only thing that would allow me to do so. I brought my uncle to show him where I was the day before. He was my best friend as a kid and I knew he'd keep it secret if my hunch was right. While there, I walked up the hill and started digging with a trowel. Very quickly, I hit what I already knew to be bone. I dug in more spots and showed my uncle. There were multiple skeletons all around this tree. I knew no matter how far I dug down I'd find more.

I covered the bones I revealed and headed back down. I'm not sure the tree is still standing after Maria, but I'm always still drawn to my little island and to my tree. I yearn to feel that calm wash over me like it did those nights again. In spite of everything, I still have never felt as calm since. Closest I could come is simply visiting the island. Just to be in the place that called to me to take the black waters within me. Home.

For your bonus episode, creepy presents. It wasn't a PSA. Written by some guy. I almost didn't notice when it happened. Spent enough time doing long haul trucking and you get used to those moments when you lose time on the road. I think they say it as, something to do with your brain frequency or something. Like, you know what you're doing.

You're wide awake. But suddenly you're 20 miles down the road and don't remember a lick of the trip. That's how it happened. It was 2 a.m. and I was already running late. Pissed off and too tired. My load had to get to a warehouse and bum-fucked Minnesota damn near on the Canadian border. Most of the time I'd listen to music on. my computer.

Yes, I have an open laptop in my cab. No, it isn't for porn. It's my travel log. Company doesn't want us doing it, but we usually load it up with music for the long drives. It's easier than when you're in a new place and can't find a decent radio station. Can't tell you why I did it. But for some reason I decided to listen to the radio. I probably just needed something different to focus on.

Maybe they'd app on some music I hadn't heard in forever. What I found wasn't music. It sounded like a PSA, but it wasn't a PSA. This is a public service announcement. Please remember that first and foremost identification is the single most important thing to consider. I wasn't really paying attention. I figured I had something to do with travel. I was so close to the Canadian border

probably made more sense to go to Canada for some things than to a bigger city in Minnesota or North Dakota drinking age is only 18 or 19 depending on where you go up there good people those Canadians I sort of zoned out not really paying attention

but they got my attention quick disposal of hard identification is difficult While paper burns at 451 degrees Fahrenheit, depending on the plastic used, melting points can range from 212 to 491 degrees Fahrenheit. Also keep in mind that melting isn't the surest way of disposal and can release harmful gases such as carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, sometimes nitrogen dioxide, sulfur dioxide, or fluorine compounds.

So please, wear protection. Wait, what? I turned up the radio. I mean, I heard the words, but it was like they didn't come together in a sentence in the right way, like dyslexia or something. Or like I zoned out and was suddenly 20 miles down the road again. I started to wonder if it was a PSA for Border Patrol themselves, like people were trying to burn their IDs.

Did Border Cops burn the fake IDs they confiscated? I fumbled to turn up the volume, but I accidentally hit the scan button and the dial started to go up and up and up, then down after past 107 FM and started to cycle again from 89. Where the hell was I? How weren't there any other radio station sending a signal? It felt like I was back in the 70s or something when TV used to sign off for the night. But this was radio, and it's 20. 2022. Finally, the dial stopped again and the PSA went on. Doesn't melt. Bones must be heated to ashes. Cremation occurs at around 1,000 degrees Celsius because of the intricate and unique composition.

Hunting. They had to be talking about hunting. The whole damn state was filled with either hunters or fishermen. It had to be that. Maybe I missed the end of the announcement I've been listening to when this was a new one. like an ad for a funeral home, but it was the same voice. Maybe it was a small enough station that the same person just read all the announcements and PSA. Barring any egregious oversight in regards to the site and the disposal, the key is the focus on the smaller things, the things that get people caught. Then there was a string in numbers together. I don't remember them, but I remember the word buy in there,

like it was some kind of coordinates for navigation. The message ended and I got nothing but static again. I searched through the dial but I didn't find another station until 10 miles down the road. When I finally pulled into the warehouse I was so shaken by all the things I've been thinking about that it took me forever to get the haul out and signed for. It wasn't until the overnight foreman was signing for the delivery that I managed to get any words out. Hey, I was listening to the radio on the way in. Good for you.

His breath had that rick of coffee like you drank more pots in a day than me. No amount of toothpaste or mouthwash could ever wipe that out. There was a PSA I heard. He signed the pad and handed it back to me. Sounds like you lead an exciting life. Damn you're like Smokey and the Bandit, huh? No. I mean it was weird, like it was talking about burning stuff.

What? I laid out what I heard and he got a confused look. At first, like he thought I was crazy, then not. Where did you hear it? he asked. I didn't know the name of the town, so I had to pull out my navigation and point the area out to him. What radio station was broadcasting there? I don't know, I said I didn't get any call letters

but the station said 99.9. Burning stuff? He asked again. I just nodded. 99.9.9. He said, then stopped talking altogether. He didn't say anything else. Just went back into the warehouse.

I didn't follow because, well, why would I? I got back in my truck and headed out. I tried checking the radio station again on my way down but got nothing. It was about three weeks ago. This morning I saw a post about some old story from the news. That's why I had to get this story out, in case other people noticed it too, wherever you live.

There's about some random radio station in the middle of nowhere broadcasting late at night. There's more going on. I looked it up on Google. Go ahead and do it yourself. PSA's been shown up all over for all kinds of horrible things. Things that get played late at night that no one notices. Sometimes for years without anyone calling any attention to it. It makes me sick to think of what those numbers I heard might mean.

What was that, those coordinates? Things that worry me most, though. Who's been listening? and who's been taking notes. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration, please visit creepypod.com. You can also follow us at CreepyPod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through Creative Commons share-a-lite licensing,

or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be rebroadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the creepy podcast production team and the stories author.