Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 107: The Acolyte

Episode Date: September 10, 2026

The bride explores her new home as shadows begin to stir. CW: Blood. We cannot stress that enough. Lots of blood. Eyeball injury, severed body parts, crushed limbs, impalements, interpersonal conflict, mention of the deaths of parents and grandparents. Written by Cam CollinsProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve ShellNarrated and performed by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellThe voice of Joseph Bland: Willie RepoleyThe voice of Lavinia Thrice Damned, Beast of Lonely Creek: Cam CollinsIntro music: “The Land Unknown (The Where the Light Don’t Reach Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music: ”Wherever You Go” written and performed by Lunar Grove http://lunargrove.bandcamp.com 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.

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Right about now. Old Gods of Appalachia is a hard. horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Lavinia was pulled from sleep by the man's screams. She woke with a start, her heart pounding and clutched a heavy quilt to her chest as she stared around. A narrow beam of weak winter sunlight pierced a set of heavy drapes, allowing her to make

out a vanity table, a chest of drawers, the shape of a trunk of the foot of the bed she lay in. Her cat, Asie, lay near the foot of that bed, head up, his ears alert. And for a moment, she couldn't place where she was. And then she remembered, she was in the house of the man she had been betrothed to. And somewhere, someone was screaming. She threw off the blankets and reached for her dressing gown, belting it tightly over. her nightdress in the interest of modesty and shoved her feet into her slippers before venturing from her bedroom. Levinia descended from her room in the tower as quickly as she could,

the darkness of the windowless passage in the tight spiral staircase slowing her steps and joined a handful of servants, following the sounds of distress across the foyer toward the unfinished wing of the house. The screams led them to the farthest corner of the house, where a young man lay on the unfinished stone floor pinned beneath what appeared to be a massive stone fireplace. It was immediately clear his legs had been crushed and blood seeped from beneath the mantle into the bare rock around him. The boy, clearly even younger than Lavinia herself clung to the arm of an older man who she thought must be the foreman, sobbing now for his mother. The foreman alternated between soothing the young builder and shouting,

Heave, damn you! To the four other men as they struggled to lift it off him. Lingering at the edges of the gathered onlookers, Lavinia stood near a housemaid she recognized, and a man in a pair of paint-stained overalls. What happened? They were hoisted it up to install on the second floor and the ropes broke. Damned a thing! Lavinia's eyes traveled to the space above the fallen fireplace,

where indeed she could see a number of frayed ropes dangling from the unfinished second story. On the ground below, the workers finally managed to set the fireplace upright, and the foreman quickly pulled the young man out of danger lest it topple over on him. He called for the other men to carry the young builder to a wagon so they could transport him down the mountain to a doctor. As they lifted him by his mangled legs, the boy's anguish screams rose anew. Lavinia's troubled gaze followed the poor builder as they carried him out of the house, then returned to the blood staining the floor. It cut a long streak across the stone where the foreman had dragged him across it.

more pooled in the space where he had lain under the fireplace, though not as much as she might have imagined. It almost seemed as if the rock had already absorbed it. Lavinia shivered at the morbid thought and took a step backwards. Around her, the servants and workers began to disperse, returning somberly to the work at hand. The maid, whom she had overheard, turned with a start, as she noticed Lavinia standing behind her.

Oh, oh, I'm sorry you have. had to see that miss, a terrible thing? Yes, that poor boy, do you think he'll be all right? If the Lord wills it, he'll be in our prayers. Yes, of course. We'll all pray for his recovery. The housemaid, who looked to be ten years or so older than Lavinia herself, glanced around the dusty, bloody construction area, and eyed her with a worried expression. Her voice was hesitant when she spoke again. You should go back up to your room, miss. This is no place for you. A building site can be dangerous, as you saw.

Why don't I ask Cook to send up a nice cup of tea? Something to settle your nerves? Oh, yes. I'm sure you're right. That would be very kind. Thank you. Heeding the maid's warning, Lavinia had hurried to the finished portion of the house

and back up the narrow curving stairs of the tower to her room. The promised cup of tea had found her short. shortly after she returned, and she had taken a few moments to curl up with Asie on the bed, savoring its warmth and comfort before getting dressed. However, she tried to distract herself throughout that morning and afternoon, the terror and pain and the young builder's screams were never far from her mind. When the fire dies down, in the woods go quiet, and you think you told every tale you know,

In the old flame to 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 long shadows. Joseph Bland sat at one end of the long-polished oak dining table that his carpenters had finished just last week.

I'm the beautiful young woman who sat opposite him. Lavinia's cheeks appeared even more pale than usual. Her eyes downcast. She pushed a slice of venison around her plate without any apparent interest. He wondered if the girl was feeling ill. Lavinia, are you well? You've barely touched your supper. Nearly lost in thought, she started, glancing up as if she'd only noticed his presence,

it was a long moment before she answered. Yes, I'm fine. It's just, I can't stop thinking about that poor young man. Joseph felt a flash of anger. He had brought her here to be his wife. No other man should be occupying her thoughts. Was it one of the builders? Some muscle-bound blacksmith, perhaps?

Oh, he'd whipped the man before he fired him. He kept his expression neutral in his voice. voice calm. What young man? Lavinia's brows drew together in confusion as she stared at him. That poor boy who was injured this morning. I'm afraid I didn't learn his name, but he was so badly hurt. It's all I've been able to think about.

Do you think he'll recover? It took Joseph a moment to recall the incident she was referring to, even as relief washed over him. Of course his future bride wasn't pining over another man, foolish of him to even to entertain the notion. None of the other men in the vicinity could provide her with the house this grand, with the beautiful dresses she had purchased with the money he had left for her trousseau, with the sort of life he promised her. She was merely showing the kindness he had noticed in her before,

demonstrating once again the good character her uncle had promised she possessed. Joseph was pleased, but he schooled his expression into an appropriately somber mask when he answered her. Oh, of course. Terrible business. Yes, I imagine he'll be fine. But his legs, they were just crushed. Lavinia's wide gray eyes were haunted when she spoke, and Joseph remembered that the foreman had told him the young builder's cries had brought the whole household running. He had failed to mention that that number included the innocent young woman,

his employer, had brought to Lonely Creek to be his bride. Joseph would have words with the man regarding that omission. But he softened his tone when he spoke to her again. I'm sorry you had to see that, Lavinia, darling, but these things happen. Construction is a dangerous business. They know that when they sign on. Yes, I suppose you're right. I'm sure he'll make a full recovery.

Come now, your supper's getting cold. We can't have you wasting away before the wedding. Have some more wine. It'll ease your nerves. Joseph gestured toward the bottle of wine, resting near his own glass. And a servant emerged from the shadows and quickly topped up Lavinia's glass. Across the table, she gave him a faint smile before she raised it to her lips. She drank the wine and returned to her meal, though with understandably little enthusiasm. And Joseph felt again that strange sensation Lavinia brought out at him.

a feeling that mingled hunger, possessiveness, and satisfaction, like a coiled beast in his belly. She was his, and he enjoyed it when what belonged to him obeyed his wishes. He settled back in his chair and drank his own wine and tore into the venison and potatoes on his plate with renewed interest, relishing the bloody tang of rare meat. on his tongue. In spite of Joseph Bland's reassurances to his young bride, the builder would not make a full recovery. When Lavinia inquired after him with the foreman some weeks later,

he told her somberly that the boy would never walk again. As her intended had all but predicted, more accidents had followed. Within a month of the incident with the fireplace, she had heard that a man tending to the grounds had fallen into a stand of bushes at the edge of the woods and impaled his eye on a stick. Not long after that, a boy fetching water for a blacksmith from the creek somehow drowned in its shallow waters. Another month later, a bricklayer somehow lost a hand

in a series of events that no one could adequately explain. And yet the construction continued unabated. To Lavinia, it almost seemed as if the pace of its progress ebbed and flowed with every new casualty. Perhaps the builders were merely inspired, to work faster as the danger increased, she mused. She had heard the maids whispering, that there were rumors that the place was cursed, that either some vengeful soul had laid a hex on Joseph's land, perhaps a rival who had wanted the claim for himself, or else the land itself

was—' Joseph had never mentioned any such competitor. By his account, it had been remarkably easy to acquire the piece of land on which he'd staked his claim. But it was possible that he was simply unaware that envy festered in another's heart. As to the other theory, Lavinia had to admit that she herself felt the same disquiet that Lonely Creek provoked in the staff. It seemed for all the builder's hard work, the house was settling into odd angles, its floors uneven, and its corners skewed. She felt at times as if she were being watched, though she told herself that it was merely because her family had not employed servants, and she wasn't used to their hovering often silent presence. There had been times she thought she heard voices. Yet when she ventured inside,

she'd found no one. Mulling over the situation, she was reminded of her Graham. Levinia's Graham had come from the old country, and she'd brought with her a number of practices Levinia's mother had dismissed as mere superstition. Graham had hammered three nails into the front and back doors of their house for protection. She'd lined the doors and windows with salt to ward off evil spirit. and kept a little mound of salt with a penny on top at each corner of the house for good luck. She had recipes for teas and decoctations, sives and ointments to cure any ailment, and left out milk and honey for the fayfolk every moon. She'd carried two iron nails bound in red thread in her pocket for protection and knew how to make puppets and corn dollies, charm bags, and jars

to address all manners of troubles. Levinia had learned these crafts at her Graham's knee, and she thought a few protective measures couldn't hurt. If nothing else, they might ease her mind than those of any others in the house who understood their purpose. So one warm afternoon, as the crocuses and daffodils began to peek up from under the previous autumn's dead leaves, she bundled Azzie into the wicker basket she carried him in for traveling and ventured out into the woods to gather materials. At the edge of the trees, past the land that had been cleared to build the house in its grounds, Her path took her through the camp where the workers and their families lived in tents, clustered around various communal fires.

The encampment was oddly silent for early afternoon. She had expected to hear the voices of women and children, women talking as they cooked and did laundry and mended clothing, women singing as they worked, children laughing as they played or pestering their mothers with endless questions of the young, but no one spoke. Not to her, not to each other. other. The camp was blanketed in an eerie silence. She saw no sign of the children who must be here somewhere and few enough of the women. A handful of them stirred cookpots over the fire and she smiled at them shyly. None returned the gesture, though she could feel their eyes on her back as she passed. There's and those of others she couldn't see, perhaps peering from the folds of their tents.

Lavinia felt a chill as her steps carried her beyond the hush of the camp into the deeper woods. The warmth of the springtime sun failed to penetrate the dense trees and their shadows gathered around her. The sounds of bird calls and scampering of small critters fell away, blanketing the woods in a stillness that felt unnatural. Even her own footsteps sounded muffled to Lavinia's ears, remembering the folks who had suggested the land itself might bear a curse, she decided might be wisest to gather what she needed from beyond the bounds of Joseph's claim. She hastened her stride as the light grew ever dimmer, the air colder,

almost as if the trees themselves sought to drive her back, back towards lonely creek. Finally, after what she estimated to be around a mile, the air began to warm again. The darkness lifted shafts of sunlight spilling through the canopy of trees. Levinia drew in a deep breath, feeling as though a leaden weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She paused to sit down her basket and lift the lid. As he hopped from its wicker confines, tail lashing as he raised his head, nose-scenting the air. A cool spring breeze ruffled his long black fur, and he bounded ahead of her into the trees. Lavinia trailed after him, pausing now and then to scoop up some.

some item that might prove useful and tuck it into one of the voluminous pockets she'd sewn into her dress. The pair of them walked for some time, as he scurrying ahead from time to time, chasing a leaf spun by the breeze or a chipmunk scurrying through the underbrush, then circling back to twine around her ankles. It was late in the afternoon, and she had begun to consider returning to the house, as much as she dreaded walking back through the unsettling wood at the edge of the property when they stumbled across the little log cabin tucked into a secluded clearing. It was a tidy little place. Its stout logs weathered but sturdy. Its front porch swept clean. Hardy herbs that could survive the winter were planted along the edge of the porch,

rosemary, thyme, a bit of oregano, while bright green shoots and a small vegetable garden to one side of the yard showed evidence of an early spring planting. A rocking chair sat next to the left of the door while a store of firewood had been stacked neatly on its right, the axe leaning against the side of the house, suggesting the chore had only recently been finished. Levinia slowed, wary of trespassing on some stranger's property, but as he bounded up onto the porch and jumped into the rocking chair. Before she could call him back, the door of the cabin swung open,

and an older woman stepped on to the porch. She wore a blue, gingham dress under her white apron, edged and embroidered yellow flyers, and her snowy white hair was piled atop her head, and a neat bun. A woolly gray shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, and her eyes immediately fell upon the fluffy black cat sitting in her rocker, and she smiled. Good afternoon to you, miss, and to this fine-looking gentleman. As he get down from there, I am so sorry, ma'am, I'll get him. The cat did not budge, stretching and settling himself more comfortably onto the fluffy cushion

in the seat of the rocking chair. He lifted one paw and began to groom his inky fur. The old woman laughed. It's all right, miss. He's welcome to enjoy that chair as long as he likes. The woman turned her keen, brown gaze on the young woman before her. Oh, my name is a Lara Nodoo Pigeon, though most folks around here just call me Granny Pigeon. And who might you be, miss? Don't see many youngans on this old mountain, a little long pretty young girls.

I haven't been here long. My name is Lavinia. Granny Pigeon eyed Lavinia shrewdly, her gaze taking in the young woman's new dress and cloak, and her shiny leather boots. Hmm, I guess you were the daughter of one of the builders over in Cainte, but that dress is far too fine for the likes of working folk. How'd you come to be here, Miss Lavinia? My uncle sent me.

I'm to marry the man who owns the house they're building, Mr. Bland. The old woman clucked her tongue, her brow knitting thoughtfully. She seemed almost on the verge of some reply or other, but then she shook her head, and the warm smile returned. Levinia could almost believe she had imagined that moment of hesitation as Granny Pigeon glanced back down at Asey, who had already fallen asleep in the rocking chair. Would you like to come inside, dear? We may as well have a nice cup of tea while your cat has his nap. Levinia followed her into the cabin, which was just as neat and cozy inside as the old woman's tidy doorstep suggested.

It was a simple one-room affair with a wide stone hearth where a low fire kept a kettle warm. A cushioned chair sat next to it, and a narrow, neatly made bed occupied the opposite wall. There was a tub big enough to serve for both bathing and washing clothes in in one corner, and a little table just big enough for two. Levinia took one of the stools from beneath it and sat across from Granny Pigeon, who poured them each a strong tea before producing a loaf of bread and a jar of blackberry preserves. The tea was good, and the conversation even better. The older woman reminded her of her Graham,

whose absence she had felt even more keenly since her parents had passed with her warm manner and lively wit. Lavinia lost all track of time. With a start, she glanced out the winter and realized it was near and sunset. She had no desire to walk back through the woods surrounding Lonely Creek after dark. Asie, who had long since wandered through the open door of the cabin and settled himself on her lap, jumped down with a startled muse as she rose suddenly to her feet. I didn't realize how late it's gotten. I should go. Thank you so much for having me.

Well, thanks for paying an old woman to visit. I hope you'll come and see me again, Miss Levinia. I will. Good night, Mrs. Pigeon. Levinia scooped as he up and returned him to the wicker basket, then hurried out the door. It was already dark by the time she made it back to Lonely Creek. The workers had begun putting their tools away and heading back to camp for the night, and the house appeared dark and forbidding, in spite of the candles glowing beyond the windows, and the lantern hung above the front door. When she stepped over the threshold, she found Joseph Bland pacing the foyer. His housekeeper, the silent, unsmiling Newcomb, hovered by the far wall, catching sight of his bride the doorway Joseph drew up short.

Where the devil have you been, Lavinia? Hearing the anger of the anger of in his voice, Lavinia's gaze dropped to the floor. She set Aziz's basket carefully at her feet before she answered him, her voice quiet and contrite. I went for a walk. I'm afraid I lost track of time. Obviously, no one has seen you for hours. Where the hell were you? In the woods, I... Alone? Have you lost your senses? There are wild animals in these woods. Wolves, bears, painter, cats, God alone knows what else. You could have been hurt, and... And no one... I wasn't alone.

No. Who were you with, then? One of my men? Some lay about bricklayer who should have been working? Lavinia's head rocked back as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes narrowed, their gray going dark as thunder clouds. Of course not. What reason have I ever given you to think such a thing?

Joseph had no answer for that. He only stood glaring, mulishly, her until finally she continued. There's a nice old woman who lives on the other side of the mountain. She invited me in for tea. She seemed lonely and she reminded me my gram. We had a nice conversation and I lost track of time. I'm sorry I worried you, but such accusations are unseemly and uncalled for, sir.

It's beneath you. Joseph Bland sighed and tilted his head from one side to the other, stretching his neck. She was right. He was acting like a fool, and in front of the staff, no less. It had been a long and frustrating day. There were more delays with the construction of the conservatory. A sinkhole had opened up on the spot where they laid its foundation, and it had sunk into the earth, taking two workers with it.

The men survived, but had broken bones to show for it, and the building foreman had come to him with more changes to account for it. It was infuriating, and he had let his temper get the better of him. Right, of course, as you seem to usually be, I apologize. My behavior was unforgivable, but nevertheless I must implore you to forgive me, dearest Lavinia. Joseph clasped her hands and pressed them to his lips. Lavinia made no reply, though that shy smile flitted across her face,

and he accepted that as confirmation. If you plan to make a habit of long walks in the... the woods. Perhaps I should buy you a watch for a wedding present. Perhaps you should. From the basket at her feet, the damned cat began to yell. Joseph had seen little enough of the beast since her arrival, and true to her word, he had found no evidence of feline misbehavior. The creature seemed ever at her side, however, and its presence vexed him. He frowned down at the interruption and dropped her hands. It would appear your little shadow wants his supper, as do I, Go and put him away and make yourself presentable.

Cook will have dinner ready in half an hour. With that parting command, Joseph Bland turned and headed up the curving staircase, presumably to the master suite on the second floor in the finish wing of the house. Levinian knelt and raised the lid of the basket, allowing Azzie to hop out. The sleek black house panther twined around her legs for a moment, then scampered ahead of her as she walked toward the side door leading to the tower. She returned to their room and made sure Assy had food and water, then washed her hands and faced for dinner in the basin by her vanity,

noticing some grass stains on the hem of her skirt, she hastily changed into a clean dress. As she smoothed their hair in the mirror above her vanity, she frowned at her reflection, remembering Joseph's words. Make yourself presentable indeed. I thought the upper classes were supposed to be such sticklers for etiquette. You have better manners, Azzie. The fluffy cat meowed back at her.

and Lavinia sighed. I suppose you're right. I'll see you after supper, sweet boy. She paused to stroke the cat's soft head, then hurried downstairs to the dining room where she found Joseph already waiting, staring grimly into his glass of wine. He said nothing to her as she settled into her chair

and the kitchen staff carried out bowls of stew. Their meal was a silent and joyless one. And as soon as the plates have been cleared away, Lavinia gratefully fled to the peace and comfort of her rooms. Joseph Bland sat alone in his study at the heavy card-doke desk, atop which he had spread out the latest set of plans the building foreman had brought him that afternoon. He stared at them without really seeing them. The candle having gone out some hours ago.

The only light in the room, that of the glowing embers in the fireplace. The hour was beyond late, beginning to verge on early, and he was exhausted but yet unable to sleep. He polished off the last of the whiskey in his cup and immediately poured another. There had to be some way to finish the conservatory without these damned modifications. God damn it, things have been going so well since that last little hiccup. The carpenters had been laying down flooring in the upstairs hallway of the new wing, and for some reason the boards kept warping.

The men would lay down perfectly straight planks in the morning, yet somehow the wood twisted and buckled by the end of the day. At first Joseph had thought the worker is either merely incompetent or drunk, but then the foreman had invited him to inspect the work himself. One of the apprentices had fetched him when the men completed their latest attempt, and the floors had been perfectly straight and level. He had nodded to the foreman, satisfied the problem had been remedied and returned to his office. Later that afternoon, the same boy returned to tell him the foreman needed to see him,

and when he found the foreman, man was standing over those same floorboards, now a hopeless mess. The situation had continued in this fashion until one of the carpenter's severed the toes of one foot with the razor-sharp curved blade of a foot adds. The foot in question spurreded blood all over the wood, of course, but to save time and money, the workers had simply flipped the board so that the unstained sides faced up. It was the damnedest thing. The bloodstained flooring hadn't warped, though the foreman had assured him that it

came from the same batch of Virginia pine, he'd carted in from his father's estate, an early wedding gift from his brother. It was almost as if the blood had seasoned the wood, as if. But no, no, that was madness, the product of an overtaxed mind and more whiskey than was perhaps wives. As he shook his head, marvelling at his own imagination, he heard a voice. I hunger Joseph sat bolt upright in his chair startled Had he drifted off for a moment there Begun to fall into some odd dream

I hunger As to you The strange voice seemed to come not from the room around him But from someplace else It was as if it reverberated up Not from the depths of the house But from the land itself from the very air around him,

and at the same time he didn't quite hear it with his ears. It was almost as if the words bloomed within his head, planted there like a seed by some unknown entity, and yet they were not his words, not his thoughts or his voice or the voice of any being of this world. There was an alien nature to that voice that was at once repellent and mesmerizing. like a razor blade wrapped in business.

Bring me what I desire. Joseph stared into the shadows of the room around him. Even though he was certain there was nothing to see, finding exactly that he licked his dry lips and took a deep drink of the whiskey. What do you want? Instead of words. This time the owner of the voice filled his mind with images. Images of blood, of screaming.

faces of the carpenter's severed fingers of blood seeping into the stone from a pair of legs crushed under its head stone from the broken body of a young woman in the uniform of a maid, blood soaking into the ground as another man screamed and covered his face with his hands, blood and flesh and more blood. So much blood, so many images battering his mind with the speed and ferocity that stole his breath, Joseph clutched at his head. Oh, please, stop. The barrage of images finally stuttered to a stop.

And Joseph sagged in relief. He shook his head trying to collect himself. No, I couldn't do that. This time, the words were his own, parroted back to him perfectly. Construction is a dangerous business. When the images returned, they came more gently, slowly taking shape like flowers opening in his mind.

He saw the house, his house, not as it was, but how it could be, sprawling over the green lawn like a queen in all her finery, tall and beautiful and perfect. as he'd ambition. Fine details came to it. The intricate carving on a mantle here, the soft glow of stained glass there. He saw the conservatory whole and complete

exactly as he imagined it, now filled with greenery. He saw the lawn filled with guests dressed in their best, all turned to face a couple who knelt before a man with a Bible in his hand. All this? Joseph's heartbeat faster, and he sat up straighter in his chair.

All right then, damn you. What is it then? What do you want me to do? He half expected to be shown a vision of himself wielding a bloody knife, but there was nothing so crude as that. A rope cut halfway through. A bit of broken glass left where someone might cut themselves, a bit of grease smeared on a step.

Little things, subtle things that might cause accidents or might not. There were faces, too. Specific requests or merely suggestions? He couldn't be sure. A stable boy, a maid, a random man he couldn't place but assumed was one of the builders. The images finally halted on one face. A face he knew well.

One that had filled his own belly with the same consuming hunger that radiated from the boys. Joseph felt a sudden flash of rage. No, not her. She is mine. You can have anything, anyone else you want, but not her. Promise me, and I'll give you whatever you want. There was a moment's pause, as if the owner of the voice was considering his offer before it returned. Joseph wasn't sure how he knew it, how he sensed it, but he could feel that the owner of the voice was pleased.

Its satisfaction wrapped around him like a warm blanket and became his own. It was a good bargain. What was a little more blood, a few more accidents. No one had died after all. There was that maid, of course, but that had been an accident, and the girl had no business wandering around the building site in the dead of night. She'd probably been drunk. He settled back in his chair, feeling warm and comfortable now,

almost drowsy, as the voice, whatever it was, showed him what it required next. When the sound of screaming reached her again, Lavinia was in her sitting room at the bottom of the tower. She had spent the morning constructing the protective charms her Graham had shown her and was securing a bundle of fabric in which she placed some herbs, salt, and an iron nail with a length of red yarn when she heard a woman's voice raised in a woman. Lavinia jumped to her feet and ran into the foyer, following the screams toward their source.

She found the maid, the same woman who had warned her away from the construction site when the young builder had been crushed in the library. A room on the first floor whose beautifully constructed shelves had yet to be filled with more than a handful of books. The poor woman appeared to have tripped and fallen into a little. an ornate mirror in the far corner of the room. Glass littered the floor, and she was on her knees in the middle of it. One hand held out in front of her, the fingers of the opposite wrapped around her wrist. A long, jagged shard of glass pierced the maid's hand. As Lavignia watched, she let go of her wrist and was shaking fingers pulled the glass from her flesh. She cried out in pain and blood poured from the wound, pooling on the polished hardwood floor between her knees, and the maid stared

at her injured hand. Her face pale and beaded with sweat. Levinia rushed to her side. Kneeling beside the other woman, she fished a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and wrapped it tightly around the wound. When she looked over her shoulder, ready to call for help, she saw that a small crowd had already gathered behind them. The housekeeper Newcomb, another maid, and several of the workers who had heard her cries from the unfinished wing of the house. A heavyset woman wearing an apron, her sleeves folded up to her elbows, and her hair tied back with the scarf was already hurrying towards them. From the liberal dusting a flower on her apron, Levinia surmised she must be Cook.

She knelt down next to the maid, gripping her by the elbow, and Levinia did the same with the opposite arm. And between the two of them, they gently helped the unfortunate woman to her feet. Cook nodded politely to Lavinia. Thank you, miss. I'll take care of her now. Newcomb detached herself from the crowd to join the two women, resting a supportive hand on the maid's elbow as she and Cook led her toward the back of the house. The other maid hurried forward with the broom and dustpan and hand,

and Lavinia stepped out of her way, carefully shaking bits of glass from her own skirts as she backed toward the door she had come through. The crowd of onlookers began to disperse. Clancing toward them, Levinian noticed Joseph standing near the opposite door, leading into the back hallway. His eyes were focused intently on the blood that had pulled in one corner of the room. His expression, avid on his lips, was the ghost of what might have been a smile. Well, hey there, family. Darker grow the days spent in the place that is not a place in the house that is not a house.

There has been blood. There will be more. There are only three episodes left in season six of old gods of Appalachia long shadows. So why don't we all join hands and step into the dark together? There's safety in numbers, y'all, until there ain't. Speaking of places it is safe to gather in the dark, our paid subscription service, The Holler, is a welcoming space where you can find exclusive storylines like Build Mama a Coffin, Black Mouth Dog, Unhallowed Grounds, and so much

more. There are exciting things coming, family, and Holler residents will be the first to see them crest on the horizon. Show your support and join the Holler today. Just head on over to Old Gods of Appalachia.com slash The Holler. And if you'd like to walk this world bearing the mark of your bloodline or the sigil of the dark thing that has claimed you, then head on over to our merch store where you can find T-shirts, shorts, or sundry home goods bearing the likenesses of your favorite denizens from the world of Old Gods of Appalachia. Make your way to merch. Dot old gods of Appalachia.com and put your hard-earned company script on the barrelhead. And this is your, does it have to be human? Does it have to be mine reminder 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. Our intro music is by Brother Land and Blood, and our outro music is by Lunar Grove. The voice of Miss Lavinia was Cam Collins. The voice of Joseph Blan was Willie Repelie. Talk to you soon. family. Talk to you real, so. It's because I'm so.