Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 104: Excursus III

Episode Date: July 30, 2026

A little palate cleanser before the final course of season six begins in earnest.CW: Public transportation sounds, monster noises.Written by Cam CollinsProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve ShellNarrated and performed by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellIntro music: “The Land Unknown (The Where the Light Don’t Reach Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music:”Wherever You Go” by Lunar Grove (download) (instagram)Special equipment consideration provided by Lauten Audio.LEARN MORE ABOUT OLD GODS OF APPALACHIA: www.oldgodsofappalachia.comCOMPLETE YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA RITUAL: Facebook Instagram BlueskySUPPORT THE SHOW: Join us over at THE HOLLER to enjoy ad-free episodes, access exclusive storylines and more.Buy t-shirts, hoodies, mugs, and other Old Gods merch. CLASSIC MERCH: merch.oldgodsofappalachia.comTOUR MERCH & SPECIALTY ITEMS: oldgodsmerch.com.Transcripts available on our website at www.oldgodsofappalachia.com/episodes.© 2026 DeepNerd Media. All rights reserved. No part of this audio production or its written transcript may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.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 thing. anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. When the fire dies down, in the woods go quiet, and you think you told every tale you know, And no old flame blue Reshape the darkness So you lock your eyes on the trembling glow

The faces you find are so familiar They could almost speak Their stories fall where the light won't reach And you can feed the fire To curse the darkness When the voices call But in the end long shadows To fall

Boom, North Carolina 1993 When Tony Crawford opened his eyes to the searing light of an early morning blazing through an unfamiliar window He experienced the brief moment of anxiety That waking in a strange place can engender His heart seizing for a moment with the panic thought Where am I?

Then his head began to throb, and he recognized the sour taste in his mouth, and he remembered. The winding drive through the mountains. The roadside motel he checked into the night before. The friendly woman he'd met at the little dive bar the motel clerk had directed him to. The single beer he'd planned to have that turned into three or four, which almost inevitably led to shots, and suddenly his long day had become an even longer night, for which he was now paying the prize. The previous day had begun with a drive to Pelhamen back, delivering a package on behalf of his

employer, J.T. Fields. It was a long drive fighting both Knoxville and Chattanooga traffic, and when he returned to Paradise, he was more than ready to kick back and relax at home, maybe have a beer or two with the leftover beef stew his memo had sent home with him the night before. He'd parked the company van in the public lot behind the building where Mr. Fields maintained an office, then popped up the back stairs to leave the keys on their designated hook in the supply room. He had one foot out the door when Jack called to him from down the hall. That's you, Tony? Come on in here, take a load off. I got something I want to run by you. Tony glanced at his watch. Already half past six, he saw with a sigh. It was never good news

when Mr. Fields wanted to chat on a Friday, particularly at the end of the end of the the day. It almost invariably meant he wanted Tony to undertake some errand or other over the weekend. It wasn't that he couldn't say no. Jack always understood if Tony had made plans and wouldn't push if he was unable to undertake whatever extracurricular task was so urgent it must be attended to on a Saturday or Sunday. And if Tony agreed, he'd pay overtime plus a tiny bonus. That was just the problem, though. His boss was so fair and generous, he found it damn hard to say no to the man. He hung his jacket on the coat rack inside the back door and headed down the hall to Jack's office,

a bastion of theoretically ordered chaos amid the otherwise orderly four rooms where he conducted business. Folders and binders were heaped on every available surface, stuffed to bursting with reports, contracts, blueprints, and every imaginable document in between. The built-in bookcases lining three of its four walls were also stuffed to bursting with dog-eared tomes, while other books lay on the massive carved oak desk atop paperwork towers or any other available space. The man himself sat in a cracked leather desk chair with squeaky wheels, peering through a pair of reading spectacles that a file opened in front of him. A half-empty tumbler of whiskey rested at his elbow, and he held a cigar in one hand.

The open bottle and a second glass waited on the opposite side of the desk. Tony wrapped lightly on the door frame. Hey boss, what's up? Jack gestured toward the seat across from him, a leather armchair in a shade of dark green that matched the one behind his desk and which currently held a two-foot stack of paperwork. Give me one minute. Sit down.

Pour yourself a drink. Tony shifted the stack of files from the chair to the floor beside it and sat. He reached for the bottle. A selection from his employer's own distillery emblazoned with the black logo in which had been embossed in gold, Mr. J.T. Field's special blend. and poured a couple fingers worth into the waiting tumbler on the desk. He took a sip and settled back to wait while Jack finished whatever it was he was reading.

After a moment, his boss leaned back in his chair and puffed thoughtfully on the cigar for a moment before speaking. Tony, you know I hate to interfere with your weekends, but a matter has come up that I need you to attend to as soon as possible. What is it? There's an item I need you to acquire for me. Bit of a strange little thing, to be honest, but it's of great personal significance. significance to my client. Jack flipped through the pages laid out before him, finally passing a sheet of glossy paper across the desk. It was a page taken from an auction catalog. The item in question was described as leather strap wrapped in green velvet, circa 1805. A photograph below the text showed what looked to be a slightly faded green circlet bound with a little clasp like a bracelet.

It's a historical piece that was recently sold at auction. According to my source, the buyer is a professor at the university in Boone. I need you to head over there, assess the situation, and obtain the item by whatever means necessary. Tony had worked with Mr. Fields long enough to read between the lines. The boss had set his sights on this weird little antique dood, and by hook or by crook, he intended to have it. Usually this was a sort of task he assigned to one of his other employees. The sort of boys who didn't punch a time clock or get issued a W-2 at the end of the year

But it wasn't unheard of for him to ask Tony to handle this sort of thing Typically, that meant he'd prefer the matter handled Discreetly Your standard overtime rate will apply, of course, and the bonus will Let's just say if this turns out to be a hassle You'll be well compensated for your efforts Tony hesitated

Thinking on it Then nodded I can head over our first thing in the morning Best you leave tonight. Get an early start tomorrow. You can take my car. Jack fished a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to Tony. Then he closed the folder he'd been leafing through and slid it across the table to him,

along with a thick white envelope. Picking inside the ladder, Tony saw that it was stuffed with cash. For your expenses. Okay, I just need to swing by my plates to pick up a few things and feed the cat. Perfect. The Mountain View Motor Lodge on your way into town has clean rooms and cheap. rates and a little diner attached to it serves a mean breakfast. I recommend a chicken-fried steak. So Tony had collected Jack's black Mercedes from the parking lot and driven home to the

duplex he rented a few blocks from downtown paradise. He packed a bag and saw to the needs of Ninja, the slinky black tomcat who had appeared on his doorstep and invited himself into the house last summer. He scooped the litter box, put out extra food and water, and spent a few minutes on the couch, flipping through the various documents in the folder Jack had given him while deliver in the headscritches that were ninjas due. There were various documents relating to the item, establishing provenance and whatnot, a full dossier on the buyer himself, a historian and professor of Appalachian Studies at the university, and brief profiles and photographs of various potential useful sources of information

in the immediate area. When he'd gone over all the documents, he gave Ninja a final patent headed for the door. He tossed his backpack in the trunk, consulted the atlas his boss kept tucked under the driver's seat and hit the road. It had been almost 10 by the time he got to boom. But the roadside motel was easy to find. The room was clean, as promised, and once he dropped his backpack onto a chair, he walked back around to the office to ask the older man working the desk for directions to a bar, Jack had suggested he'd visit and grab a beer and a burger. It turned out the place was within walking distance, for which Tony was grateful. By that point, he'd had more than enough driving for one day.

His decision to walk had been a smart one, given the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. As he stumbled into the shower and leaned his aching head against the cool tile, he reminded himself it had been a remarkably productive night of drinking. Tony had immediately recognized the pretty brunette parked one seat down from him at the bar from her photo in the dossier Mr. Fields had provided. Like many residents of Boone, she was employed by the university. Her name was Kendra, and she worked as a reception. and the history department.

So, of course, she knew all the associated faculty, including the man who had purchased the item he had come here to acquire. Tony had told Kendra he'd come to town for a friend's surprise birthday party. Over the course of a few hours, beers, and shots, he'd managed to steer the conversation around to his fictitious friend's coursework and thus to his target. Yeah, she talks a lot about this one, dude. What's his name?

Howell? Kendra's smiles him to falter for a moment, though she recovered quickly. It was back in place, though her voice was cautious when she filmed in the name Tony had intentionally misspoken. Professor Howard? Yeah, yeah, that's the one. She's studying anthropology with a minor in Appalachian studies. She loves his classes.

I guess someone must. The pretty young woman seemed almost startled by her own muttered comment, and she shot Tony a guilty look. Clearly the shots were having the desired effect, lowering her inhibitions and therefore loosening her tongue. He schooled his expression to one of only mild curiosity. Oh, you don't like him. It's not that.

Not exactly. He's just territorial when it comes to his research. I mean, it makes sense. That collection is his life. Tony smiled reassuringly, making it clear he wouldn't put off by her commentary. Yeah, she mentioned he had a whole gallery of historical objects going way back. What was it called?

The Brotherton Archive. It's one of the largest, private collections of Appalachian artifacts in existence. Yeah, it sounds really cool. I'd love to see some of that stuff while I'm in town. Maybe your friend can show you? Oh, I wouldn't ask her to do school stuff on her birthday. She's been working so hard, all of us from back home have barely seen her this semester. She deserves a break. So Kendra had helpfully provided him with the name and location of the building on campus where the collection was housed, along with the fact that Professor Donald Howard's office was on the same floor. From that point, having a

obtained the information he needed. Tony had been happy to let the dark-haired beauty steer the conversation toward other topics, music, movies, books, family, and friends, and sitting the two of them shared some common interest. And at the end of the night, as they stepped out onto the street and the bartender locked the door behind them, she'd slipped her phone numbers, scribbled on a cocktail napkin into his jacket pocket. He might have liked to give that number a call in a couple of days, he thought. But that probably wasn't wise. Best he completes his errand for Mr. Field, to get back to paradise as soon as possible. But before he could accomplish that,

he first had to cure this dang hangover. The chicken-fried steak platter that Jack had recommended at the motel diner turned out to be just the remedy Tony required. It came drowned in savory sausage gravy with a fluffy buttermilk biscuit eggs on the side and a bottomless cup of carphy. By the time he cleaned his plate and polished off three cups, he had begun to feel human again.

He stopped by the motel office to pick up. up a map at a bus schedule before heading back to his room to grab his backpack. For his visit to campus this afternoon, he dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a zip-up hoodie, and his favorite pair of high-top Chuck Taylor's. He added a pair of black-framed glasses with prescription-free lenses, shouldered his pack, and started walking toward the bus stop. It had been kind of his boss to lend him the Mercedes, but he decided the smartest approach was to simply blend in with the college population. As the bus made its way towards the university, It quickly filled with other young people who were obviously students.

A gaggle of boisterous frat dudes, a nursing student dressed in scrubs, a pretty girl dressed in all black with a set of enormous headphones over her teased midnight blue hair, and various other small groups of young men and women wearing outfits nearly identical to his own, chatting as they stooped under the weight of their backpacks. The Brotherton Archive was housed in a red-brick mid-century structure on the far side of campus. nestled into a stand of maple and oak trees on the edge of the Pisgah National Forest. Its interiors were painted and tiled in the sort of no-color institutional beige, ubiquitous to a certain era of public institutions.

Tony had been mildly concerned it might be closed over the weekend, but though the building was hardly a hive of activity, there were a handful of students and one or two professors coming and going even on a Saturday afternoon. He slipped through the doors in their wake, and a letterboard directory encased in his evening. glass on the wall to his right informed him that the collection was located on the second floor. A handful of chairs and a lumpy-looking brown sofa were arranged around a low table not far from the entrance. A tall, skinny, red-headed guy and basketball shorts in a hoodie was stretched out on

the couch, reading from a history textbook. A pretty young Asian woman sat cross-legged in one of the chairs, scribbling on a notebook balanced on the arm of the chair while reading from a book in her lap. Tony could see light coming from behind the frosted glass panels of the office doors down the hall. His feet echoed on the hard tile as he walked toward a set of heavy double doors that led to the stairwell, but no one paid him any mind. And he encountered no one as he climbed the four flights up to the second floor, which appeared to be equally empty. The Brotherton Archive was located in room 213, book-ending six numbered rooms to either side of the hallway. plaques mounted on the doors to note the names of the faculty or staff to whom they had been assigned.

Professor Howard's office was room 201, Tony saw, but like the others, it was dark and quiet. At the end of the hall, however, he could see the lights were on in 213. As he approached, he could make out the vague outline of someone's head just beyond the frosted glass window in the door. A small plaque to the left of the door listed the name of the collection and its hours. It was set to close at two on Saturdays. A quick glance at his watch told him it was already almost 1.30. The room's sole occupant was a young woman in an ASU hoodie and jeans, seated at a narrow reception desk to his left,

her ponytail swaying over the book opened before her. An intern, he surmised with some relief. Beyond her was a bank of card catalogs paneled in dark wood. A door labeled, storage, lay past them. The majority of the room was filled. with historical exhibits encased in glass. They stretched along each wall from floor to ceiling and filled the remaining space and rose at waist height.

The woman at the desk barely glanced his way as Tony walked past her towards the card catalog. He pulled a notebook and pen from his backpack and began riffling through the drawers, occasionally scribbling something down, while his eyes scanned the room noting that there was no sign of an alarm system or cameras. After a few minutes, he moved to the glass cases

and began to peruse them methodically, eyes alert for the velvet and leather strap. After several minutes of searching, he pulled the auction listing from his backpack and approached the intern. Hey, sorry to bother you, but can you help me find something? The young woman frowned up at him, raising her eyebrows. I can try. What do you need?

Tony smiled apologetically and held the listing out for her inspection. I was looking for this. Professor Howard acquired it for the collection at an auction a couple months back. The young woman shook her head and jerked a thumb vaguely toward the storage area. Oh, it's not indexed yet. It takes forever for new acquisitions to be added to the catalog, and until then, he's the only one with the slightest idea of what's what on his side. And the intern glanced at a clock mounted on the wall to her right.

Oh, bummer. Thanks anyway. Hey, listen, I got to pop to the ladies' room right quick, but my shift is over in like five minutes, so wrap it up, okay? Sure, no problem. The intern stood from behind the... the desk, yawning and stretching, then slid out the door. There were no bathrooms on the second floor, Tony recalled. She would have to go downstairs. He waited a minute to be certain she was gone and then made a beeline for the door marked storage. When he tried the knob, he found it

locked. Shit. He hurried over to the desk the intern had vacated and searched its contents. He found the plastic key ring with the school's logo in the middle drawer. He quickly unlocked the door to the storage room and returned the key to the drawer, grabbing his backpack and notebook he slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind him. He stood motionless, his heart pounding and listened. A moment later, the outer door opened and closed, and the intern's voice called out. Hello? The young woman's footsteps patted around the room outside, looking for him among the display cases, Tony guessed.

Then he heard the slam of a book cover, some shuffling of papers, and a jingle of keys. The door to room 213 opened and closed again, followed by the sound of a lock engaging, and then there was silence. Tony wasn't particularly worried about being locked in. Like most public facilities, even a locked door should be able to be open from the inside to comply with the local fire codes. But he waited in the dark for a full five minutes, just in case the intern had forgotten something,

before reaching into his backpack and pulling out the flashlight. He could have turned on the overhead lights, but those were much more easily spotted. He panned the beam around along, narrow room filled with shelves that were packed with boxes, books, and folios, and even more boxes lined the walls jammed with various dusty items in no particular order. Perhaps he'd made a mistake in leaving Jack's Mercedes at the hotel. This could take a while. In reality, it only took him half an hour to determine that at least some system of organization had been implemented in the storage room. The artifacts and documents stored on the shelves appeared to have all been

cataloged, as each was labeled with an item number. Everything on the floor seemed to be an acquisition that had not yet been cataloged, which was ideal for his or for Jack's purposes. Those artifacts that had been indexed, Tony reasoned, particularly those on public exhibition in the glass cases were far more likely to be missed in the items languishing in unindexed purgatory. Clutching the thin cylinder of his flashlight and his teeth, he started sifting through the boxes on the floor, beginning with the box nearest the door in hope that the more recent acquisitions would be closer to the storage room's entrance.

In this, he was somewhat disappointed. It took four hours of digging through yellow documents, photographs, records in questionable condition, pottery, antique jewelry, copper stills and coils and miners' lamps and lunch buckets and all manner of other historical brick-brack before he finally stumbled upon the trinket his employer had sent him to retrieve. He might have missed it altogether if the auction house had been less conscientious, but the acid-free box had been carefully labeled with the lot number and the cataloged description, leather strap wrapped in velvet, circa 1805. The strap rested within, carefully preserved in an undied cotton drawstring bag.

Acutely aware that his hands were now filthy, Tony didn't touch the bag itself, let alone its contents. He quickly closed the box and tucked it and the flashlight into his backpack. He approached the storage room door and paused, listening for the sound of anyone outside. He checked his watch. Its glowing hands told him it was a little after six. When he heard nothing, he stepped out into the main room and quietly shut the door behind him. He peered through the frosted glass panel in the door, searching for any indication that someone else was on this floor.

He saw nothing. No flicker of shadows, no tell-tale flashlight beam from a security guard on patrol. He eased the door of room 213 open and padded into the darkened hallway outside. All was quiet. He hurried to the stairs and headed for the first floor where there were still some signs of life. A small group of students had gathered for a study session in the seating area inside the entrance and a light still glowed from a couple of office windows. Remember in the men's room was just to the right of the stairwell.

Tony ducked inside to wash up. His heart thudding in his chest he'd hoped no one noticed him, particularly in his filthy state. He washed his grimy hands and dirt smudged face and then examined his reflection in the mirror. He cleaned the smudges from the glasses and smoothed this. his hair, then zipped his hoodie halfway up to cover the stains that had collected on the bottom of his t-shirt. Finally, he shouldered his backpack, took a deep breath to calm his racing nerves, and walked back out onto the first floor hall. None of the young people clustered around the table gave him a second glance as he strolled past and out into the rapidly cooling late

autumn night. He walked to the bus stop and sat on a bench to wait. Five minutes later, he boarded a bus crowded with Saturday night revelers headed for the downtown bar. He chose a seat near the back and slumped into the bench seat. It was a long ride back to the other end of town with the bus stopping near constantly for another group of young people to pile on. Once they reached downtown boom, the seats emptied quickly, taken on fewer people as they moved further out in the direction of the motel until only one other passenger remained besides himself. Tote might not have noticed the petite blonde woman,

lost in his thoughts as he was. She was several rows up close to the driver But then she stood and began walking towards him down the aisle She wore an oversized studded black leather jacket Over a dainty white slip dress that grazed the tops of her thighs Her feet were encased in heavy black combat boots But nevertheless she moved with a languid feline grace Almost swinging from one safety rail to the next

As she made her way towards him The corner of her lip quirked up in a cat-like smirk There was something predatory about her. The way she moved, the way she smiled. A certain glint in the eyes that as she drew close he could see were a vibrant, almost glowing shade of green. She planted herself at the end of the bench he sat on, leaning one elbow on the back of his seat and the other one in front,

boxing him in, those green eyes. boring into his. Well, hello, handsome. Uh-huh. Do I? Do I know you? The peal of laughter that escaped her then was like shattering glass, like panthers screaming in the night.

No, you don't. And that's really funny because you have something that belongs to me. Well, hey there, family. Welcome back to season six. of old gods of Appalachia long shadows as we bring you another little pallet cleanser before we dive headfirst

into the final story arc of the season. Just what has old Mr. Fields got poor Tony Crawford into now? I'm betting y'all can guess whose shadow will be cast over this upcoming story, and it's one we know you've been eagerly anticipating for some time now, family.

We hope you'll stick around to hear it. Friendly suggestion, if you haven't heard the door under the floor, yet, you may want to listen to that in preparation for this upcoming tale. Just head on over to The Holler, where for a small monthly tithe, you can listen to the door under the floor as well as Bill Mama, Coffin, Blackmouth Dog, unhallowed grounds, and so many more. Just visit us at Old Gods of Appalachia.com slash The Holler.

You can find that link down in our show notes, along with links to our merch shop, merch.murch.orgodogodach.com, where we have t-shirts, tanks, hoodies, home goods, and more featuring your favorite characters and quotes from Old Gods of Appalachia. is your, we know it's been a long time coming, but we always make good on our promises. Eventually, reminders that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of deep nerd media and is distributed by Rusty Quill. Today's story was written by Cam Collins and performed by Steve Schell. Our intro music is by Brother Landon Blood, and our outro music is by our new friends in Lunar Grove. Check the show notes for links to their socials, as well as how to acquire this beautiful new

track wherever you go. The voice of Kendra was Jamie Eva. The voice of Lavinia Thrystam, Beast of Lonely Creek was Kim Collins. Talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon.