It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion: Part Two

Episode Date: October 15, 2023

In this episode of the Cool Zone Media Book Club, Margaret Killjoy continues reading the next two chapters of her folk horror novella the Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion to Robert.  https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-lamb-will-slaughter-the-lion-margaret-killjoy/7104105See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Hey guys, I'm Kate Max. You might know me from my popular online series, The Running Interview Show, where I run with celebrities, athletes, entrepreneurs, and more. After those runs, the conversations keep going. That's what my podcast, Post Run High, is all about. It's a chance to sit down with my guests and dive even deeper into their stories, their journeys, and the thoughts that arise once we've hit the pavement together. Listen to Post Run High on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. You should probably keep your lights on for

Nocturnal Tales from the Shadow. Join me, Danny Trejo, and step into the flames of right. An anthology podcast of modern day horror stories inspired by the most terrifying legends and lore of Latin America. Listen to Nocturnal on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome to Gracias Come Again, a podcast by Honey German, where we get real and dive straight into todo lo actual y viral. We're talking music, los premios, el chisme, and all things trending in my cultura. I'm bringing you all the latest happening in our entertainment world and some fun and impactful interviews with your favorite Latin artists, comedians, actors, and influencers. Each week, we get deep and raw life stories,

combos on the issues that matter to us, and it's all packed with gems, fun, straight-up comedia, and that's a song that only Nuestra Gente can sprinkle. Listen to Gracias Come Again on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. It's a book club. It's a cool zone book club. That's our jingle now. It'll definitely stay consistent. Welcome to the cool zone book club.

Our motto is the stories are better than the jingle. That is our motto. We both got ited it was it's our friendship tattoo yeah i i got mine tattooed directly on my face yeah uh yeah which is weird it's actually you got a tattooed before we agreed to do the book club uh-huh yeah i i yeah it it there were there were a lot of reasons for that but at the end of the day i just wanted to be impossible to hire uh again for like a straight job that was actually that was part of my decision when i got hand tattoos actually that is why i got hand tattoos it's like i finally i i had always told myself at some point if i ever feel secure in my career i want to get a tattoo that makes me unable to like work a straight job again and the irony is that like

over the course of time that it took me to reach that point in my career we hit a period a level of tattoo acceptance in society where it's like i actually don't think any degree of tattoos makes you unhirable now as long as they're not like nazi shit yeah yeah because like i see people i go i can go into a fucking bank to like start an account and see somebody with a hand tattoo yeah no totally totally well it's like i used to tell people that i would get a face tattoo once i was a new york times best-selling author because at that point i had reached all of the level of clout that society has to offer a writer so what do i have to lose but since then what face tattoos

mean have changed um dramatically in terms of their level of acceptance maybe it's for the best i don't know what i would get that's the real real thing. Yeah, I mean, it's one of those, like, we spend so much time, for good reasons, focusing on, like, you know, the shit that reactionaries are constantly trying to push back against, but, like, low-key, like, when I was, like, 19 or 20, one of my good friends was,

like, a tattoo acceptance activist. Like, she was, like, the first really heavily tattooed person, and was, like, fighting, like the first really heavily tattooed person and was like fighting like legal cases against like wrongful dismissal for getting tattooed and like that's just not a social issue anymore like no like i i can't imagine anyone being like i'm i'm standing up for the rights of the tattooed because it just has become like yeah i I walk across like 70 year olds who have like fucking sleeves and shit these days. It's like, yeah, it's wild how it happened in like five years.

Just like went from, I don't know, some sometimes shit like that hits a tipping point. Pot was kind of the same way. We're like, yeah, all of the adults in my life were like, I remember when I got my first tattoo and my mom was like you know that's closing down some options for you yeah and then you know same thing with pot where it used to be such a serious thing and then like all of the old people i know are like buying weed and smuggling it into texas i don't know it's wild yeah well you know what else is wild is fiction is stories is so this is the cool zone book club and every week if you're just tuning in now i recommend going back and listening to last weeks although you're not going to always have to do this but we're going to do some series every sunday i'm going to read a story or someone's going to read a story to me

and it'll mostly be speculative fiction it'll mostly be stuff that relates to the themes of the It Could Happen Here show. But it's just stories that we think that you all would enjoy or that you all ought to hear. And the first one that we're opening with is my novella, a novella called The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion, which is a, it's technically a horror, which I didn't realize when I wrote it that I was writing a horror book. And I say this sometimes on the internet and people are like, chapter two begins with a deer killing a man and ripping his heart out in front of a crowd of undead animals. I'm like, yeah, but I didn't think about it as horror. Anyway, that's the story we're starting with. And I've just spoiled part of it because this is going to be chapters three and four that you're hearing today it's going to be four episodes it's an eight chapter book because

it's a novella which is shorter than a novel and where we last left our heroes danielle kane had just come to freedom iowa looking for information about why her friend Clay, who had lived in Freedom, Iowa, had later killed himself, only to discover that magic is real and it is very, very scary. And a man named Anchor has now died. Chapter three. I zipped up my hoodie when I stepped outside. It's amazing how fast a hot June day gets chilly with the sun gone. A hundred people or more overflowed the patio and onto the grass, bearing torches or staves, or holding empty hands at their sides. A few faces were bare. Others bore ski masks or bandana masks or homemade bird masks or bank robbing style bright plastic animal masks. It was so quiet, I could hear the toads from the river. It was so quiet, I could hear the toads from the river. It was so

quiet, I could hear the oil in the torches burning. It was so quiet, I couldn't help but mistake every shuffled foot for the lungless rasp of one of those demon creatures I knew were lurking somewhere. None of that could shock me. Nothing could shock me. Six ski-masked figures hoisted a pine coffin to their shoulders, because apparently I was in the kind of squatted town where people have pine coffins lying around in case someone gets murdered by the local pet demon. I recognized Doomsday by her tattooed hands. She was a pallbearer. A hand touched the center of my back, and, startled, I jumped. For a moment, all those strange hidden faces turned to look at me,

and some gazes lingered for far too long. Sorry, Vulture whispered in my ear. He was unmasked, as was Brynn. When the pallbearers left for the street and the crowd followed, those two walked with me, alongside me, flanking me like guards escorting a prisoner. Or, you know, like friends trying to comfort someone. In that strange procession, I got a chance to see more of both the town and

its denizens, though the landscape was masked by darkness and the people were just masked. Torchlight, and the realization that magic exists in the world, lent a beauty even to those mass manufactured Midwest houses. Every single one might be holding mysteries beyond imagining. Most, presumably, just housed the punks and hippies and weirdos who surrounded me. A handsome, small man in overalls and a ball cap joined us at the back of the march, and Vulture whispered an introduction. Danielle, meet Kestrel, my partner.

But Kestrel, after shaking my hand and holding Vulture for a moment, ducked back into the crowd. I didn't have a chance to really get a first impression of him. We wound our way up to the hillside, past a half-collapsed school and its attendant's sport field and a rusted hulk of a yellow school bus, past a burnt-out post office, past a fire station that was clearly lived in.

The only electric light I saw shone inside a small grocery, which was lit up by its bank of fluorescents. The place was filled with furniture, tools, and food. Well-lettered in red and yellow along the facade were the words, Everything for Everyone. A folding sidewalk sign out front read,

a free market should mean everything is free. We continued past the coffin leading the way, a few of us straggling behind the crowd. Just after the market, a few abandoned lots were filled with spires and mounds and bare saplings. When the procession turned off the main road and we wound our way along plywood paths, I recognized a permaculture garden. The spires were stacked tires, presumably packed with dirt and growing potatoes. The mounds were like long barrow graves, but they were likely hugelmounds, each built around dead logs designed to break down into raised beds for gardens.

Several vegetable beds were marked off and showed a wide variety to harvest in the coming months. Spinach and beans, cauliflower and spring onion, fennel and peas. The spindly young trees were newly transplanted and likely had yet to bear fruit. We kept walking, and as the path turned back over onto itself and spiraled through the field, it left me dizzy with the fire in the air and the magic I'd seen and the strangeness of the place. The garden went on forever. I was walking forever, trying as hard as I could to keep myself grounded, keep myself focused, the ground beneath my feet.

At last we reached the tree line. The trees were my age or younger, still threatened by their undergrowth. Between us and the forest and the liminal space at the edge of the garden, four wooden posts marked four graves. A fifth grave sat empty. Whispers began to break the ceremonial silence. I made my way to the grave posts, ornately carved and oiled stakes about as high as my waist, with lettering running down their lengths. Daniel Rojas, Benjamin Filth Simmons, Danielle Keeler, Desmond Smith.

Daniel's name was followed by what I presumed was his name in my epictographic script, Benjamin's by Norse runes, Danielle's by Irish Ogham. Daniel and Danielle. Half the graves in Freedom, Iowa bore a version of my name. What a fun coincidence. What a great evening I was having. A hush went over the crowd once more, and the pallbearers set the coffin upright in front of the empty grave. There was no lid, and Anchor's naked corpse faced the crowd. Loving hands had cleaned and stitched his wounds, and while his chest was mangled and his ribs were broken, he was not so horrific to look at as I would have expected. Four pallbearers climbed down into the grave. One masked man was tall enough that his head

was still visible, but Doomsday and the others were lost to sight. The remaining pallbearers eased anchor from the coffin and into the waiting hands of those below, and he was set gingerly into the grave. He was to be buried, naked, without chemicals or fiberglass or steel or even the pine box, but not without ceremony, or steel or even the pine box, but not without ceremony, not without love. The crowd helped the four grave attendants climb out,

and townspeople lined up to put handfuls of soil into the grave. Still, no word had been spoken. Wildflowers had taken over the oldest grave nearby. Clay was buried somewhere outside Denver in a manicured field, adorned only with cut flowers, slowly rotting in a fiberglass box. Maybe he belonged here, where the weeds in the wild could grow over his body, where he could feed the soil that fed the people who'd known him. Or maybe he was better off where his mother could visit. Or, maybe he was better off where his mother could visit. Anchor named himself better than anyone I've ever met, Thursday said,

standing at the foot of the grave alongside the now-empty coffin. I know he picked the name because he'd spent so long as a sailor, but he kept us grounded into the bedrock of both the land and our collectivist ideals. I don't know that there's one person here who would live in freedom right now if it weren't for Anker's work. As a mediator, a facilitator, sure. More than that, his work is a friend. No one is perfect, but as far as I can tell, Anker got all that being imperfect out of his system when he was younger, before half of us were born. The world is darker for me now, and it will be from now until someday when I join him buried here in the black earth of freedom. The masks were off, and I saw faces hung down in silent prayer.

Anchor's death was needless, and there's no ignoring that. What he made, we should unmake. What he summoned, we should unsummon. We'll get by on our own. Thursday shuffled back into the crowd and into Doomsday's embrace, and he started sobbing. A stranger went up, one of the tallest men I'd ever seen, the pallbearer who had stood head and shoulders above the edge of the grave. His arms were freckled from the sun, and torchlight glittered on the studs of his punk fest. He had an easy charm to him, the kind of easy charm that raises red flags in anyone who's known a lot of handsome, entitled men. Anchor was more a father to me than my pops was, he said. I guess that's not saying much, is it?

A few people chuckled at that. But I don't think it's right to sugarcoat any of this. People ain't perfect. I'm not perfect. None of you all is perfect. We do bad things. People do bad things. We do good things too, but you don't get props for not hurting people. It's the bad things we do that define us. I don't know what bad thing Anchor did, but I know it was something. Beside me, Vulture's jaw had dropped as far open as it could without falling right off, and he kept breathing in short little breaths like he was about to speak, about to interrupt the man. Instead, he started walking toward him. People ain't perfect, but Anchor and Clay and Rebecca and Doomsday, they found something that

is. They pulled Ulyxie right out of the river and Ulyxie knows right from wrong. Ulyxie hurts predators, end of story. Hurts people who prey on people. Anchor knew that when he cut open his palm to bring an endless spirit up from the river, and we know it now. If we want to respect Anchor, then let's respect the best thing he ever did for the world, even if it killed him. Chaos reigned for a moment as everyone jostled to replace the tall man as he left the head of the grave. An elderly Chicana woman raised her hands and let out a short, wordless shout, and order was restored. She looked at the line and pointed to Vulture as next to speak. A year ago, there were only three people in this town who'd even heard of endless spirits,

Vulture said. Two of them are dead, and the third one, Rebecca, she's off living in the woods, and I bet she doesn't even know what's happened yet. Eric Tall as fuck, you're my partner's best friend, and I've got nothing for respect for you, and the best way I can think right now to show you that respect is to tell you that you're a terrible person and you deserve to die. The hell? Eric Tall as fuck knew how to roar. What? It doesn't feel nice when someone feigns respect for you while telling you that you should be dead? Then shut the fuck up about Anchor. Vulture then looked at the grave. Anchor, I loved you, you're great, and we'll stop the evil demon that probably wasn't an evil demon when you summoned it but maybe it was and it definitely is now and maybe you shouldn't have summoned it

what the hell is going on I asked Bryn everything's about to go to shit she said she strode into the crowd to join the argument leaving me alone at the edge of the forest. She was right. Everything went to shit. In the end, both sides, for and against the murder of a man by an immortal deer, fell to accusing the other of disrupting the funeral, and the small faction of would-be mediators managed to interject. They proposed the problem should be addressed in the morning, at a general assembly, and the town agreed. It almost came to blows. It wouldn't have been my fight, but I probably would have acted to protect at least Vulture and Brynn, if not the days.

I fingered the armament on my belt, glad I didn't need to use it. With nothing left to say, half the crowd dispersed, while some people stayed to pay their respects to anchor. A pair of women in papier-mâché masks took turns with sledgehammers, driving a memorial stake into the earth like railroad workers setting a tie. I didn't notice Eric until he was right next to me, looming over me. You must be Danny Kane, he said. I didn't correct him. How'd you know? Clay used to talk about you, he said.

I nodded. Listen, Danny, you know? Clay used to talk about you, he said. I nodded. Listen, Danny, you showed up on a pretty weird day. This isn't exactly us at our best. He was doing that thing where he used my name in sentences to try to charm me. Since I hated the name Danny, it wasn't working. Clay trusted you, so I'm going to trust you. If you want to know what's really going on, let's go for a walk or something. Hey guys, I'm Kate Max. You might know me from my popular online series, The Running Interview Show, where I run with celebrities, athletes, entrepreneurs, and more. After those runs, the conversations keep going. That's what my podcast Post Run High

is all about. It's a chance to sit down with my guests and dive even deeper into their stories, their journeys, and the thoughts that arise once we've hit the pavement together. You know that rush of endorphins you feel after a great workout? Well, that's when the real magic happens. So if you love hearing real, inspiring stories from the people you know, follow, and admire, join me every week for Post Run High. It's where we take the conversation beyond the run and get into the heart of it all. It's lighthearted, pretty crazy, and very fun. Listen to Post Run High on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome. I'm Danny Trejo. Won't you join me at the fire and dare enter Nocturno,

Tales from the Shadows, presented by iHeart and Sonora. An anthology of modern day horror stories inspired by the legends of Latin America. From ghastly encounters with shapeshifters to bone-chilling brushes with supernatural creatures. I know you. with supernatural creatures. I know you. Take a trip and experience the horrors that have haunted Latin America since the beginning of time.

Listen to Nocturnal Tales from the Shadows as part of My Cultura podcast network, available on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. I found out I was related to the guy that I was dating. I don't feel emotions correctly. I am talking to a felon right now, and I cannot decide if I like him or not. Those were some callers from my call-in podcast, Therapy Gecko. callers from my call-in podcast, Therapy Gecko. It's a show where I take real phone calls from anonymous strangers all over the world as a fake gecko therapist and try to dig into their brains

and learn a little bit about their lives. I know that's a weird concept, but I promise it's pretty interesting if you give it a shot. Matter of fact, here's a few more examples of the kinds of calls we get on this show. I live with my boyfriend and I found his piss jar in our apartment. I collect my roommate's toenails and fingernails. I have very overbearing parents. Even at the age of 29, they won't let me move out of their house. So if you want an excuse to get out of your own head and see what's going on in someone else's head, head and see what's going on in someone else's head, search for Therapy Gecko on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. It's the one with the green guy on it.

I looked around for Vulture and Brynn, but they were gone. Even the days were nowhere to be seen. I could find my way back to the house, sure, but it was hard to imagine someone so callous as to leave a newcomer alone on a night like that. On a whim, I went with him. I could always stab him if he tried anything, after all. We stopped in the everything for everyone. A few townspeople were there, filling baskets with potatoes and carrots and greens, breakfast foods mostly. The place was a bizarre mix of grocery and thrift store without cash registers or clerks. Near the front, a refrigerated stand held fresh bottled

juice and homemade sandwiches. Someone had written, take one if you're hungry, with sharpie on the shelf. I took a bottle of green juice. The same person with the same handwriting had carved, juice. The same person, with the same handwriting, had carved, return me when empty, asshole, into the glass. Eric, for his part, grabbed a juice box from a stand nearby labeled, prepackaged snacks, please don't hoard. Simple as that, we walked out the door. No money, no accounting, no ration cards, nothing. Trust alone. I'd found a town that worked on trust alone. We walked another two blocks to the schoolyard and Eric strode off towards the playground. I followed him. I didn't open my juice because that took both hands, and I don't follow strange men into the darkness without at least one

hand free for fighting. We sat at a picnic table lit only by the moon, and Eric sensed my discomfort and sat several feet away on the opposite bench. I opened the juice, and the smell of celery and apple and ginger rose up. I took a sip. It was delicious. You know why we get to have things like this? he asked, poking the plastic straw through the top of his juice box. A combination of dumpster diving, farming, and food bank handouts, I asked. Because no one has any authority over anyone else, he said, ignoring my literal answer. Because no one is trying to accumulate material goods, political sway, or even social capital to wield against anyone else. All right, I said. It was, I admit, the world I wanted to see.

"'People always say anarchy can't work "'because you can't trust people to rule themselves. "'To which I've always said, "'if people are as untrustworthy as that, "'how do you trust them to rule one another? "'You can't.' "'I'd already figured I was older than the fellow, "'but I realized by now just by how much.

"'It wasn't that I disagreed with what he'd just said, "'but there was something in the way that he said it,. Something in his tone or his uncynical platitudes. I believed in anarchism. Eric, he believed. Ulyxie. We can trust Ulyxie. I know this sounds crazy, but he doesn't crave power. He doesn't have wants or needs. He just is. He is the power of the people to strike down anyone who takes power over the defenseless. He is that power manifest, that power incarnate in the flesh. A figure was crossing the field toward us, and I shifted in my seat so I could see it and Eric both. So your argument, I said, is that man Anchor, the one whose heart I just saw ripped out of his chest, did something terrible. He had it coming. Is that so hard to believe? It wasn't, not really.

I'd lost track of the people in my life who'd committed horrible acts, of people who'd stolen from the hungry and desperate, of the men who, fine and company, were monsters to me when alone. hungry and desperate, of the men who, fine in company, were monsters to me when alone. Anchor? I didn't know him at all. What do you think he did, I asked. I don't know, Eric said. I've got my suspicions, the silhouette said as it approached the table. Close up, it was Kestrel, Vulture's partner. He sat down on my side of the bench much closer to me than eric clay's gone been gone he said before that he was fighting with anchor they broke up on rough terms neither one would talk about it anchor spent more time with the days after that with doomsday i don't trust her kestrel lit a cigarette took dramatic pauses to suck in smoke like he thought he was in a movie.

They were both ridiculous. Which didn't mean they were wrong, but they were both ridiculous. We know Ulyxie only has power when the sun's up, Kestrel continued. He's comatose or whatever at night. We also know he was summoned on summer solstice, and I'd bet Freedom Iowa on it that he can only be dismissed on the solstice too. You think Ulyxie is killing his summoners in self-defense? Ulyxie doesn't act in self-defense, Eric said. No, Kestrel said, taking a drag. I think Ulyxie killed Anchor because I think Anchor and Doomsday were going to dismiss him in order to summon something worse, something that would let them take power. All right, I said. Why are you talking to me then? What do you want from me?

I'm not going to say that I can't think of ways you can help, Eric said. But I'm talking to you because I saw you talking with them and I wanted to warn you. You're new in town. Everyone loves fresh meat. More than that, everyone knows you knew Clay. For someone who's trying to take power, something like Doomsday, that means you're social capital. Aren't you Vulture's partner? I asked Kestrel. It's been rough since Clay left, Kestrel said. That house clicked up tight, got more secretive. Vulture's been more distant. And after tonight, after tonight, I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen with me and him. He lit a second cigarette with the end of

the first one. He wasn't smoking as an affectation. He was smoking because he was scared as hell and trying to keep his cool. What's your plan? I asked. I don't know, Eric said. Then he thought that over. No, I know what my plan is. I'm just not going to tell you right now. I don't know, Eric said. Then he thought that over. No, I know what my plan is. I'm just not going to tell you right now. I don't know that I can trust you, but I'll tell you what I hope happens. What do you hope happens? I hope everyone wakes up tomorrow morning with a clear head and we get together and realize Ulysses is the reason we have nice things and that any talk of trying to get rid of him is bullshit. I hope that Doomsday and Rebecca leave town and never come back. And while I want those things for my own reasons,

I also think they're the only way that Doomsday or Rebecca will get out of this alive. Tiredness came over me suddenly. All I wanted was to be in my sleeping bag somewhere, alone, with headphones on, ignoring the world. I hope, Danny, Eric said, that you're able to convince Doomsday she should leave. And there it was. At least it was all out on the table. I didn't like it. Whether he was right or whether he was wrong, I didn't like him trying to use me. Or maybe Doomsday was too, and Eric was the one who was actually being upfront about it.

I'd heard enough. I got up to leave. My name is Danielle. The walk back to the house, it was getting downright cold. A few people lingered on the street. A few people sat on stoops. The farther down the hill I got, and thereby the closer to the river, the fewer people I saw. A block from the house, I saw those devil birds on power lines, silent, just watching. By the front door, I saw Thursday, silent, just watching. The house, so invitingly gothic by the light of day when I had just walked into town, was a monolith of black and glass and evil magic by night. Which, to be honest, I would have expected to be more attractive to me, considering my usual temperament. Was wondering where you'd gotten off to, Thursday said as I

mounted the steps. Y'all left before me. I wasn't looking to argue, but I was pissed. Went off really quick to talk some shit over, Thursday said. We decided someone needs to head out to the woods to Rebecca's place, warn her about everything. Vulture went off to do that, the rest of us came back to the graveyard, you were gone by the time we got back. I didn't say anything. I'm sorry, he said. It was a dick move to leave you there. Thanks. Brent's still up, I think. Worried about you. I opened the door and walked in, following the tiny LED lamps that vaguely lit the damask wallpaper of the entry hall. In the living room, Brynn sat cross-legged, worrying her way through a cup of tea. The room was lit only by candles and jars.

Squatter's no candle safety. You leaving in the morning, she asked. I don't know, I said. My safety and sanity insisted I should go. My curiosity and stubbornness insisted I stick around. Wouldn't blame you. Yeah. Do you want tea, she asked. I sat next to her on the couch and she poured me a cup from a silver teapot. I took it and drank some, nettle by the taste. Had been made at least half an hour ago by the tepidity. Still, the act of drinking it was enough, and I calmed down some. I showed up in December, Bryn said. I was traveling with this guy I used to date, and he'd known Ben. Said he wanted to see where they'd buried him.

We didn't know the whole story, of course, but we showed up right after a storm, got his truck stuck in the snow by the highway, hiked in. We go see Ben's grave and everyone is so nice to us. I think there must have been 60 people who helped dig out our truck the next day. My partner took off. I stuck around. Did you know? About Ulyxie? No. I stuck around because look at this place. No cops, no bosses, no landlords, no poverty, no laws, hard work and community and freedom and all that shit we ought to have. I think it was the work part that scared my partner off, but it's not enforced and there's a couple people who just skate by. Mostly we just all figure out ways to contribute. How'd you find out about Ulyxie? On our way back from

digging out the truck, I saw some of the geese down by the river. People told me the whole story. It's strange how quickly it's normal there being magic in the world. It's strange how little changes about who we are as people. Maybe, I said. I didn't really believe her though. If magic was real, everything had changed. My room's in the attic. She said If you want you could sleep next to me, maybe cuddle if you'd rather not I'm i'm good to sleep on the floor or you could take one of the couches down here Cuddling sounds nice. I said It should have been nice

The moonlight came into the circular window and she laid on her back as I nuzzled up with my head on her. It had been months at least since I'd been with anyone, even slept next to anyone, and my skin was alive at her touch. I could hear her steady breath smell her pheromones. For a moment, just a short peaceful moment, I was able to revel in that simple pleasure. Then my mind went back to racing through the day. Why didn't they shoot it, I asked. What? She was halfway to sleep. Doomsday, Thursday, why didn't they shoot the deer? It's immortal, she said, like that was just a natural, logical thing. How does it work, then? What's the deal?

It's only active during the day. Kills predator animals by ripping out their hearts. Those stay dead. Any prey animal that dies around here it like raises from the dead or whatever by well ripping out their hearts those aren't immortal though a friend of mine ran over an undead goose in her truck it stayed dead that time that's fucking crazy i said yeah brin said i thought the whole thing was kind of cool until tonight, though. I could see that. The conversation drifted off because Bryn was half asleep. I closed my eyes, but it was all too much. The town, you lixie, Bryn. All too much to take in. My heart rate

increased. My breathing got a little shallow. What's wrong, Bryn asked. Panic attack. Are you okay? Not really, I told her, because I wasn't. It hit like a fever or drugs or something. A panic attack just drops you through the ice into freezing water. Even when you drag yourself out of that water, you're left with the memory that forever and always you're walking on ice. It's worse than anything. It's worse than watching a demon eat a stranger's heart. Is there anything I can do, she asked. No, I said. Talking about it makes it worse. If she were someone I knew, if she were someone my body trusted, she might have been able to help a little bit, distract me with words or touch. But she was just another alien thing in this alien world I'd landed in. I'm sorry, she said.

She squeezed me for a moment, then her body jerked as she fell into sleep. I wasn't going to be joining her for a while. After the worst of it, the paralyzing fear, passed. I slipped from the bed and down to the front porch. Thursday still stood there, just outside the door, sentinel. His pistol held in his hand. I couldn't sleep, I said. Me either.

He nodded at the power lines. The ghouled birds were still there, their little chests still splayed open, their eyes boring down on us. The fresh air wasn't fresh enough, and I wasn't looking for conversation. I went back inside and made my way to the attic. Rin was sleeping in the bed, blissful. I curled up in the corner of the room, hugging my knees. I would leave in the morning.

No answers were worth this. Slowly, over the course of another hour, I fell into a restless slumber. That's the end of chapter three. Woo-woo! Which means... slumber that's the end of chapter three which means which means now it's time for chapter four ads oh right yes not yes chapter four maybe ads maybe the ads came earlier in the middle of it because yeah it's chaos ads No way of knowing. Yeah. Totally beyond any, uh,

any control. Like, uh, yeah, like, like a spectral deer that raises the dead, uh, when, and what ads show up on this series as a,

as beyond the kin of man. I've had several nightmares about you, Lixie, after writing this book oh only after huh yeah that's interesting yeah no i it uh just chased me into some houses a couple times Hey guys, I'm Kate Max. You might know me from my popular online series, The Running Interview Show, where I run with celebrities, athletes, entrepreneurs, and more. After those runs, the conversations keep going. That's what my podcast, Post Run High, is all about. It's a

chance to sit down with my guests and dive even deeper into their stories, their journeys, and the thoughts that arise once we've hit the pavement together. You know that rush of endorphins you feel after a great workout? Well, that's when the real magic happens. So if you love hearing real, inspiring stories from the people you know, Love hearing real, inspiring stories from the people you know, follow, and admire? Join me every week for Post Run High. It's where we take the conversation beyond the run and get into the heart of it all. It's lighthearted, pretty crazy, and very fun.

Listen to Post Run High on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome, I'm Danny Thrill. Won't you join me at the fire and dare enter Nocturnal Tales from the Shadows, presented by iHeart and Sonora, an anthology of modern day horror stories inspired by the legends of Latin America. From ghastly encounters with shapeshifters to bone-chilling brushes with supernatural creatures. I know you. Take a trip and experience the horrors that have haunted Latin America since the beginning of time. Listen to Nocturnal Tales from the Shadows as part of my Cultura podcast network, available on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

I found out I was related to the guy that I was dating. I don't feel emotions correctly. Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. I found out I was related to the guy that I was dating. I don't feel emotions correctly. I am talking to a felon right now, and I cannot decide if I like him or not. Those were some callers from my call-in podcast, Therapy Gecko. It's a show where I take real phone calls from anonymous strangers all over the world as a fake gecko therapist and try to dig into their brains and learn a little bit about their lives. I know that's a weird concept, but I promise it's pretty interesting if you give it a shot.

Matter of fact, here's a few more examples of the kinds of calls we get on this show. I live with my boyfriend and I found his piss jar in our apartment. I collect my roommate's toenails and fingernails. I have very overbearing parents. Even at the age of 29, they won't let me move out of their house. So if you want an excuse to get out of your own head and see what's going on in someone else's head, search for Therapy Gecko on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. It's the one with the green guy on it. Here's chapter four. A few hours after dawn, I walked up the street with Bryn.

The sentinel birds were gone, replaced with real birds that still had all their bones. Birds that sang normal bird songs. I broke open a tangerine and I scarcely noticed the juice running thick down my hands. I scarcely noticed anything. Morning hadn't brought me clarity or peace of mind.

But with the fog of panic cleared from my thoughts, I realized I wasn't going to leave. Not yet. I'd never live with myself. Bryn was relaxed and I tried my best to mimic that. I hadn't slept well enough for long enough, but I'd slept and that mattered. I tried asking about banalities. How does this work? You've got meetings every morning?

Pretty much. Yeah, Bryn said. We get together, hash out the kind of stuff that needs doing, update everyone on news. Once every couple of months, we make decisions. Mostly we just kind of share information and bicker. But it turned out that I didn't care. I should have cared. The functioning of a leaderless informal commune on land stolen from the bank should have mattered to me a great deal. Like I was watching the video on Vulture's phone, I saw Anchor die again and again. That took up too much of my mind. The assembly hall was the school's auditorium. Half the building was collapsed, which didn't really bode well for the rest, but Bryn assured me that the auditorium was, you know, more or less structurally sound. We walked through the doors and took seats near the back. A hundred people

at least were in that room, and half as many more filtered in after us. Vulture was already there, nocturnal by choice, he hadn't slept yet, and had gone out the door at dawn after stacking the table high with pancakes and taking a picture of the result for Instagram. A middle-aged black man climbed up to the empty stage, and someone closed the doors to keep down the sounds of the kids playing tag out front. We're not doing a normal meeting this morning. Y'all know that, right? He paused. No one objected. I've been asked to facilitate today because apparently I'm one of the only folks on the facilitators council that isn't pissed as hell at one half of you or the other. If anyone has objections to my process, just let me know

now or at any point. You're great, Mike, someone shouted. I'm pissed at both halves, another person chimed in. Last night, things got pretty heated in the graveyard, the facilitator continued. We buried a man a lot of us loved. A lot of us are worried about secrets the man might have been keeping, bad things he might have done. A lot of us are worried about Ulyxie, about him going rogue. Most of us are worried about this fight tearing us apart. We've put a hell of a lot of work into Freedom, Iowa. However sure you are that your side is right, keep in mind that the other side is just as sure,

and both sides are so stubborn because they're convinced their way is the only thing that can save this town. You're fighting because you all want the same thing. You all want to save this town. That's what I'm going to ask you to keep in mind as you're thinking over what you're going to say I'm going to ask one person from each side to frame the debate We're going to hear from the room and then we're going to settle this reasonably and come up with a plan of action eric Eric stood up strode onto the stage

He was an imposing figure with his smile and his punk jacket. In a clear, loud voice and at moderate length, he told the town that Ulyxie was benevolent to those deserving of benevolence and vengeful to those who weren't. I sympathized. I saw myself as someone who was the same. Vulture spoke next, hopping up on stage full of his manic nervous energy we're big kids and we can handle our own problems that was all he said he hopped back down and took his seat

the crowd erupted after that and the facilitator did a magnificent job of keeping people focused on the issues at hand ruthlessly cutting down ad hominem attacks and preventing the conversation from descending into a simple back and forth between two people. But it stayed a pitched debate between entrenched sides, and the core of each faction had no interest in listening. Can I get a quick show of hands, the facilitator asked, after half an hour, just a temperature check of the room to see what people are thinking. Raise your hand, one hand only,

if you think we should give Doomsday and Rebecca our blessing to dismiss Ulyxie. More than three quarters of the room raised their hands. No one counted. It wasn't a vote. Now, raise your hand, one hand only, if you think we shouldn't let Doomsday and Rebecca dismiss Ulyxie. Ten hands went up. When they went down, Bryn rose to her feet to speak. There's a part of me that just wants to agree with what some people are saying about how great it is having Ulyxie around. There's a part of me that always wants is going to be sympathetic because holy shit there's magic here and isn't that what we've always wanted all our lives? There's a part of me, the greater part of me, yeah, that thinks we've got to get rid of it because it fucking murdered someone last night. But that's not what I'm going to go on about right now. Instead, I want to say

something about process. She took a deep breath. Public speaking clearly wasn't her favorite thing. What are we going to do right now? Are we trying to reach consensus about what we today can do as a community? Consensus decision-making isn't supposed to be one side against the other. It's not some masochistic form of voting in which you have to try to convince everyone to have the same desires and goals. It's a tool for finding out where people agree and where people disagree, a tool for finding out what we can do together and what we can't. Do you have any suggestions about what we might be doing instead? The facilitator asked. The man seemed to have no ego attached to his work.

stead? The facilitator asked. The man seemed to have no ego attached to his work. No, Brynn admitted. I guess, and I'm sad to say it, we're at an impasse. We, the whole town assembly, can't officially encourage Doomsday and Rebecca, but three quarters of us can and will. Eric stood up. That we can't solve this here is the first thing you all have said that I agree with. Her and her lot would have us just talk, just talk talk talk until it's solstice and it's too late to stop them when someone's doing something wrong and talking won't do any good you don't just keep talking about it you fight he stormed out kestrel in his wake vulture watched them go his eyes full of sorrow well brin said as much to herself as to me, I think I just fucked that up.

After the assembly, Bryn and I joined a lunch queue at the Everything for Everyone and sat at a table on the patio between the store and the garden. My plate was piled high with tamales and fresh-picked salad. I could get used to this place. Everyone was in a sort of collective daze, unable to process everything that had just transpired. On the edge about Ulyxie, on the edge about Eric,

but trying their hardest to make it through the day like everything hadn't just gone to shit. So is it everything you dreamed it would be? Brynn asked, sweeping her arms open. Oh yeah, this is the best demon-infested town I've ever been to, as a matter of fact. Brynn put down her fork and looked me in the eyes. A family, three punks, two kids, two dogs, walked past our table, and the adults waved hello, and a little kid, not more than four, darted out to wrap his arms around Brynn's leg. She patted him on the

head, and he ran back to his family. Here's the thing, Ms. Kane, Brynn said. This place? This is the best place most of us have ever had. Even when Desmond was at his worst, he wasn't half as bad as most cops. No one I've ever known has ever been as free as we are, standing right here. That family had just walked past us, homeless. In Chicago, they'd been homeless. We grow most of our food. We generate our own power. We make our own rules. We ignore our own rules when we feel like we've got to.

We are the kings of the fucking earth and freedom, Iowa. No evictions here. You paint a pretty picture, I said. And I know this just sounds like I'm being all salty, but that picture doesn't look like what I saw last night. No, Bryn agreed. We went back to eating. It doesn't look like what I saw either. If we can't stop that thing, well, I guess we're all going to have to run. No more freedom. She took a few more bites, then put her sandwich down again.

And you know what really gets me? About Eric? Besides that we were friends, what gets me is that I don't know what he's going to do. I don't know if he's going to hurt someone. And his whole goddamn point is that he's the one who thinks we need an outside arbiter of justice. If he hurts someone, as likely as not, Ulyxie will get him too. How'd Daniel and Danielle die? You've got five graves. Ulyxie killed them all? Daniel fell through the roof of the school doing some repair work. Noah had been here for longer than a week. His family came for the funeral, then stuck around. They still live here. And Danielle? Overdose. Noah knew her family. People tried. Vulture spent a month trying to track down her past, checked every missing person's

report. We had two suicides too, just this spring. Lovers packed. Their families came for their bodies. That's a shockingly high death rate for a town of 200, I said. It is, Bryn said, but it's not because of Ulyxie. He only killed Desmond and now Anchor. That's it. He's never needed to kill anyone else because no one else acts up. They're too afraid. People should be afraid to prey on others, Bryn said. She wasn't wrong. So what's the plan, I asked. Doom is going through her books trying to figure out how to dismiss Ulyxie. The rest of us were just trying to keep her safe a few more days until solstice. Thurs is guarding the house, Vulture's up on the lookout rock. We should probably swap out with him, let him get to bed. We'll talk about it all at dinner, probably,

figure out the next step. Maybe Doomsday was doing more than researching how to dismiss Ulyxie. Maybe she was researching summoning something worse. Maybe I should convince Doomsday to leave. The thought came unbidden to my mind. I had no reason to believe a word Eric had said. All right, I took the last bite of my tamale. Show me this lookout rock. We left the patio and made our way up to the top of town. A few people, I realized, were packing up into pickup trucks and station wagons and vans. It didn't look like they were in a hurry. Just in case, you know. We took a stone path through a yard almost entirely carpeted in flowers. The gray stone was laid artfully,

the yellow and white blossoms sending up heady scents. Past the yard's comparatively lackluster house, the path turned to dirt, with stairs reinforced by logs staked into the earth. I was proud of myself. At the top, a couple hundred feet higher, I was barely out of breath Brynn, she was still breathing through her nose

Vulture was up there sitting on a finger of a rock that jutted out from the cliffside that had to be the lookout rock he was shirtless in the heat his back covered in blackwork tattoos wearing only blue jean short shorts he stood and turned when he heard us

huge on his chest black ink against black skin, was a satanic goat's head. At least it only had two horns. Amongst the line work was thin surgical scarring under his pectoral muscles, where his breasts had been. Seen anything, I asked. A couple hundred people who shouldn't be so happy going on about their lives, Vulture said.

But everyone I've seen has had his or her or their ribs attached to his or her or their spines. But it's not all bad. What do we do if we see anything? I asked. Oh, right, Vulture said. He unslung a hunting horn from his belt. An honest-to-god hunting horn, like the kind that comes off an animal, with the tip cut off so you can blow through it. Blow this. Or, you know, call someone. There's decent cell signal everywhere in town and on this side of the hill.

Maybe do both. I would do both. Okay, I said. You're looking for cops on the highway, large gatherings of undead animals, or, I guess in this case, very tall figures running around with my no-good ex-boyfriend or especially making their way toward the house. Got it, I said. Vulture put his arm around my shoulders. Did you floss? He asked. What?

Flossing is super important. Some people say it's more important than brushing your teeth. It's easy to forget to floss at times like this, but you've got to live today like you'll survive till tomorrow. He was being serious, kind of scarily so. Yeah, I said, I floss. Good, Vulture said, then turned and started skipping down the hill. You never really answered my question last night, Bryn said.

An hour or so had gone by and the sun was on us. She was sweating from the heat and her odor was good, like animal instincts good. What brings you here? You heard what happened to Clay, right? I asked. Not really, Bryn said, just that he's dead. It should have been easier between her and me. We both liked one another, that much was obvious, but for some reason everything felt off, like we were actors reading from different scripts. Still, I needed someone to talk to. Clay was my best friend, I said. About a month ago, he slit his own throat. Fuck, Bryn said. That's hardcore. Yeah, he didn't fuck around, I said. But he also taught me everything I know about traveling, squatting,

politics, all of it. What happened? That's why I'm here. That's what I'm trying to find out, I said. We used to travel together starting back when I was a runaway and he was risking some serious felonies by helping me out. He wasn't into girls and he wouldn't have creeped on me anyway, but I'm glad we never had to try and explain that to a judge. Our lives kept intersecting as I got older. Eventually, we were some of the only dumb bastards still living out of backpacks. He hit his 30s and I think he was kind of in crisis for a while. Then he ended up at this place. He'd write me, say, you gotta come here, Danny. It's our dream. He'd say, it's the dream he'd say it's the revolution the real revolution the one where we take power away from our oppressors not become them ourselves

i was always planning on it but i always had something else going on no that's that's not it i was always putting it off because clay he was traveling to try to find home i was traveling because traveling was home he wanted wanted something like this. I was afraid of something like this. Some place that would lure me away from the road. I'm more afraid of growing roots than I am afraid of anything. Brynn put her arm around me. I let her. A year ago, we fell out of touch. He didn't get back to my texts much, didn't call. we fell out of touch. He didn't get back to my texts much, didn't call. Then he left freedom and slashed his throat in Denver. Did it in a hotel room on some plastic sheeting he'd pulled from the trash. He left two notes. One was for whoever found him, saying he was sorry about the

mess. He left a tip. The other note had my number on it and two sentences. These are the winds that cast us together. These are the winds that cast us apart. They cast as they wish, and we have naught but to follow. I put my head between my knees for a moment, just a moment, took a few deep breaths. So yeah, I said. I only just left Denver like a week ago. Some of the old gang made it out to the funeral Most didn't I called around, reached some people Not everyone Most people I reached had some excuse or another Of the ten of us who were there

Everyone was too drunk to process with A few days after the funeral It was just me and Clay's mom Shooting the shit for a week Until there was no shit left to shoot Looking around for scraps of him Journals, notebooks, anything. There was nothing.

You angry at him? Burn asked. Nah, I said. I'm angry, but I'm not angry at him. Angry at the world, maybe. I may have shown up here looking for someone to take it out on. Find out who's to blame. You know the answer's no one, right?

Yeah, I said. I know. on find out who's to blame you know the answer is no one right yeah i said i know but it's something i feel like i've got to do for him and for his mom i skipped a rock down the hill listened to it hit other rocks on its way down why are you all being so nice to me i asked with everything going on clay used to talk about you. Did you know that? Yeah, that's what people have been saying. He talked about you like you were one of the endless spirits yourself. You weren't a traveler. You were the traveler in his eyes. And I can't speak for everyone else here. I was being nice to you because I thought you were kind of cute. I laughed a little. else here. I was being nice to you because I thought you were kind of cute. I laughed a little. I have this wicked crush on you, Brynn continued, but also I'm celibate, at least for now.

So I guess I just wanted to get both of those things out there before I get too hung up on you or lead you on. Also, there's a non-zero chance we're both going to get eaten by a demon sometime soon. I haven't let anyone in for a while, I said after thinking about it. You're a total badass and you're a babe. I mean, you're everything I should want. But yeah, walls, lots of walls. I probably can't be with anyone while I'm like this. A perfect match, she said. Indeed. Want to keep hanging out, she asked.

Not until we get eaten by a deer. That's chapter four. Chapter four. Which means now you have to wait. Yeah. Yeah. So suffer through another week or buy the text version of margaret's book and then use the ai voice generator in your head to uh create her reading it or yeah i don't know those are your options

yep and yeah we'll see you next sunday for i already forgot the jingle cool zone book club yeah that's why we should never have gone with a jingle. I was doomed from the start. No, but I just, you had the tattoo and I just wanted to honor it. Yeah. It's okay. That tattoo was to commemorate several things.

Yeah, that makes sense. There's a lot of things that are jingle related. Alright. That's it. See you all soon. It Could Happen Here is a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media,

visit our website, coolzonemedia.com or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources for It Could Happen Here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com slash sources. Thanks for listening.

Hey guys, I'm Kate Max. You might know me from my popular online series, The Running Interview Show, where I run with celebrities, athletes, entrepreneurs, and more. After those runs, the conversations keep keep going that's what my podcast post run high is all about it's a chance to sit down with my guests and dive even deeper into their stories their journeys and the thoughts that arise once we've hit the pavement together listen to post run high on the iheart Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. You should probably keep your lights on for Nocturnal Tales from the Shadow.

Join me, Danny Trails, and step into the flames of right. An anthology podcast of modern day horror stories inspired by the most terrifying legends and lore of Latin America. Listen to Nocturno on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome to Gracias Come Again, a podcast by Honey German, where we get real and dive straight into todo lo actual y viral. We're talking musica, los premios, el chisme, and all things trending in my cultura. I'm bringing you all the latest happening in our entertainment world and some fun and impactful interviews with your favorite Latin artists, comedians, actors, and influencers. Each week, we get deep and raw life stories, combos on the issues that matter to us, and it's all packed with gems, fun,

straight up comedia, and that's a song that only nuestra gente can sprinkle. Listen to Gracias Thank you.