Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 10: The Witch Queen Chapter III: Last Harbor: Season Finale Part 4

Episode Date: January 30, 2020

Season One comes to a close as we follow Daughter Dooley to the far reaches of Last Harbor and witness what changed her and The Black Stag whose name sounds like, but is not Horn-ed Head or Hornet Head.CW: Medical horror, death of the elderly and physical trauma patients in a period hospital setting, theft and endangerment of a newborn, blood, cult activities.Written by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellNarrated by Steve ShellIntro music: "The Land Unknown," written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music: "I Cannot Escape the Darkness," written and performed by Those Poor BastardsLEARN MORE ABOUT OLD GODS OF APPALACHIA: www.oldgodsofappalachia.comCOMPLETE YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA RITUAL:FacebookInstagramTwitterBlueskySUPPORT THE SHOW:Join us over at THE HOLLER to enjoy ad-free episodes, access exclusive storylines and more.Find t-shirts, hoodies, mugs, and other Old Gods merch at www.teepublic.com/stores/oldgodsofappalachia.Transcripts available on our website at www.oldgodsofappalachia.com/episodesOld Gods of Appalachia is a production of DeepNerd Media. All rights reserved.Support this show http://supporter.acast.com/old-gods-of-appalachia. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Well, hey there, family, if you love Old Gods of Appalachia, I want to help us keep the home fires burning, but maybe aren't comfortable with the monthly commitment. Well, you can still support us via the ACAS supporter feature. No gift too large, no gift too small. Just click on the link in the show description, and you too can toss your tithe in the collection plate. Feel free to go ahead and do that.

Right about now, old gods of Appalachia is a whole. horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. I can't stay down and land on these hill walk so up I can feel the way. The town of Lost Harbor sat far to the south of the Kentucky Mountains and the high hills of the border separating North Carolina and Tennessee. Founded by Portuguese sailors who had given up the sea

and sought work and prosperity inland, the town was a close-knit community that of course took care of its own and was wary of outsiders. She'd reported to town as she'd been instructed in a missive brought to her by the eldest of the six men. The blank-eyed half-dead servants

sent to her by the thing that pretended to be a black stag and lived deep. in the wood. Another letter had been sent on to a young doctor who was trying to establish a practice in the community that a young widow with midwife and nursing training would be moving to town soon and did he have need for such a girl. Folks with medical training of any sort were in high demand and last harbor. Dr. Harold Gillespie wrote back that he would indeed be happy for the help. Within a few days of arriving setting up in a local boarding house,

our good daughter Dooley had herself a job, caring for some elder folk who were clearly near the end of their time. See, his sickness had passed through the territory a few weeks prior, and most had recovered, except for these poor August souls. Now one thing you can say about daughter Dooley is that when given the chance, she didn't stay a stranger long. She was kind, and she was good at what she did,

and before you knew it these good folks trusted her completely and came to love her like a grandbaby. To them, she looked barely 18, despite her actual 30 years at this point. And they lamented how she'd become a widow so young and how unfair it was for her beauty and womb to be wasted and did she know Doc Gillespie was unmarried and so on and so forth and the like.

She treasured her times with the mammoths and papals of Last Harbor. as they all treated her kindly. And she was there for the passing of each and every one of them, watching the light slide from their eyes, where their bodies finding stillness in an everlasting sleep. It made her heart swell with peace to know their suffering and sickness was over. But it also reminded her that as far as she knew, she might never know such a rest.

Now about two weeks after Papal Vester and Mamma Myrtle passed, she called all the old folk, Grandpa, Papa, and Grandma, Mama, and Mamma and Granny, it seemed to please them. She started noticing the changes. Now, they were subtle at first. Her skin felt smoother and seemed to glow. Her hair grew softer and lush. What few scars she had faded and were gone,

and outright vanished. She slept deep and woke more rested than she ever had. Her energy during the day was boundless. By the way of the bargain with the black stag, now her body resisted harm and healed cuts and turned away fire and cold, but this was different. At first she tried to attribute her newfound famine vigor

to just being around people, to not living alone in the woods with six silent near corpses for her only company. On her 64th day in Last Harbor, she realized her shoes didn't fit right no more. They were getting to be too big. Her clothes seemed to fit looser than usual. I mean, she ate like a horse.

In fact, her appetite seemed unending the end of each day leaving her ravenous and thirsting. And when she took her meals at the town's only tavern, while the barkeep joked that she ate enough for three of her, She wasn't exactly losing weight. No bones poked through her baby soft skin. No telltale signs of malnutrition or sickness, but something strange was happening to her body.

On the 78th day in town, which should have brought her monthly time with the moon to bear, nothing came. Which wasn't that troubling, but just unusual. On the 88th day, it had still not come, but on that day, though, she worked with Dr. Gillespie on a man who'd come in hurt on the job. A carelessly loaded wagon resulted in his leg being trapped under the lion's share of an oak tree. That was broke pretty bad, but it shouldn't have been life-threatening.

Dr. reset the man's leg as best he could and left her to tend to him. While she was cleaning him up, as he slept off a belly full of whatever the doc gave him to kill the pain, She felt it She felt the same peace she'd felt When she watched the old folks slip off into God's grace She felt this man Curtis Carter

Start to die It wasn't violent Wasn't no season affair Of blood and gasping and drowning weas She held his hand searching for a poultry She felt his life slipped right out of him

She felt herself start to sweat and she thought she was going to faint. She felt like she'd been filled up with a slow fire. Her sight dimmed and her legs wobbled. She called for the doctor and once he'd come, she excused herself to a privy where she hitched her dress and sat down, fearing that her stomach was about to revolt on her one way or another. When she noticed her legs, while they were smooth, the tiny rust-colored curls that had grown there

since she had turned the corner of womanhood were gone. her skin soft as a child's. Further inspection later that night would reveal that her entire body was much the same, and stranger still it seemed like she was a little bit shorter. Shelds that were easily in her reach suddenly weren't. And the next day she tried to go about her business as usual, but her thoughts were clouded. She couldn't seem to clear her mind.

Everything seemed to be too much, too big, too lack, Everything about this town seemed like it was trying to crawl inside of her head. So she just left. Without a word to anyone, she left town and took the road north for about an hour on foot. And stepped off the path and into the wood. She found a small stream. Well, off went her boots and her socks and into the cool of the water her feet went. She sunk her toes into the stream bed and clutched handfuls of weeds and grass.

just tried her best to find herself. And eventually it came. The noise that's quieted, the fog lifted. And there she sat in the heart of the green. Soaking in the light of a late April afternoon. Now she could see all of herself, and now she knew something was wrong.

It had to have something to do with her arrangement with the stag. The charm must have gone sideways or more like, no, more like he'd found some new way to shame her and keep her in his pocket. Her body was growing younger,

reversing itself. But not in the way of the fairy stories where old women just got young and beautiful again. She was literally aging in reverse. What's worse, she thought she knew what was causing it. She also knew it had to stop.

Her instructions had been to remain, in last harbor for six months to keep watch and observe, the paper said. What she was watching for or observing was a mystery to her. She needed time away, and as far as anyone knew, she was a young widow.

And young widows can have all sorts of unsettled business from their late husbands doing, so she would need help to test this theory. So that night before bed, she reached out with her mind and her gift and called for the six men. She called for the youngest, who she nicknamed 60, because, well, he was the sixth and smallest one. She also called for the next youngest, who she nicknamed Eugene, because she always just liked that name.

But she told them to come on foot, to travel by the roads carefully and only by night. They were to avoid interacting with any living soul, if at all possible, and they were not to touch or harm. anyone or anything. They were to meet her in the wood by the stream where she'd gone to find her peace. And she sent a picture of the place as hard as she could with her mind. After a few minutes, she felt them hear her and felt their acknowledgement. It would take them almost four days to get there. She would wait.

And she would not go to work on the days she waited for them to come to her. She couldn't risk it. If she got any younger, she'd start to forget. She told Dr. Gillespie that she had to return to South Fork to settle something regarding her late husband's land. It was a Monday. She'd be back on Thursday. And Doc wasn't happy about that.

We got three pregnant girls in this town about ready to pop, and I need you here. I'll be back as soon as I can. They've held this long, haven't they? I need you back for the Elkins girl. That one's going to be a mess, complicated. Family history, you have to be here for that one. I'll need all hands.

The next day she made the hour walk north of town and found the path into the wood and to the stream where she had gone to recover herself. She set up a small camp with her bedroll and a few supplies she'd brought. And for the first time in months, she was alone. There were no other people around.

She was back in the blessed silence and solitude. that had been her life since her mama's die. And she'd made her deal with the beast. She thought it would be awful and lonely and too quiet. But instead it settled back over her like a well-loved quilt and a warm bed. She breathed easy and free, and her body sang back to her in concert with the earth. She felt her gifts swell within her,

felt the earth and water whisper her name, and she wept with joy and sad. She might have been miles and miles from the house that was both her sanctuary and her prison, but right now she was home. She was home here in the green. After she pulled herself back together, she drew water from the stream and set it to boil over a small fire. She prepared salt and a few other things and smothered the fire down to a smoking ember as she shed her clothes and followed the stream to a deeper pool that the land had told her would be there.

She bathed herself Reaching out into the green Trying to find a way to free herself Of what was being done to her She washed And performed rites and rituals of cleansing Called to her mother's And to the mountain

To take this curse away This curse laid on her by a line Good for Nothing horned head bastard of a haint At first She thought she might have done it The growing wellspring of energy felt lesser. Her body actually ached and twinged. Her blood even came in all its cramping glory.

She lay exhausted and cleaned by the pool's edge, and she felt every one of her 30 years. Her body ached with what suspiciously felt like growing pains. She hoped so much she was wrong, but so far her theory was playing out, She could feel the pact with the stag was still intact. She hadn't been trying to break that. That would take bigger magic than her, and it wasn't likely to happen on her own.

She'd been looking to push off whatever this new thing was. This new thing that set her body to reversing its course through time. This new thing that was undoing her womanhood, returning her to girlhood to childhood, clouding her mind, making her memories harder to call upon. If she lost her memories, she'd lose her mamas. If she lost her mamas, someone or something else would have to raise her all over again.

And there she saw the plan. The stag knew good and well she'd never fully been to its will, knew she was too strong to be its will and little puppet. But if it had been the one to the one to her, raise her in the first place, her and her gift, to shape her in his burning antlered image. Why, she'd be a very different creature indeed. She could not let that happen.

She slept like the dead that first nine and woke sore and aching. The long walk to this place and the changes in her body had taken their toll. Her clothes began to fit again, her feet to fill her shoes. She had not noticed the absence of some of the curves of her form, but Even they were more well-pronounced now. Whatever had been turning back her clock seemed to have stopped, and time was catching back up. By the time Sixie and Eugene got to the clearing,

she was feeling much like her old self. Her back ached and her head buzzed, her legs were prickly, and her skin was an oily mess. Good Lord, this had been bad enough the first time through. But here we were. Oie, you two, over here, now. The two shambling figures Made their way through the trees

To where she stood Sixie was a small scrawny man He'd been young when he'd been made into this Maybe even in his 20s A short patchy beard covered his thin face And he was dressed the way they all dressed White dressed shirt With sleeves rolled to the elbows

Brown tweed pants black work boots Empty eyes slack jaw and just like his brother six he felt no pain gave no expression of any sort just did as he was bad breathed shallow

barely there Eugene was his opposite a hulking brute with a long matted beard Eugene was the battering ram of the six she'd seen him rip trees out of the ground and split tree stumps the way some men split light firewood

his arms were thick slabs of muscle and he was bald as he was tall. She honestly just needed 60 for this test, but the last time she tried to call him somewhere on his own, he ended up in a fight with some local boys and got thrown in a lake. Took his brother's days to get him out. Eugene at least could offer him a body yard.

Gene, you keep watch on the hill there. Sixty, you come here and stand. Eugene lumbered up the hill without question and took up a lookout spot about 50 yards away. When the two men arrived, she'd felt their presence. She even felt somewhat assured by their familiar creepiness. Beyond that, her back had stopped hurting. She felt the stiffness in her neck, even out in fade.

She looked at sexy and stepped a little closer to him. All these years, she'd never touched any of them or even wanted to be close to him. But she had to know. She reached out and grabbed. Absixie's wrist and the reaction was immediate. The creature spasmed and flailed for a moment then sank slowly to his knees, then to the ground. Dead.

Her touch had drained what little life was left in him. She touched her face and found her skin renewed and soft. She felt the familiar surge of energy and pep that had come to characterize this new part of her life and despaired. Now she knew her immortality came at the expense of others. On the ground, Sixy made a rasping, gurgling noise and his body spasmed and twitched for a moment again before he rose and wandered several yards away and stood waiting for her command. See, the Six Men couldn't die. They were true, fully creatures of the black stag.

And apparently her immortality, her sustained. life force was being siphoned from their presence. The pitiful unlife of them acting as a battery, sustaining her youth and keeping her body young, but still a woman's body. Dropping her in the middle of a thriving town with so many people of all ages and all levels of life and vitality while she was gorging herself on them.

The old folks, she was the reason they died. Craig Carter shouldn't have died from that leg, but there he'd been hurt, and leaking out the years he had left, and she'd just drunk him right up, leaving Craig's widow Martha without a husband and his two girls without a daddy. And the memos and papas of the town,

they didn't have much life left, but she'd drained them just as sure she'd cut their throats. Her sinking despair suddenly grew hooked and snagged into the meat of her heart, as she realized the jobs she'd been sent here to do, the one she was trained for, the ones her mothers prepared her for midwives.

She was brought here to bring new babies into the world and to handle and care for them and their mamas as they hung there in that moment of blood and water and light and dark on the precipice of creation and oblivion. Why, it was like Doc said. They had three women set to pop in the next month and he'd warned her to stay available around that last week because Bonnie Maggard, Tess Seismore, and Missy Elkins were all set to go.

Missy Elkins would be a challenge, he told her. Complicated family history, she definitely needed to be there. He needed her. She thought it was just concerned for the woman, but the more she thought about the pregnant girl, the sure she became that Missy had the gift, whether she knew it or not. Now, she had not met another witch since she had been there. But Miss Yelkin's ma did brew beer for the tavern

And did keep a garden out back of the brewhouse She knew her way around herbs and hops and such She might be just more than a brewer Who knew? Her mind led her further down the path Who had that letter gone to that set her up in this place? Who had literally been in communication with old hornet head? Who had put her in contact with the old folks

the weakest of the sick and the injured. Who had been fattening her up and turning her clock back this whole time? Doc Gillespie had some explaining to do. The trip back to town felt like an eternity. Even with Eugene carrying her and running full sprint, it seems that nearly undead lumberjacks did have some use after all. Doc G. and Missy Gillespie's baby greeted them at the town limits marker. A cart fully looked at.

loaded sat behind them. Doc, said she, what are you doing? Miss Dooley, said Doc, the baby fussing as he attempted to soothe her. You need to come with me. Your sponsors ask me to bring you home. Sponsor my eyes, she spat.

Have you seen him, Doc? Do you know what he is? Do you really know? Oh, Miss Dooley, I know exactly what he is. He is the keeper of the black word. The minder of the door of death, he is great and he is horrible. The man's voice rattled like teeth and an empty skull as his eel carried his words from him like vomit.

He is the picked dark flame, the night seer, the lord of the day in the wood. Oh, he is... He's a goddamn haint and a deerskin, she cut in. He's a liar and a cheat. He's a baby stealing ghoul. He's a backstabbing, horn-headed, charny-ass jackass, and he's... He's right here. Rumbled a familiar and terrifying voice.

She had not seen the stag in the flesh in many, many years. And yes, he was hard to forget. But sometimes things of such magnitude have a hard time sticking in your memory. So she was unprepared for his size. He was as tall and thick. as a draft horse, broad in chest and majestic in the rich darkness of his hide. His hooves were smeared with gore and awful. His eyes smoldered in the colors of blood clots and abscess.

And of course, upon his massive head was that crown of amber antlers, burning and smoldering with an unholy internal light. His mere presence sucked the light from the sky And all daughter Dooley could do was Gop The Black Stag The beast whose name sounded like Horned Head And Hornet Head and Abomination and Betrayer And Judas and Liar and Defiler

He was old But not the oldest But he might have been the cruelest and the most petty. Before she could speak, he reared and one massive hoof smashed across her face and struck hard. And all she knew was darkness. She woke covered in blood. Not just blood, but it was part of a mixture of burdock root, crawly root, and smooth pigweed. All things used to heal and soothed, but mixed with this tainted blood, it was a corruption of the plants, a corruption of the green, and it was all over her. She looked around trying to get her bearings and realized she didn't need to.

She was home. She was lying in the yard of her own house in the valley where all this began. She saw Sissy and Jean, both spattered in blood, which apparently came from Doc Gillespie, who lay dead, a little ways behind them. Sissy's hands were sticky with the plant medicine. They stared blankly at her. The Stag's voice floated into her mind, tasting like cold, burnt bread. I felt it was fitting that we came home to finish this.

If you're going to kill me, just kill me, you bloody cow. Sweet little wit, you are not dying today. the opposite. And you minded your orders. You would have stayed in that town until most of them were dead. And you were nearly an end. We'd have collected you

and raised you properly. The stag stood at the edge of the boundary where it had met her years ago. Shona her ma's faces and tempted her into this bargain that had turned her into some sort of life-stealing monster. Your lines were so

strong for one soul. Do you remember, little witch? You lowered your wards for me right inside. The stag laughed and stepped across the original boundary, raising an eyebrow as that were possible, until they were breathing the same air. Somewhere close, a baby began to cry. Eugene stepped into view,

carrying the Elkins baby and a large sharp knife that looked older than the Christian God. You see, little witch, we wish to wipe clean your slate and start you over. The blood of the good doctor has opened you. The blood of this child will feed you. You will wake new, barely more than a babe, and you will wake new. barely more than a babe, and you will be... No? She said shaking her head.

What? I said no. You are still the stupidest thing with hooves, aren't you? The stag did not reply. I've done your bidding. Not always willingly, but always well, have a knot. The stag pondered and inclined his head. So you would agree that I wield the powers you taught me well enough

that you'd want more of me. You can sense how strong my gift is, can't you beast? Hell, I bet you can smell it. Ah, no, no, no, you arrogant, petty little pony. You do not get to tell me anything after you give me my life back, then use that very life to kill the people who have been kind to me. You killed poor Missy and her mom, probably, and now you want to kill her baby, too.

So I'll do more magic tricks for you, so I'll hop two more quickly. So I'll be a good little thing like you are. Is that what you think? You got me all covered in the blood of a stupid man, and you think her voice rose, and the earth seemed to hear it, seemed to echo it like a second heartbeat.

You'd think I would let you harm that child, that I'd lay here, bloody and helpless, and watch Gene over there kill that baby. She stepped to the beast's muzzle and locked eyes with him. If you think any of that would happen, you're a fool beast. She leaned in close for the next thing. And if you think you've actually crossed my wards,

you're a bigger fool still. And with that, she smeared her hand across her bloody chest and pressed it to the cold earth of her yard. Something, somewhere, thrummed, and barriers of enormous power shot up around the stag in Miss Dooley, trapping them together in a square of crimson light, barely 12 feet across.

The Stag reared. Blood wards, old boy, your magic, not mine. But you were right when you said you could teach me thing Mama's never could. Oh, I learned plenty. I learned that you're a shadow of something much worse. I learned that you can be cut off from that something if you do it right. She watched the Stag's eyes go wide as it reached for power that was not there.

I think I did. And they both turned and looked at Eugene and 60, who plopped down crisscross applesauce. The two almost dead men sitting like puppets with their strings cut. The ancient knife dropped and forgotten. The Elkins baby landing safely in Jean's lap. So let's see what you can do without your sponsors. Back in you up.

Your power versus mine, beast. Winner takes home that baby. What's sake? The black stag paused a moment, eyes screaming poisonous hate and charged as daughter Duly laughed and leapt to meet him, eyes filling with green light and her grin fierce and full. Oh, family, I know you're probably cursing my name right now, but I told you, season one would end in such a way that season two has to happen. I know you needed to hear the story of Last Harbor

more than you needed some other things. Trust me, we're not done. Season two is coming. We just got to say goodbye to our little witch queen for now. And family, our thank you list is long and lengthy. I want to thank all the folks in the fellowship hall and everyone on Patreon. The Patreon is absolutely absurd right now if you want to tithe and get in. on Build Mama Coffin for $10 or more a month.

That's something you can do. Head on over to patreon.com slash old gods of Appalachia. We'll be happy to have you and happy to make sure you get hooked up with all your swag. We want to thank some individuals, Leah and Gary Whittah, who are good friends of ours, who have made some things possible that you may not realize. Charlie Ferraro at UTA, who has opened a million doors for this podcast and helped us find some really cool opportunities. I want to thank Heather Hawkins, who is our third wheel, and person who handles a lot of our Patreon business and who's going to be doing a lot more for us in the near future.

You've got to have the support, y'all. You can't do it without it. Speaking of support, I want to thank my cousin David D.C. Shell, the paladin himself, for the research help in West Virginia when we did our visit to tourniquet, West Virginia. And really, I'm going to start forgetting people because there's a ton of people that have supported us. And I really, really, really appreciate you. all of our family in the podcast community on Twitter. Holy crap, I wish I could remember all of you, but I really don't want to make this super stiff and formal sounding.

Please follow us on Facebook and Instagram at Old Gods of Appalachia. And on Twitter at Old God's Pod, we have merch at the threadless store, old gods of Appalachia. threadless. You can find all our information at old gods of Appalachia.com. The live show is going to be happening. Tickets go until February 1st on Patreon for Patreon patrons, and then the Fellowship Hall a week later.

And then for the public, not until March 1st, only 160 seats a night at that thing in Mary in North Carolina. We will be appearing at Days of the Dead, hanging out, not official guests. We will be official guests at Ravencon in Williamsburg, Virginia. Check out the Fellowship Hall for dates on that. I actually believe that's the weekend after the live shows in North Carolina. We have so much happening, family, and it's all thanks to you. We love you. We can't wait to see you for Build Mama Cough.

We can't wait to bring season two home to you and show you where you're going next because really you're going to freak out because it's super spooky and super creepy. Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of deep nerd media. Today's story was written and performed by Steve Shell. We'll see you soon, family.