Distractible - "Copper Point" (The Scary Tapes)

Episode Date: October 16, 2026

Welcome to "The Scary Tapes", a speculative horror podcast competition by Real Good AI. This week's story is "Copper Point" by Chelsea Herzog. Trigger Warnings: Animal Death, Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Mental Illness, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm/Suicide, Stalking, Victim Blaming, Violence, Cult and/or Religious Abuse Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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It's here. It's here. The Scary Tapes Anthology Print Book is here. This has the five stories that are going to be podcast episodes, the five like winners, and then there are 10 anthology winners who are also in here. So there's 15 total stories that were submitted to the Scary Tapes writing competition, as well as one bonus Easter egg story. It's written by Mandy.

and if you want to read it, it only exists in the anthology. That's the only place. And I think if you like the scary tapes, if you've enjoyed the podcast episodes, if you're interested in reading the additional stories that are only in the anthology, you should check it out. Realgooda.org slash anthology.

And I hope you enjoy today's scary tape. Enjoy the scary tapes. Bye. Imagine a liminal space of smoke and algorithms between the real and the virtual. Tales of machine dreams. imagined by human minds. A warning.

The danger of unchecked AI. The darkness of the black box. We can illuminate the way, armed with the scary tapes. Original music by Dr. Eric Bell. Violin performance by Lois Bell. Fair warning. The scary tapes are, in fact, scary.

Check the description for a complete list of trigger warnings if you have any concerns about content that may appear in this episode. Dedicated to my mom, dad, sister Jess, niece Maya, and best friend Haley. Thank you for all your encouragement while I worked on this story. Copper Point by Chelsea Herzog. Everyone who lived in town knew about the cult, but everyone liked to pretend they didn't exist. No one knew much about them or what exactly they believed in, but we all knew their name.

They called themselves the 12 sons. While no one had ever actually seen them, there were always rumors circulating around them. whispers about their secret meetings in the woods, and people disappearing at all hours of the night, only to return after sunrise. There were even hikers who said they found mutilated animals out in some fields with a weird symbol carved into them. Of course, there wasn't proof that any member of the twelve sons had done it, but honestly it didn't matter. It was an unspoken rule. If something odd happened, we all assumed it was them.

The majority of people brushed them off, excused their actions as New Age fanaticism, reviewed them as a harmless nuisance. Their presence reminded me more of a weed, something that coiled around everything within reach and sucked the life out of it. But like everyone else, I never took them seriously. Maybe if I had, everything would be different. Maybe if I had, Danny would still be alive. Mrs. Park, the coroner, said he'd been in an accident, but I knew that wasn't true.

She didn't know Danny like I did, but that didn't stop her from writing it down as his cause of death. He slipped, simple as that. She said, not even looking up from her notes. I don't know what you expected me to say, Miss Harris. We've already been over this. And I told you a dozen times. There's no way that happened.

I said through gritted teeth. Danny wasn't some amateur hiker, Mrs. Park. He'd never go anywhere without telling me, and you expect me to believe that he slipped on a flat trail? It's Washington, Miss Harris. Rain exists. She said dryly. It hadn't rained the night Danny went missing.

Want to know how I know? Because it's rained every single day in this stupid town for God knows how long, and it was the only night I could actually step outside and not drown. My fist clenched inside my pocket. You can't honestly believe that. You know it and I know it too. I bit my lip, tears creeping into the corners of my eyes. This was murder.

The gray-haired Mrs. Park looked up from her infernal scribbling. Her pale eyes twisted into a scowl beneath her glasses. Keep your voice down in here, Miss Harris. She snapped. I understand you are in mourning, but I won't have you throwing accusations like that around Willie Nilly. She glanced out the window. Yes, I do believe it was an accident because that's what happened. End of story. It's tragic, I understand, and please don't take this as me downplaying

your grief. But your boyfriend isn't important enough to be involved in whatever conspiracy theory you've concocted. I locked my jaw, my nails digging into the palm of my hand. Reckless people go out to the park every day. She continued with a stern look. They go missing all the time, coming out here wanting to find themselves or whatnot. Your generation thinks you're invincible until something happens. Then you blame everyone but yourselves. Murder, cults, or whatever nonsense you make up instead of taking accountability. Mrs. Park gestured to the door labeled Morg behind her.

Just because Mr. Ross was your loving boyfriend, Ms. Harris, doesn't mean he was immune to ending up here with me. A flame ripped through my chest, and it took everything in me not to unload my weeks' worth of agony and anger into this old woman's face. Reckless, huh? I asked. A flicker of realization. reflected in Mrs. Park's stare, but she remained silent. With as much composure as I could muster,

I grabbed my backpack from the floor and turned to leave. I, Miss Harris. She stuttered behind me. You know, I could see why you work here. I said before I could stop myself. Only the dead would enjoy being around someone as heartless as you. The door slammed behind me. I wiped the tears from my eyes and tucked the stray brown curls out of my face. Outside the funeral home, a torrent of rain greeted me. The gray skies hid what little sunlight was left. With the exception of my Jeep, the parking lot was empty, along with the rest of the main street. The long line of storefronts sat dark, their windows decorated

in tacky souvenirs and closed signs. A small group of cars were parked across the street at Albi's pub, its green neon sign flickering like a beacon in the distance. Besides that, the town looked deserted. Puddles of water splashed onto my legs as I marched across the blacktop. Even the chipped yellow paint of my car looked gloomy. I climbed into the the driver's seat, the scent of pine air freshener permeating the inside, and laid my head on the steering wheel. The worn-down leather offered little comfort as I sobbed into it. An emptiness settled into my chest. I hadn't rested in over a week. Since Danny's death, I had done nothing but talked to people. Anyone who would listen to me, that is. Pretty

sure Sheriff Callahan had blocked my number at this point, given how many times my calls had gone straight to voicemail. It didn't matter, though. The entire police force was useless and just as crass as Mrs. Park. I lifted my head and glanced into the rearview mirror. A pair of dark bloodshot eyes stared back at me. They were swollen with three-day-old eyeliner smeared across them. Man, I look awful, I thought. I peeled off my soaked jacket and tossed it into the backseat with a wet plop. My backpack jingled softly as I dug around for a spare dry hoodie. Thankfully, I had enough sense to grab one this morning before I left. I relished in its warmth, pulling it over my head. The engine rumbled to life as a realization hit me.

Crapa. I mumbled into my hands. In my haste to get out of Mrs. Park's office, I had completely forgotten to ask her about Jim. Her son, Jim Park, was the superintendent of North Cascades National Parks Ranger Service and also my boss. He had insisted I'd take time off while the investigation was underway. I had hoped to speak with him about Danny's autopsy and maybe convince his mom to have another look.

But I hadn't seen him at the station in days. No one else could get a hold of him either, so I figured Mrs. Park would know where he went. However, she hadn't given me a chance to ask before going on her stupid rant. A flash of lightning cracked overhead. I debated on heading back inside, but ultimately decided against it. I couldn't stomach the thought of being in the same room with her at the moment. Jim would have to wait. With no other options, I drove toward the park's entrance.

Any other time I would have gone into the woods with joy and excitement. It had been my safe haven, but his last few buildings blurred past. My windows and the road became lined with trees. I felt a weight drop into my stomach. It had been Danny's idea to move here. We'd met seven years ago when he came to the park for vacation. I had just become a ranger at that time. He was such a nature nerd, droning on about warblers and finches, charming and exactly my

type. When we'd started dating, he talked for hours about working with me in the summer. When the opportunity came in the form of a Firewatch volunteer, we knew he couldn't pass it up. Now more than ever, I wish he had. Everything had been completely normal the first few weeks. Most of our days were spent chatting through the radio, hiking the trails and watching birds to pass the time.

But then, the voices came. It started with a random call on Danny's satellite phone. A string A string A string of gibberish rattled on the other side of the receiver. Biggix, Igots, miseries, igresi, igathe, vigorous, vigorosity, igate, Wiggis, his wound, highwazen grid, Irgan, prigensente hegoun.

It repeated the same thing over and over until finally they disconnected. When he told me about it the next day, we both had laughed it off as a stupid prank. Some kids messing with radio frequencies. But every week after that a call would come, and it was always the same message. I stayed in his tower a few times to listen to it myself. The first time I heard it, it sounded like a man's voice. But Danny told me it changed every time.

Sometimes it sounded like an old man, but other times a younger woman. Once it even sounded like a child. Danny reported it to his superiors eventually, but they'd had the same thought we did. The only thing they'd told them to do was ignore it, that it would stop after the Jokers got bored. They never did. Naturally, he spent his nights trying to decode the nonsense message. He'd radio me late into the night with some new crazy idea. His field journal filled with notes.

None of them led anywhere, but that didn't stop my Danny. No, in his eyes it was one giant puzzle to solve. It could be a riddle. He'd said one night. The phone grasped in his hand. Or maybe a dead language. Did you know people can still learn those? Which is funny to think about because how can a language be dead?

It's not a living thing. I couldn't help but laugh at him. Because a language being dead means no one speaks it anymore, genius. I snorted. A spark had appeared in Danny's eyes in my words. He'd turned towards me dramatically and lowered his voice. What if it's ghosts? He whispered.

The dead reaching out from beyond the grave. He wiggled his fingers in front of me mimicking the howls of ghouls. I rolled my eyes. So they died and decided the best thing they could do was speak in riddles. My face deadpanned. Danny's ears turned a bright shade of pink, but he kept wearing that smug little grin. You never know. He'd shrugged.

That night we had waited for the strange voices again, but for the first time in weeks there was no call. Looking back now, that should have been my first sign that something was wrong. A pothole bounced the jeep with a hard thump, jerking me forward. Above the tree line in the distance, the faint outline of a roof appeared. Tower 8. Danny's Tower. A parking lot came into view along the trailhead, though I had been there many times before it felt surreal now.

Cop cars had littered the tiny space just a week ago. Their lights and sirens blaring, seeing it so barren made the sickening feeling in my stomach worsened. The brake squealed as I pulled up next to the entrance of the path. The rain tapped against my windshield. I sucked in a breath and grabbed my stuff, hopping out of the break. out of the car and towards the tower. The path was thick with mud, but it was walkable at least.

I trudged my way up the hill, the small blue markers leading the way. It felt unending. I didn't know what I expected to find up there. The police had taken everything, all of his belongings, even some of the equipment given to him. Still, I had to look. If no one would help me, I would figure it out myself. That morning after no call had come, Danny woke me up, panicked.

Right above the bed, mere inches away from where he'd slept. It was a symbol carved into the wall. A thin, jagged line topped with a circle, six tiny lines radiating from its center. We immediately contacted the police. Unsurprisingly, Deputy Jackson dismissed it as a harmless prank and left us alone to deal with it. We both knew it wasn't kids messing around this time. Someone snuck in and left that symbol for us. A threat.

I tried to convince Danny to come stay with me just for the night, but he told me everything would be fine, that he wasn't afraid of cultists or ghosts. Against my better judgment, I went home. When I'd left him, he was at the top of the tower, smiling and waving like always. However, not long after midnight, he'd radioed me. The static was so bad I could barely hear him. Carter! He'd shouted.

Oh! Know what they're doing. You hit the jeep. Meet the power, okay? Hunter, don't. Tons everywhere. All, soon. I love you.

That was the last time I ever. He also spoke to him. Danny's tower was empty when I got there. Hours passed, but he never arrived. I went down to the station at sunrise and explained what had happened. The search party scoured every inch of the park, but in the end, it was Sheriff Callahan who found him. His body was at the bottom of a ravine, miles from the nearest trail.

The taste of vomit crept into my mouth. The images of his mangled, bloodied corpse made their way back into my mind. I clutched a nearby tree, my fingers digging into the bark. Following hard, I rounded the last corner and came face to face with a strip of yellow police tape. It hung loosely between two pines, sagging beneath the weight of water collecting on top of it. Another wave of tears hit me as I crouched beneath it. The base of the fire tower sat on the other side, rain glistening on its dull white paint. I made my way up.

The wind whipped at my face, sending a chill through my body. The door to the observation room appeared as I reached the top. The knob cold to the touch. It swung open with a low creek. The small room was pitifully empty. Counters that had held a CV radio, kitchen supplies and maps now lay barren. A small iron cast stove sat in the corner, along with a stack of kindling. Opposite of it was the bed, sporting a mattress stripped of linens.

My eyes flickered to the symbol on the wall. The sight made goose bumps appear. The only thing left was the Osborne Firefinder, high on its podium in the center. I dropped my bag. Collecting what little wood was left, I chucked it into the stove and got it burning well enough. I decided to start my search with the drawers, but like everything else, they were empty. I lifted the mattress, shoving my arms underneath. Nothing. I wasn't sure what I was looking for.

It wasn't long before everything was scattered. The bed lay on its side, the mattress foam split like guts on the floorboards. Loose pieces of wood I had ripped from the walls were thrown into a small pile in the center. If I had been able to lift the Osborne, I would have. I sat amongst the carnage. Nighted come hours ago. What am I missing, Danny? I whispered.

My lips trembled, and the heaviness appeared once more. I stifled a sob. Despite the heat from the fire, coldness lingered on my body. I hated the idea that all the evidence that could prove Danny had been murdered was collecting dust in that stupid police station. I racked my brain to think of anywhere else I could look. The sheriff wouldn't tell me the exact location of where he died. Outside of the town and the park, this was it.

A quiet, raspy voice whispered to my right. I froze. Every muscle in me tensed. Someone's in here? Impossible. There's nowhere to hide. Slowly, I inched my hand down to the bear spray strap to my belt and turned to the corner next to me. It was only my backpack.

I glanced at each window and all of them were too dark to see through. I would my head back toward the same corner I stood, bare to turn in hand. The hush tone came again. This time it sounded electric and very muffled. I could have slapped myself. My walkie, I thought, snatching it from inside the bag. This is Ranger Harris. Who is speaking? Over.

I called. Only the buzz of the lights overhead and the powder of rain outside answered. I pinched the bridge of my nose, wiping away the remaining tears. This is Ranger Carter Harris. If this is an emergency, please respond. Over. Again, nothing. This is Ranger Carter Harris.

I don't know who this is, but if this is, isn't an emergency. Please stay off this frequency. The voice bellowed. I screamed. The walkie clattered to the ground with a thud. My knees buckled beneath me. I stumbled backwards into the Osborne, barely catching myself. My heart vibrated painfully in my chest. Everything went silent. I couldn't move. The sharp edges of the podium dug into my palms. My gaze focused on the flashing green light of the walkie-talkie. That voice. Danny? I asked softly.

head felt light. I forced down the anxious bubble forming in my stomach. The fear gave way to sensible thinking. Danny was lying in Mrs. Park's morgue. This couldn't be him. The lack of sleep was making me hear things. Had I had to be hit. tentatively, I picked up the walkie, raising it to my lips. Who is this? I asked. The line hummed faintly, but was otherwise silent. I shoved down the push to talk button. Who is this? I repeated more forcefully. The voice, Suddenly gasped. The letters floor.

It said. No, I stop. Who are you? Who am I speaking to? Answer me. Now. My voice was shaking. A silence fell on the other line and for a moment I considered throwing the stupid thing

into the wall. Dan. Click. I stared down at the little device clenched in my hand. Mouth agape. Every thought rushed through my brain at a million miles an hour. Danny? Hidden floor.

Before I could rationalize it, I dropped to the floor. Though it was stupid, I inspected every board. They looked worn down but normal. I picked at their edges, pushed as hard as I could. As my heart began to steady, I realized how pitiful this would look to anyone watching. Here I was on my hands and knees, crawling around looking for imaginary clues. I could feel a lump forming in my throat as I reached the last corner, prodding every sliver of wood. I stopped.

The board I had landed on was the farthest from the door, where the bed had sat. I pushed on it again. Peering closer, I could see the wood at a crudely carved divot at the end. My hands fumbled as I tried to dig my fingernails into it. The board lifted slowly. Beneath it sat a dark rectangular-shaped hole. I squinted trying to see inside. Son of up.

The light above did next to nothing. My busted iPhone and flashlight were back in the Jeep. With no other option, I reached my hand in and almost immediately touched another layer of floor. Thin spider webs crests my skin as I shoved my arm. farther in, but felt nothing else. I laid myself against the ground, now shoulder deep inside the secret compartment. Paper suddenly fluttered against my fingers. Ah! I gasped, pulling it towards me and out into the light. It was a thick stack of envelopes, all of them bright red, dozens tied together with a string. They looked old, their corners bent and warped. Letters. I flipped the stack over.

On the back was a neon-colored sticky note, its text almost illegible. Code. The word looked oddly scratched out, like it had been misspelled several times. I studied the bundle in my lap. Despite its feather-light appearance, it felt strangely heavy. I pulled one of the envelopes free from its binding, the paper quivering. The flap opened easily, a cracked golden seal dangling from it. Inside was a neatly folded letter, its penmanship tiny and delicate. Brother Othello, the tithe has been placed as requested.

Brother Truman has collected enough for the next gathering. Please send the location as soon as possible. Mige Taihe, Absolute, begin, beglesing, Igupon, Igawar, devotion, and answer the prayers of the many. Non-omnis, Moriard, thine devoted acolyte. I stared at the paper, my breath caught in my throat. In the bottom corner beneath the signature was this symbol, the same one from the wall.

These were letters for the twelve sons, I thought. I yanked out another. This one's writing was messier, ink smeared across each word. Brother Ansel, it's happened exactly as you said. Tonight after my final day of fasting, I heard my sweet meg again. It was like no time had passed at all, like she had seen me yesterday. I never thought this day would come. I truly cannot express my gratitude to you.

I understand my trials have yet to be completed, but this has given me hope. These last five years without her have been the worst of my life. But this miracle you've given me has made every moment worth it. If this is my promised future, then my faith shall never wane. On Omnis Moriard, thine devoted acolyte. One after the other, I skimmed through the disturbing messages. All of them filmed with strange names, rants, and stamped with the symbol. My throat was dry, and I couldn't shake the nauseating pit forming in my stomach.

Everything was a blur. I unfolded the final envelope, the paper crinkling in my hands. Brother Emrys, I can't wait any longer. I am ready. There's nothing left for me here. Please accept my final tithe. Brother Udar mentioned the gathering will be happening tomorrow at Copper Point with the others. I will be there with or without the Absolute's blessing. I asked Nathaniel to translate the code

for me. It was selfish to me to question him, but I never would have figured it out. Sigarnie was never a talent of mine. Please don't blame him. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me so it can one day be together again. Goodbye, brother. By the time you read this, I'll be with my father again. May the absolute find mercy upon our hearts and answer the prayers of the many. Non-omnis Moria, thine devoted acolyte. Copper Point. I stared at the name, anxiety forming inside me again. In the seven years I had worked here, I had never heard of this place. North Cascades was fairly famous for being remote. I doubted it was a trailer mountain I'd missed. I examined the letter once more. Sigarni? I whispered. The word had my attention the moment I read it, but it gave just as

much familiarity as Copper Point. I flipped the letter over. Surprisingly, there was more written. Scrawled across the back, and different handwriting was a sentence. I guessed Iguest Izwyun Hyun Ziggurid Igan Twizincti Iguun One of the words Figurazzi had to dash

through some of it Like the person had stopped halfway through scratching it out Ikeid, Igargat Izzygat Figurazzi I gote I started to whisper

The realization hit me harder than a truck This is what the satellite phone had been repeating I choked We guessed Iswun Heinzangrig, Igan, twigens, tiguin? Danny and I had listened to it so many times. How did I now recognize it immediately?

I looked at it again, my eyes scrutinizing every syllable. Code. I muttered. The Post did. Reaching into the backpack, I felt around for my pen before flattening the paper against the floor. I squinted at the note, looking at the scribbled out letters around the word code. They all looked like an IG, IZ, or an A-Z. I made quick work of the sentence, scratching out the extra letters in each word that matched those.

When I finished, a new message stared back at me. Meet at North 48, West 121. North 48, West 112. My heart hammered in my chest. It was longitude and latitude. The voice had been saying a location. I scooped the letters into the bag. The door of the fire tower cracked against the walls I bolted down the stairs. It was pitch black now. The blazes I had followed early. were next to invisible. A wave of thunder roared loudly and lightning spidered across the sky. I slipped through the mud, tripping over every rock. Pain shot through my arm as I caught myself on a branch. I couldn't stop. Adrenaline pulsed through me like a drug. This was stupidly dangerous.

At any other time I would have never been this reckless, but now I couldn't care less. There were maps in the trunk of my Jeep. I needed to get them. Through the darkness and the wall of trees, the parking lot appeared. Empty as it had been before. I snatched my flashlight from the front seat, along with my phone and popped the trunk. A terrible taste of plastic coated the inside of my mouth as I held the light between my teeth and unfolded the topography map. North 48, West 121. I traced the thin lines with my finger, finally landing on where they intersected. Those directions led to the dead center of the park, out in the middle of nowhere. It was nothing but trailless backcountry. I couldn't even think of a service road that went into that area.

Certainly nothing named Copper Point either. The closest thing to it was the recreation area at Ross Lake, nearly nine miles to the south. It would have to do. I peeled out onto the road my tires screeching loudly. The blue glow of my phone lit up the dashboard as I punched in Jim's number. It went to voicemail instantly. Jim, it's Carter. Listen.

I need you to call me back, like ASAP. I'm heading down the highway near Ross Lake. I found something in Danny's tower I got to check out. I know you've been busy, but... I paused. But if you get this, and don't hear back for me, go to North 48 West 121. The battery on my phone flashed a brilliant shade of red and went black. Dead.

God, I hope that scent. I didn't know what waited for me out there, but if it really got Danny killed, I preferred for someone to know where I was. After a while of driving, the road eventually gave way to gravel. It crunched loudly under the tires. The rain hadn't let up. But a sliver of moonlight grazed the ground ahead of me momentarily. Hopefully that meant the storm was clearing up.

I glanced at the map. The location was still miles away. But as far as driving went, this was as far as I could go. I pulled off into the emergency lane and looked towards the tree line. My knuckles white on the wheel. This was crazy. Bushwhacking was hard enough with proper equipment and months of prep. I had an old map, a half-empty can of bear spray, a walkie, a flashlight, and a backpack

full of cult letters. Every synapse of my brain was warning me to go back, but I knew I couldn't. Danny had died because of this. I don't know why, but he did. seen his body. His skull cracked open, the broken bones protruding from his legs and chest. His face so bruised and bloody I could barely recognize him. I couldn't let them get away with it. With a steady breath I made my way into the darkened forest on foot. The trees groaned against the wind. Their branches swaying precariously. The light from my flashlight cut through the foliage, casting shadows

in every direction. My feet squelched in the mud, so thick and nearly pulled off my boots. I clutched the map in my hand, keeping my eyes peeled for any visible landmarks. I might as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack blindfolded. Down! The voice from earlier suddenly erupted from the walkie. It took all my might not to jump clean out of my skin. Ah, God, God, don't do that! I yelled into the mic.

Listen, whoever you are, you need to get off this frequency, okay? Now is not the time. Go down. He stuttered, his voice fading. What do you mean, go down? Go down where? How do you even know where I am? I cried, inspecting each tree with my flashlight.

Down, down, down. The voice hummed. I groaned before biting on the light once more, pointing the beam in my map. Why are you saying that? I studied the landscape surrounding the marked location, looking for anything that led downward. You ain't here? I mumbled against the plastic. North of my location was a small gorge.

It wasn't quite where the longitude and latitude sat. but it was close enough. Go, go. He reaffirmed. I scoffed. The hike was tough enough uneven footing. It would be crazy to climb down a rock face in these conditions. Can't just do that?

Unless you have a ladder to get me there. I laughed humorlessly, pulling the light from my mouth. He didn't respond. I sighed. In any other time of my life I would have considered my actions insane. Finding the letters was one thing, but hiking through the wilderness at three in the morning, Soaking wet and repelling down a gorge was on a whole different level. Right at that moment, the walkie hissed in my grip. Mines, down, bin, mines.

He moaned. A chill ran down my back. Mines? You mean like a mine, mine? I asked, my body shaking. Kill down. Click. Lightning flashed above me again as I was left alone with my thoughts. There were hundreds of mines in the North Cascades. Most of them shut down in the 1950s.

and were inaccessible, though some were still open for visitors. There wasn't one out here that I knew about, but it was entirely possible one had gone unnoticed for the last 70 years. If so, it would definitely be the perfect place for a cult to hide. Groaning under my breath, I headed towards it. A few hours passed and soon the edge of the gorge lay before me. Surprisingly, it was not as steep as I thought it would be. Despite the rough terrain, I managed to get there mostly unscathed, minus a few cuts.

My lungs racked from the chilled wet air. Every inch of me was drenched and caked in mud. I shined my light down, the weak beam barely reaching the bottom. In the daytime, it might have been walkable. At night, it looked like a death sentence. This is crazy, I muttered. Suddenly the flashlight reflected something back at me. Cautiously, I moved closer, crouching right next to the drop-off.

I focused the beam on the shiny object below. It was a climbing cable. Heart pounding. I tracked its path with my light, following it up to the side of the ground. gorge till the anchor point came into view. It was off to my left, around three feet beneath me. Oh, God. A dizziness filled my head. I lowered my body, holding onto the tree roots for dear life, stretching as far as I could. I managed to hook the cable around my other hand. A cacophony of voices exploded in my ears. The root snapped, sending me tumbling. The line burned against my palm as I slid,

peeling the skin off it. My shoulder crunched against the rocks, missing my head by inches, I tightened my grip, catching myself before I smacked into the bottom. I let out a gasp, my vision blurred with tears. You're okay. You're okay. I sobbed, letting myself slide the rest of the way down. My hand throbbed uncontrollably, warm blood seeping through my fingers. Everything hurt. My flashlight was gone. The only thing around me was darkness.

A mob of chance echoed through the trees like a cathedral choir. It was haunting. I stood, blind as a bat, my shoulder pulsing in pain. The chance grew louder. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My feet were cemented to the ground. They were coming.

Whoever they were, they were coming closer. My body shook violently. Someone. I cried, cradling my hand. Someone, please. Help me. The walkie buzzed against my hip. Help him.

I whispered. Please, I can't see. I can't see. He weezed. I turned to the left, inching forward as fast as I could. The loose rocks slid beneath my boots. Paines shot through my shoulder as I tried to balance myself. The voices continued.

I couldn't tell which direction they were coming from. Door. Door. I stopped. My one good hand feeling round in the dark. What door? Where? I cried.

Lightning popped overhead, giving the tiniest amount of visibility. About 30 feet away the outline of a doorway appeared. It was set into the rock wall, with a small field of boulders blocking the path to it. I scrambled over them. The jagged edges cutting through my jeans. Dirt and mud slashed up into the open wound on my hand. Clearing the last rock, I thrust forward, putting my entire weight into the door. It fell open with ease. I rolled inside, pulled in my legs, and slammed it shut. Cool damnness enveloped my body. A musty smell saturated the air. I laid on the ground face down in the dirt unable to move. Part of me was afraid moving would draw the attention.

into those outside. My shoulder twitched again, sending a sharp stab down my left side. Ah! I coughed. Despite every muscle begging me not to, I sat up. The door had led to a dimly lit corridor. A string of small lights hung from the large wooden logs set into the ceiling. The walls were carved out of rough, uneven rock, and an iron rail track lay in the center, embedded into the ground. It's the mine. I said, my voice quivering. With a grunt, I pushed myself off the ground and fumbled for the walkie. Hey, um, are you there? I stuttered.

Uh, uh, thanks for, uh, helping me. Uh, was this the mine, the mine you mentioned? A few seconds of silence passed. Came a long sigh. Copper point. Copper point. Copper point is a mine. The message from the letter burned in the back of my mind.

Okay. Okay, then, um, uh, what do I need to find here? Why did you tell me to come here? Is this where Danny was murdered? The walkie went quiet again. Hello? Are you still there? Nothing. Listen. I nearly died to get here.

So you either answer me or call for help and get me out, okay? I cried. Who killed my Danny? The eerie quiet was deafening. A scream ripped through my body. I slammed the walkie down, blood and tears mixing in my hands as I wept into them. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. I wanted to pick up my radio and ask how many cardinals he had seen yesterday.

I wanted to go on hikes and watch the sunsets all summer. I wanted to talk about our future together. Have a wedding. A family. If you were really him, you would talk to me. I screamed, hot tears slipping down my face. You wouldn't send me down a stupid tunnel and leave me here. I don't even know who you are.

I sobbed, the ominous corridor cruelly echoing my cries back to me. The emptiness filled me once again. Again, there was no way out. I couldn't climb back up in this condition. It was a miracle I was able to reach someone in here at all. An electric buzz abruptly vibrated in my hand. I am. Danny. He weased.

But not. Now it was my turn to be silent. What does that mean? I asked after a minute. Remember to take IG out. He continued. I left. The electronic tone, fine, well, sons, quiet, follow it.

The electronic tone hissed. Pardon, I help, promise. The voice faded away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. This mine was the only lead I had, along with the letters. It had said some type of gathering was supposed to be here, though there was no way of knowing if this person was telling the truth about the mine actually being Copper Point. I didn't have many options. Okay.

Stealing myself, I rose to my feet and limped down the tunnel. It was strangely calm compared to outside. No rain or thunder, only my footsteps. The floor was littered with an assortment of items, shoes, paper, water bottles, and cigarette butts. Somehow that didn't give me much comfort. I shuffled forward, careful not to touch anything. The mere thought of a cave-in was horrifying enough in a regulated mine. My eyes drifted to the beams above.

They looked sturdy enough, but I wouldn't take any chances. Fire, fire, fire. I mumbled to myself, glancing down every side hallway for some type of wire to follow. Most look exactly like the one I was in, except for a few. One was full of clothes and backpacks, all neatly stacked along the wall. In another there were hundreds of keys lying in a pile. The last hallway had animal bones hanging from the ceiling. I kept my attention forward after that.

The less I looked, the better. Ahead, the shaft began to widen, the ceiling rising higher and higher. After several minutes I arrived at a large junction. Old splintered beams protruded from the ground, decorated with oil lamps. Several smaller paths branched out in a circle, each going off in a different direction. In the center stood a tall metal pole, topped with a large megaphone and covered in cameras. It was painted red with a wire wrapped around its base, stretching down to the ground. Directly behind it was another giant corridor, the opening wide enough to fit a small house.

Above it carved into the rock was the twelve sun's symbol. The same one from the tower and the letters. My blood ran cold. I patted my belt, grasping for my bear spray only to find it gone. No, no, no, no. I gasped. It must have fallen off somewhere outside, otherwise I would have heard it. Desperate, I glanced around the room, looking for anything to defend myself.

The best I could find was a small shovel in the corner. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Armed with my new makeshift weapon, I approached the pole. Twelve sun's wire. The words of naught, Danny repeated on my lip. It was certainly covered in them. Various cords and cables draped down from the pole like vines. The cameras they were connected to lacked red lights, which I hoped meant they weren't active.

Squatting down, I dusted off the largest power cable that shared the same red color and pulled it upward. Dirt cascaded off of it, revealing it fed down one of the other small shafts. Follow the wire. My heart pounded against my ribs. Cable firmly in hand, I followed it. It didn't take long for me to notice this shaft looked very different than the other one. It didn't have bones or junk.

In fact, it looked brand new. The beams above weren't sagging and the walls were free of bumps, as if they had been chiseled out mechanically. As I moved deeper inside, an electric hum filled my ears. At last, the cable led me to a metal door. Similar to everything else, it didn't look very old. I grabbed the handle and slowly pulled it open. My jaw hit the floor.

Inside was a gigantic room filled to the brim with computer servers, rows of tall black racks, covered in flashing lights as far as I could see. What is this? I said, stepping inside. The room hummed with the sound of electricity. The floor and walls were no longer dirt but regular dry walls on tiles. Everything was spotlessly clean, reminding me more of a tech store than a mine shaft. I snaked my way around, peering through the grated metal.

Each one stood well above my head, nearly six feet high at least. Inside were rows of hard drives, panels, and switches. Why are there computers down here? I tried to pull one open, but it was locked tight. At the end of the room was another door. This one was marked with a sign. Recording room. Recording room?

My heart thumped roughly against my ribs. The door was already ajar, but something about it made me freeze. I couldn't explain it, but a feeling of dread entered my body and made me not want to go farther. Regardless, I mustered some courage and piqued my head inside. Directly across from me sat a wall of monitors hung in a five-by-five grid. On every single screen was a video feed. The top row showed parts of the mines I had just walked through, as well as some places I hadn't seen yet. However, the bottom ones showed something horrifying.

All of them were places in town, including the police station and the funeral home. Oh, my God. They've been watching us. The entire town. I held my hands together, trying to stop the shaking. Beneath the monitors was a huge desk with several chairs and some kind of control board on top. Off to the side, I could see a foam-padded corner with a small. A small microphone set up in the middle of it.

I approached the desk. My feet felt like lead. It was covered in documents, which upon looking closer I realized were a mix of death certificates, marriage licenses, and social security cards. A yellow notepad in the center lists off a bunch of names and odd info. Canton Gray. age 56, call wife, make sure to mention their dog. Devon Hamilton, age 23, call sister.

Dad was in the Navy, not Army. Megan Vega, age 12. is ready. Mention the gathering. Franklin Park, age 62. Cancel future recordings at the moment. Catherine Willis, age 45. Husband not answering, try son next.

Daniel Ross, age 29. No sample available. Ask Jen later. No to self. Have M turn off the sound effects outside while booth is active and install the newest update. My eyes bore a hole through the paper. Danny's name was listed here and I was willing to bet everyone else on this list was dead too. These guys...

I said slowly. They... They're... They're voice fissures. A tiny flame burned inside me. It was all a scam. Identity theft. I'd heard about this before.

People online had some way of impersonating others to get money. The 12 sons weren't a cult. They were criminals. Unzipping my bag, I shoved every single document I could find. It was overflowing once I was done. Hey. I called, pulling the walkie free. Hey, I found the computer room.

Was this it? Is this what you were wanting me to find? Static word through the receiver. Fine? Not Danny croaked. Yes, yes, I found it. All this stuff, the documents, right? I got them. Now tell me how to get out of here. Yes. He whispered.

Stairs. I asked. Where? Two. Camera, two. I look back at the monitors settling in on the second screen. Though it was dark, I could make out the... outline of a staircase jutting out from a rock wall. I laughed incredulously.

There were stairs to get in here this whole time? Not Danny didn't respond. Okay, where are those stairs? I continued, grabbing the shovel. Simble. He weezed. Symbol. Oh, okay, got it. I got it. Turning on my heel, I bolted for the door. The server's world as I passed them and into the Musty Hall. It didn't take long to reach the junction. I headed straight for the marked corridor. It was completely dark.

I could barely see my own hand in front of my face. What I wouldn't give to have my flashlight back. The cold air of the mind buried itself into my lungs, freezing my dripping wet closed to my body. Several minutes passed, and even though I couldn't see, I could feel myself heading deeper underground. I glanced over my shoulder, the light from the main hall nothing but a speck now.

Suddenly, a disgusting smell slammed into me. A thick wall of putrid rotting meat mixed with chemicals. I vomited instantaneously. My body folding over itself. I wretched and spat, unable to stop. My eyes watered. My throat burned, and everything inside of me was trying to evacuate. I forced myself to keep walking.

It was torturous. If the vast darkness hadn't already been blinding me, I know the smell would have. It reminded me of the deer carcasses I'd find out on my rounds only a thousand times worse. Through blurry eyes, a sight made me stop. A soft, bluish light, barely visible in the distance. I moved closer in the smell intensified. My nose crinkled as I wretched again, only managing to let out a dry heave. Peering down the passage, I realized the glow was coming from under a massive door.

It was metal, like the one to the server room, except caked in grime. A breeze brushed against my legs as I approached it, making my heart skip a beat. Airflow meant an exit was close. Is that it? Is that where the stairs are? I whispered into the walkie. Silence answered, but somehow I knew that meant yes. I ran towards it, ready to be free of this hell I was trapped in. There was no handle.

Instead, a large deadbolt held the thing shut. I wrapped my hands around it and pulled, my shoulder screaming in agony from its sheer weight. The old door shrieked loudly, reverberating everywhere. It opened, but only slightly, barely enough for me to squeeze in. I took off my backpack and tossed it through to the other side, before shimmying in behind it. Nothing could have prepared me for the hollowed out eyes that greeted me. I couldn't stop my screams. The door had led to a mine shaft pit, and in the center, piled on top of each other, were

hundreds of decomposing bodies. Human bodies. They were everywhere. In every corner mangled heaps of limbs were strewn about like ragdolls. The ground was stained as sickly red, plastered with guts and viscous fluids. High above a gaping hole revealed the night sky, illuminating the sunken, expressionless faces surrounding me. Maggots crawled from their gray skin and the drone of flies was almost deafening. Some were stripped down to nothing but bones, covered in bits of what looked like rotted clothing.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I couldn't look away. My body was paralyzed. The fetid stench was overwhelming. This can't be happening. This isn't real. This... Watery vomit burned in the back of my throat as I doubled over. Not Danny hissed in my hand. I can't. I spat, trying to rid myself with a rancid taste in my mouth. Dude, there's people down here. What is this place?

Oh, God! I cried, grasping for the door, he said, more desperate. I coughed, quickly looking around for stairs. They were on the other side of the room, past the mounds of corpses. The shovel gripped tightly in hand. I picked up my bag and trudged forward. I kept my gaze down and tried not to focus on the disgusting squish under my boots. Help.

A low moan cried. My head snapped upright. Oh, God. I squinted through the blurred vision, covering my mouth with the crook of my arm. I didn't move. Fear held me in place. Hello? I replied.

Help, please. The moan was strangled and weak. I wanted to turn around and leave, but I couldn't stomach the thought of leaving someone down here. Where are you? I cried. Here. They said. Glancing up, I could see a pair of legs.

I could see a pair of legs peeking out from behind a large stone. They twitched. I swallowed the panic forming in my gut and rushed towards them, coming face to face with their owner. Jim? Jim was on his side, blood rushing from his head and mouth. His face was thin and gaunt black hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks. His right arm jutted out in an impossible angle, as did both of his legs.

He was still dressed in his ranger's uniform, now soaked with rain. His dark eyes were hooded and vacant. "'Hirder?' he whispered, turning slightly. "'Oh, my God. How did you—' "'Wait, don't move. Don't move. Hold on. Wait. "'I knelt beside him, quickly pulling off my hoodie and pressing it into the gash in his head. "'Jim hissed in pain, tensing under my touch. "'Carter, how'd you get here?'

"'He asked, slurring his words. "'I came from the door down in the gorge.' "'I stammered. "'I was at Danny's fire tower, in these letters. "'They had all this weird stuff in him. And I just, I found all these computers and the tunnel. I looped my arm under his. Let's just get out of here, okay?

Come on, try and sit up for me. Jim didn't move. He only blinked slowly. I'm supposed to see my dad again. He weased, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. That's what they said. I'm sure he wants to see you too. There are some stairs in here.

Let's go. I pulled on his jacket, but it was no use. Jim was too big for me to carry. He laughed grimly. No, he doesn't. He's dead. My grip loosened slightly. What do you mean he's dead? I glanced around.

Is he here too? Jim's face contorted as he began to sob. They said we'd see each other every day. His body shook, heaving with every breath. We'd go fishing again. He'd not get sick. That's what they said. It's okay.

Please don't cry. You have to stay calm. I pressed the hoodie harder on his wound. You could tell me all about it on the way out. You just have to lean on me a bit. Jim relaxed some, but he still didn't move. No. He whispered, his breath shallow.

I can't go yet. Brother Emory said we need to wait. That's all we need to do. My heart skipped a beat. Brother? I asked. I gave him everything. How long do I need to wait, Carter?

He sniffled. How long till I see my dad? Jim, I said, trying to keep my tone steady. What are you talking about? Jim's eyes flickered to my face, recognition flashing in them for a second. A wet, bloody cough peppered his chin with splatter. The ties. He gasped.

Bring them back. Bring who back? Everyone. Jim weised. All the dead. We give our ties and they speak through the phone. The brother said the souls can't reach us unless. This chest rattled

Unless we give it all away They speak not for long Chills ran up my arms Jim were you giving these people money Is that your tithes I choked on my words He smiled This is the gathering Carter

When the trials are done we come here It's beautiful His hand wrapped around mine squeezing it tight Give away our mortal sins And jump into the forever Like they said No, no, I'm just the more we are. You can't hear them, Carter, but we can't.

We can hear him. We can hear. He shuddered and fell limp in my arms. Jim. Jim, hey, hey, hey, hey. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shook. Jim, don't play with me right now. Wake up.

His body was still. I covered my mouth, trying to quiet my cries. What do I do? Which one of you left it open? A man's voice echoed from the door behind. me. All the air left my lungs. Oh God, someone else is here. I clambered over Jim's body, flattening myself against the rock. If M finds out, he'll have both your necks. You know how he gets about the smell. The man yelled. His voice was deep and carried a heavy accent I couldn't place.

Called it was the last one out. Called another person, their voice nasally. Now I was a dickhead. A man with a thick southern accent shouted back. You can help me, by the way. Nate ain't that small of a guy. The door swung with a horrifying clang. Footsteps falling close behind. Slowly I craned my neck to peer over the rock, careful not to make any noise.

Free men were standing in the middle of the body pile. One was heavy set, sporting a thick mustache and glasses. In his hands, he held a large shotgun. The other two had the same skinny build, but the shorter one was pushing a wheelbarrel with a body in it. Hurry up and get him in here. barked the larger man. Stink so bad I could hardly breathe.

I told y'all. The one they called Connie grunted. And he needs to just get a torch and light this place up. He tipped over the barrow, dumping the body with a heavy thump. The tall man scoffed. Setting a fire will attract everyone between here and Bellingham. He kicked at the corpse. Just let them rot a bit.

Auto's got the digger ready whenever it gets too bad. If I could get it up here. The larger man sighed. The ranger left his car and, in the middle of the trail. I gotta wait for Truman to come back and wire it. He huffed. Whatever, let's go.

Tani waved them off, practically dragging the wheelbarrow behind him. I ain't coming down here no more. Next time, just knock him off a cliff like Annie did that kid. Making someone else's problem. My heart stopped. The other two laughed. Sure.

Why do you tell him that? Said the taller man, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The three men were nearly through the door. I held my breath and glanced at Jim. his car was up there somewhere. Perhaps he still had his keys. I answered my hand towards his pocket, careful not to make any noise. My fingers fished through the wet fabric, tracing the outline of a cold metal keychain.

And we shall live together forever in paradise! Jim suddenly jerked upright, screaming at the top of his lungs. No, no, no, no, this more he are! No, no, this more he are! He began to convulse, blood projecting out of his mouth as his body smacked against the dirt. Non-omnis Moria! Non-omnis Moria! I ripped the keys from his pocket and darted towards the stairs. What the fuck?

Hey! Hey! A loud voice yelled behind me. Stop! Stop her! I didn't stop. I didn't look back. The stairs were directly ahead running parallel to the wall and straight to the surface.

My only escape. I screamed as a slug whizzed by my head. The rocket hit exploded into painfully sharp pieces. The sound of thumping footsteps pounded in my ears. Come here, girl! Connie cried, sounding terribly close. I reached the steps and sprinted up, taking three at a time. The old wood creaked loudly, and I could feel it buckling under my weight.

The handrail nearly disintegrated in my grip as I pulled myself higher. The ragged breathing of the men followed close behind me. Wood splintered near my legs as another slug smashed into it. Sweat poured down my face. The stairs wobbled, tilting slightly to the left. The landing above was still several meters away. I began to hyperventilate, the corner of my vision blurring. Relo, reload!

One of them shouted. A head I could see a large gap between the steps, nothing but a sheer drop beneath it. Oh, God. Oh my God. Oh! I leapt forward, pushing off as hard as I could. Ah! One of my feet punched through the rotten board as I landed on the other side, pinning it down. Got you! I looked up in horror to see Connie standing opposite of me.

His hair was a mop of gray. A scar ran down his haggard face, and I was a little. a set of yellow teeth were bared in a menacing growl. I gripped the shovel tightly. Somehow it hadn't fallen. I shifted my hand to hold it like a bat. Now where to go, hon? He smirked, leaping across. In one big motion I aimed at his head and swung as hard as I could. The edge of the shovel embedded into his temple with a horrible wet crunch. Blood spewed from the gash like a geyser. Connie grunted. His body lax as he fell backwards through the hole and hit the ground with a squelch. What happened? The men below screamed. I took,

I tore my foot free, clearing the last few steps as another gunshot rang out. Above, the welcoming orange light of the sunrise lit the area up like a fire. Delapidated buildings surrounded the pit, along with a few platforms and large effigy symbols made of sticks. I clicked the key fob wrapped around my finger, praying Jim's truck was close enough for it to make a sound. Right, Carter! Not Danny abruptly cried through the walkie. Go right! I sprinted to the right.

A narrow dirt trail fed into the giant conifers ahead. I clicked the key fob again. Come on, you stupid truck. I wailed. Where do I go? Where do I go, Danny? Straight! Straight!

He screamed, his voice clipping through the mic. A car alarm blared in the distance. I hear it, Danny. I hear it! My lungs burned, and I could feel my calves shake. The sound grew louder until a smidge of red paint finally peaked through the tree line. The truck sat in the middle of a clearing, faint tire marks dug into the mud behind it. I climbed into the cab, barely managing to turn the key.

The engine roared to life as I whipped it around and barreled through the foliage. I bounced in the seat, my chest smacking into the steering column. The unpaved treadmarks gave way to gravel and eventually pavement. The back road winded through the trees, and every second I worried another man would appear from behind them. Carter, safe. A familiar voice hummed. I shook my head. I don't know.

Yeah, I think maybe. I don't know. Water welled in my eyes. He reiterated. I remained silent, choosing to focus on the road. Neither of us spoke for the longest time. My grip on the wheel had loosened slightly, though I couldn't stop myself from checking the rearview mirror.

Carter? He finally weased. I go now. A sinking feeling filled my body. What do you mean? I asked, already afraid of his answer. He paused. I opened my mouth to argue, but no one.

words came out. Don't. He continued, his voice barely audible. Then stay. I said, wiping my eyes. Let's meet up later and get a drink. It's the least I could do. The green indicator light on the walkie flashed rapidly.

He said. Goodbye. I love. The buzzing cut off along with the light. The walkie was dead. The silence that followed was strangely agonizing. I... I whispered, hesitating for a moment.

Goodbye. It took hours to reach the next major city. When I arrived at the police station, a flurry of people approached, asking if I was okay. I didn't realize how bad I looked. The chief pulled me aside and I told them everything. Everything that happened. Despite how crazy the story sounded, the documents combined with my claims were convincing enough to warrant search.

I guided a small army back to the park. Back to Copper Point. That's when all hell broke loose. The pit was there. The symbols were there. The bodies were there. Within hours, the area was swarming with people, cops, and reporters alike. It didn't take long for the FBI to show up either. My time was mostly spent in an interrogation room after that, trying to verify what I had seen. Though they managed to find the recording room, it had apparently been emptied out, along with the server racks. I'm not too surprised. This isn't the first time. One of the detectives grumbled. What do you mean?

I asked. The station was a chaotic. like mess, people scurried by in every direction, chattering on the phone or holding stacks of case files. The man rubbed the bridge of his nose. Guys like this tend to cut and run. He sighed. Best to delete everything and start all over again, then get caught. I nodded slowly. So what happens now?

The detective eyed me up and down, concern littering his features. Well, for us, we'll keep working. Might try to find that Jennifer Park you mentioned and ask her why all the death certificates she signed were down there. As for you, I suggest you take a well-deserved vacation. He patted my hand awkwardly. Don't worry about a thing. I stared at the old tiled floor. My eyebrows drawn together.

Why would people do this? The question fell out before I could stop. Why the cult thing? How? I just don't understand. The detective tapped his finger on the desk, eyes lost in thought. Do you know what non-omnis Morya means, Ms. Harris? He asked.

The phrase sent chills to my arms. I shook my head. It means, not all of me shall die. It's from a poet who wanted to have his legacy live beyond his death. He continued. People like the 12 sons pray on those who are vulnerable and broken, and nothing breaks down folks faster than losing someone. It changes you.

Makes you do things you never thought of doing. Some turn to drinking. Some go to therapy. And some listen to an AI voice telling them to hand over their money and jump to their death. The detective leaned back in his chair. The world can be a terrible place, Miss Harris. And I don't pretend to understand why people do the things they do.

I just try to help the good folks living in it. That's a legacy I'd like to leave behind. I considered his words before standing. It's kind of a boring legacy. I said with a smirk. The detective chortled a wide grin forming on his face. Thank you for your time, sir. I turned on my heel to leave.

Oh, by any chance, do you have any batteries? My Waki is dead. He gestured towards the door. Front desk has some spares. You be safe, Miss Harris. Thanks. I gave him a nod before exiting the room and snagging some batteries from the receiving lady out front.

The air outside was warm and inviting. I sat on the curb and pulled the beat-up Wauki from my pocket. My fingers shaking with anticipation. It was stupid, but I wanted to hear his voice again, regardless of whether or not he was a real person or AI generated. Someone had to be on the other side. I wanted to say thank you. Even if he didn't answer, I wanted him to hear me.

I pulled off the plastic compartment, ready to slap in the new set of batteries. Except there were none inside it. I blinked. Two empty slots looked back. That was impossible. The walk he had been with me since I left Copper Point and I hadn't taken it apart. Slowly, I traced the concave indents with my finger. It had worked the entire night.

We'd talked on it the whole time. Flipping it over in my hand, I felt a small, smile form on my lips. Not all of me shall die, huh? I whispered to myself. With a click, I pushed the cover back into place and shoved it into my pocket, along with the two double A's. No need

for replacements. Seems he could talk just fine without them. Well, I'm glad they ended it like that because I was like, well, you know, there's good AIs after all. This Danny AI, you know, hey, that's the good one, you know? Being a ghost is better for the moral of the story. Agreed. Ghosts

our friends generally. Well, then, it didn't need to say it was not Danny. It could have been like, no, I'm Danny. No, no, come on. I'll be Danny. I'm your Danny. It's me, Danny. Anyway, great writing, Chelsea Herzog.

Thank you so much for another fantastic story. That was another one where I got completely sucked into it. And now I forget how the rest of this goes. Yeah, for so long there, I was like, man, I don't see a computer yet. Yeah, I was also like the mine shaft from like 50 years ago. What kind of AI were going to have? Data mining. Am I right?

Ah. There were dead people there. We actually had on the real good stream, we do interviews like every other week, generally speaking. We actually talk to someone who works for an elder justice nonprofit organization out in California. This is not really that speculative of a horror story. this is just what's happening. I have no numbers or info on how, like, widespread it is,

but they're absolutely scammers currently running scams on vulnerable people using the voice of, like, their grandchildren or deceased loved ones or whatever. It's really gross. That is pretty fucked up. Well, it's a funny thing, right? Because this is, I'm absolutely guilty of this, but I think a lot of people hear about scams like this, right? And you're like, how do you even fall for that?

Like if my if my grandma called me Uh asking for money or whatever like I would double check But um the the woman that we interviewed from the elder justice organization was like you would you would absolutely think that and it's fair to think that But it's such an emotional thing especially when you're dealing with like deceased people or like you know your children grandchildren people that you are most I think a lot of people are most vulnerable to be like irrationally worried about uh the scammers just manipulate people so that it's not like you fall for it because they convince you it's the right thing to do right it's like you can be manipulated to be making emotional decisions instead of logical decisions and then do all kinds of crazy shit like give away all your money and jump into a pit of death i don't think that's actually happened but i don't know for sure but like

because yeah i was pretty incredulous when we talked to her but she was like you wouldn't it the smartest people you know could be uh manipulated in this way if if the right scammer had the right like pressure point. That's wild and awful. It's kind of just the people doing it. I don't think there are AI agents. Maybe there will be like doing this of their own accord. There's just people using these tools for terrible shit.

There are probably reasons why voice imitation sort of technology could be used in a way that is productive, not harmful to anyone. Maybe good. I don't have a specific one that comes to mind necessarily. But what do you guys think about that? I don't know. There's a company, there are companies that are like, oh, you send us voice recordings from your loved ones and we'll keep them alive.

You can talk to your grandma on your whatever smart home device. I hear, I sense the, I get the appeal of wanting to like just have that conversation, especially if you feel like you've like either left off on the wrong foot or left something unsaid. Like I get the appeal of it, but no, 100% no.

That one opens the door just for that kind of stuff to happen to you in the future. Like, oh, we had a data breach. Turns out all those loved ones voice recordings are out and then, ether now and if we're going to use your grandma's voice for whatever it's like i understand why someone would but for me no i i i don't know that feels so unnatural and uncomfortable to me and i feel like it there's nothing good that would come of that for me yeah but desperation makes people desperate so you never know would you do it oh no god no i'm too too smart to be you know

tricked too clever i do feel like that's one i don't know what those business people are thinking because people trying to scam you are actively plotting against you, right? They're trying to be manipulative. A company just be like, buy this product. Then you can talk to your dead relatives. I'm not being manipulated in that case. I just look at that. And my logical brain is like, wow, fucking yuck.

And go away. There's no emotional, you know, maybe if I was, if they had just passed away or something and I was really grieving or not taking it well. but yeah like so I get I get but it's it's so scummy for them to do that to be like you you want to hear your daughter's voice again right it's like fuck you don't don't do that don't say those words to me like if I can't answer no like yes of course the answer is yes I do but I don't want to be your pre-program bullshit using it did you guys like that it was a ghost yes yes that's better much better yeah because the whole time I'm like well the only possible technology is the walkie-talkie like for so long it's like so what kind of

horrible manipulative bullshit's happening with this walkie-talkie. What are they leading her to? It's the super play. They're really going two layers deep so that they don't know what's going on. Yeah, I thought for a second it was going to be she was being led there to die or for some reason. That's one of the closest to a happy endings we've gotten so far. Spoilers, if you haven't watched the other two scary tapes, but you should have, they're in

order. I guess it had a happy vibe. I don't really feel like... I said the closest to a happy ending we've gotten. Yeah, fair enough. I mean, the other two were pretty bleak. This one, she was at like, old Danny. At least Danny's not the only one who died.

Lots of people doing it. It's not a happy story, but the endings as upbeat as we've gotten. I know it was really well done and the unease and tension of going through the minds and stuff. Trying to pronounce all those fucking words before we knew they had to take letters out. Igwunizu Dates'Iz-J-J-J-J-Wa. Like, what? Yeah, you don't know how to, you know how to say those? I did. I just wasn't going to give you a hint.

Yes. Thank you again, Chelsea, for authoring that. Thank you guys for reading it. That was very fun. These have been very fun. I don't know if this is really a format that's sustainable because you need a lot of well-written stories or scripted things to read, but it's fun to do scripted stuff with you guys. This is like a new, maybe not for Mark so much as this is that new, but this is for, I feel like for our group and dynamic. This is a new thing. It's fresh. Yeah, it's nice. Makes me want to write a audio drama.

All right, but there's merch. There is. This merch. Go to distractible.com. Go to distractible. Dot shop. Buy the merch. You can trust me, Draculai.

My uncle, Drachie? Say you? Listen, Drake. You could also get these stories, as well as extra bonus good stories in the Scary Taps Anthology. Available at real good a.orgas anthology. That is a book.

compiles the five stories that will be made in episodes. This is only the third one, but it will have all of the winning stories, but also 10 additional stories because we ended up with so many more submissions than we expected and so many more high-quality stories that we felt like it was a tragedy to have all of these great stories and not find some other way to give people an opportunity to see more of them. So check it out. It's a book. It's a nice hardcover book.

It is print on demand sold through Ingram Spark. Check the rugofofiI.org.org. slash anthology. From everything I've heard, this was not an easy trim down process. Just because you weren't selected, it was very subjective in how it had to be picked in the end. And all the stories were good. So thank you for doing that and continue to submit in the future if there's more of these. I will say I did not read as many as some of the judges who read like dozens of them.

But I did read a lot. And the overall, I had no idea what to expect. And the overall quality of like all of the stories, even the ones that didn't end up winning, was so much higher than I thought we would be seeing. Like I thought, you know, people would be doing it for fun, doing something casual, not take... People took this very seriously, submitted, very, like, thoroughly written, well-written stuff. Like Wade said, the selection process, there were just hundreds of stories, and it just, it's just tough to whittle it down to the very best ones in such a subjective thing. But there were a couple that I read that I had picked as my favorites that did not even make the anthology, that I just particularly liked the stories.

But then we did it democratically. So I didn't just get to put my favorite ones in there. So keep your chins up and your generative AIs down. Right, guys, they say it right? Make sure you follow distractible, because sometimes we do extra episodes like these. Usually our episodes come out on Monday. So, you know, do you want to make sure you catch them on? Follow this thing.

Thanks so much for watching the Scary Tapes. Hope you enjoyed it. Podcast out. So as part of the process of making the scary tapes this year, we actually raised money by allowing people to become patrons of the tapes. We had a ton of people come in support. We raised a lot of money, which really helped putting together the anthology, the book that's going to be coming, and also helped with the production process of the whole project in general. And we wanted to take the time to thank some specific people, some of our top donators.

Thank you, Marion. Thank you, Serafina Smith. Thank you, Carrie. Thank you, Princess Donut. Great name. Thank you, nerd girl. Thank you, Lichen. Thank you, Giovanna Lyon.

Thank you, Sarah Z. Ronan. Thank you, Kat Brown. Thank you to all of those people. And there are many more who donated at the top level. And there are many, many, many more who donated at the other levels of support. Thank you, everybody. And now here's the list of, like, everybody. Lock unlimited free grocery delivery with PC Express Pass.

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