Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 30: The Dead Queen

Episode Date: July 15, 2021

We gather to face the dark. Together.CW: Gore, monster violence, mutilation, frank discussion of historical racism, assault, references to lynching, references to death of a child, descriptions of the desecration of dead bodies and cult activities.  Written by Cam Collins & Steve ShellNarrated by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellDirected by Steve Shell Produced by Cam Collins and Steve ShellAdditional character voices by Stephanie Hickling Beckman, Shasparay Irvin, Cam Collins, Brandon Sartain, and Special Guest Dr. Ray ChristianCultural sensitivity consultation by D.J. Rogers and Kataalyst AlcindorIntro Music: “The Land Unknown (The Hollow Heart Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro Music: “I Cannot Escape The Darkness” 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/episodes.Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of DeepNerd Media and is distributed by Rusty Quill. 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 whole, anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Family, it's a word we use a lot around here. We call each other family because we are connected by the blood under these mountains, if not by the blood in their veins. Around here, we've watched families be destroyed by the very things they needed to survive,

be it a paycheck in the grinding dark of the minds or the grace of a God they weren't taught to understand or question. These families ended up being torn, stem and bloom from the earth and cast into inner darkness. But sometimes such a sundering left behind a root that grew and blossomed into stories of chosen families that stitched themselves together out of desolation. A child whose family was wiped from the face. of the earth save only himself became a part of two new families in trade sisters reached out and attempted to heal old wounds to connect with the scattered threads of their

particular warp and weave and these are just stories of course but they've all led us here to a place with no name and no marker on any map in the company of haints and witches and other things with a thousand names between them as family, to stand as a barrier between the living world queen. The spring air and baker's gap still clung to the soft coolness of the love letters these mountains seem to write to winter until summer smacks their hands and tells them to quit it. The town itself was just starting to trust in the warm, spring afternoons even if they were betrayed by chilly twilights and would be until late May.

Marcy Walker was anything but chilly as she bustled about the various rooms of the sprawling homes she built, dotting the eyes and crossing the teas of a thorough spring cleaning. The Walker House's guest floor was normally orderly and clean, but Marcy insisted that everything needed to be just so for this particular gathering. Her backyard visitor had made it clear that she would be expected to extend hospitality to two other women and their respective kin, should they accompanied them, and that their safety and comfort was crucial to the success of the seemingly impossible task they would set out to do. The Walker House would be the base of operations for this dread business,

given the gaps proximity to the unnamed plot of land where all this would have to end. So with help from Melvin and Clara, Marcy had readied the guest rooms and cleaned the whole house from baseboards to eaves. Her sister Ellie had wanted to drive down from Esau County and was rather annoyed when Marcy told her, no. Point of fact, they'd bickered pretty hot down the phone lines about it, but ultimately Marcy prevailed. Ellie didn't have a role to play in the upcoming working,

and her time would be best spent looking after cowboy. Given his tie to the thing they were working to bind, it was safest for him to stay as far away from Baker's Gap as he could. Ellie had grown quite fond of the boy and Marcy knew she'd give her last breath to keep him safe. So Melvin had made the requisite market runs and the pantry and larders were well-stocked

to entertain a small army, much less a handful of women whose ages ranged from sunrise to sunset who'd probably be too nervous to do more than peckets and biscuits. Still, Marcy knew this could very well be the last time she got to play hostess,

depending on how this fool's errand turns out, she was determined to do it right. And besides, Granny Underwood was coming. Marcy hadn't been sure Miss Marigold was still alive, or even if any of the Underwoods that bore gifts were still in these mountains.

Lots of black folks had done up and left the Coal counties in West Virginia and elsewhere for better jobs and employers who might not actively want to kill you or run you out of town. Growing up, Marcy hadn't known much about the Underwoods at all. a famously gifted family who kept to themselves, or at least out of the side of the white folks,

of that particular part of Appalachia. Her mama always had spoken highly of the herbs and powders and tinctures you could get from the underwoods of Oak Mountain. See, it was one thing to be powerful gifted. It was another to be a good granny and tender of the green. The Underwood's gardens were kept with a level of care that most people could only dream of. And that wasn't magic, it wasn't a gift,

It was just hard work and the expertise gleaned from decades of it. Marcy had known grannies without a lick of any special powers or skills that could grow mugwort or rew that would be better than anything an indifferent gardener like her could ever coax out of the ground. The Underwoods just happened to have both the gift and the skill. In particular, they were known to grow some of the most powerful and dangerous plants you could gather for a working. Akinite, Belladonna, devil's trumpet, all beautiful, all powerful, and all required extreme caution to grow safely. Marcy wouldn't have attempted to keep them on her land, but the Underwoods had tended and harvested them without incident for decades.

The giant man in the Sunday suit had referred to Miss Underwood as the fire of the mountain in his peculiar way and naming people all the way through when he spoke of them, and that felt right. but Marigold Underwood wasn't a raging blaze that burned and consumed she was the communal hearth of a family in a community she was the heat of a forge that tempered her family into steel ever burning and stalwart her gift lay in resilience in a steadfast resolve that we will survive this and there ain't nothing nobody nor nothing can do to stop us Marcy had hoped some part of the family still remained in the area

but she never expected to meet Miss Underwood herself. Supper was underway, but still a good hour when both the wards and the sound of an approaching engine let Marcy know the first of her guests had arrived. She knew before she reached the front door who it must be. The green up in Esau County on the Virginia-Kentucky state line had its own feeling and smell, like fresh split pine and coal smoke

that tended to flavor the magic of the world. workers who lived there. She could sense it on Ellie sometimes when she'd been staying at her place up that way a while. And whoever had just pulled up front was steeped in that power. It wafted like the smell of cinnamon off an apple pie for the young woman in the passenger seat of the dust-covered nash that had just pulled up to a stop in the main drive. A tall young man of remarkable proportions rose from the driver's side of the car and walked around to the back.

Dealey, go on now, girl. Make your manners. I got them bags. Go on. And the big man was true to his word. Popping the trunk and stacking all of their luggage on top of a massive steamer. Then easily lifting the whole load all at once over to the front porch steps. Between the arrival of their mysterious collar, Melvin, and now this sweet-faced giant, Baker's Gap, was just swimming in big men, it seemed.

Thank you, Indiana. The girl said sweetly. She was pretty in her late teens with honey-streaked light brown hair, and she wore a neat-one. and she wore a neat navy pleated skirt, a white blouse with a striped sailor collar and sensible shoes. She strode over to Marcy with her hand extended politely. Miss Walker, I'm Delia Hubbard. This is my cousin, Indiana Boggs.

Thank you for having us. I'm so honored y'all thought of me. Now, I'm still learning from what my ma'amaw bags left me. But we're here to help. I appreciate y'all coming down on such short notice, Miss Delia. Oh, please. It's Dealey. Well, Miss Dealey, let's get y'all settled in.

Supper will be on soon. Melvin Blevins had been traveling since before Sunup. And frankly, though he was well used to ferrying people and goods around the greater Baker's Gap area and usually enjoyed the work, he was about done with the inside of this truck. He was about done with these busted-ass old roads, and he was already done with the first of two picnic baskets Miss Marcy had back for him. he'd been forbidden to open the second until he had picked up his passengers. He was tired. He was hungry, and he had miles to go before he could rest.

But if the folks he'd been sent to fetch were on time, they could get back to the gap just in time for supper. But for the moment, Melvin's journey had ended here, just outside a withful Virginia, which was the midway point between Oak Mountain up in West Virginia and Baker's Gap. He was a good bit north of the town limits, parked in the back lot of a small family funeral home.

It stood out here alone. No other businesses or houses around it. Folks not much like can deliver due business with the constant shadow of mortality looming over their shoulders. But the windows were boarded up, and it appeared to be abandoned. The side out front was faded and illegible. The land around it seemed drained of color.

and the sky overhead hung heavy with clouds the shade of morning. First he'd seen on this whole trip. Melvin knew who he was picking up. He also knew why he was in the middle of nowhere and not in town proper. Withful had been in all the papers just a couple of years ago. A young black man had been lynched and left on display not far from a local church way over on the other side of town, and the story only got out because there was a bunch of reporters in the area

covering some government business and the outcry. Y'all, the outcry was tremendous, but the result was predictable. Silence. Then a drunken confession from a single white man out of a mob of 50, who of course was acquitted. Melvin, to his shame, had forgotten the whole thing until he passed the bright and cheery, welcome to wiffle, sign on his way through. Before he had time to ruminate further, though, A royal blue Packard sedan looking like it just pulled off the showroom floor

rolled into the back lot and parked directly across from Melvin. The driver, a sharply dressed black woman whose pinstripped suit seemed to have been coordinated with the car's brilliant color scheme, motion for Melvin to get out of his truck. And Melvin threw up a hand in acknowledgement and climbed down from the cab. Stay right there. Nina Jennings snapped from across the way. You Blevins,

Uh, yes, um, Melvin Blevins, that's me. You got any proof of that? Melvin Blevins. Uh, proof? A letter, some papers, something that says you are who you say you are? Uh, I, uh. Do you know who that is back there, Melvin Blevins? Melvin was flustered.

His pickups and drop-offs did not usually come with requests for paperwork. Uh, I know that that must be Miss Underwood and you must be her daughter, Miss Jennings. But do you know who she is? Nina persisted. Uh, well, I know Ms. Underwood is real important, and I'm to make sure y'all have everything you... That is my mother, Mr. Blevins. That's who that is. I don't expect you to understand how important she is outside of that, but my job is to get her where she needs to be and keep her safe. Now, how am I supposed to get in some dirty old truck with the likes of...

Well, with somebody like you, when you can... can't even prove who you say you are. Nina? Nina turned and surprised to find her mama standing right behind her. She hated it when she snuck up on her like that. What I tell you? I know you don't think it's safe, but it's what we have to do. But Mama, he could be anybody.

Do you know where we are right now? What happened here? I know, baby. But if Brother Bartholomew says we trust him, we trust him. Nina rolled her eyes in disbelief that her mama was operating on the word of some stranger who just turned up on the porch on her birthday and told her she needed to go down to Tennessee to fight monsters or some such nonsense. We can ask somebody to speak for him if that makes you feel better. Mama, you've been traveling all day.

You're tired? You don't need to be doing no. Mary Gold Underwood ignored her daughter and stepped forward. Look at Melvin's up and down. My, my. They make them big down in Tennessee, don't they? There's plenty that would speak for this man, I believe. Uh, ma'am, Melvin was thoroughly off balance by now. Wait, Mama, I'll do it.

Nonsense, baby. Here, you take one hand, I'll take the other, and we'll both see. Mr. Blevins, would you allow us to hold your hands, please? Melvin, well acquainted with the things that could happen when someone who moved in the same circles as the Walker women asked permission to touch you, gingerly extended his enormous pause with barely a tremor and only a moment's hesitation. Mary Gold Underwood wrapped her fine bone fingers around his left hand as her daughter did the same with his right. The two women exchanged a look of mutual understanding then joined their free hands together,

closing the circuit among the three of them. The airs seemed to sing with the same. a gentle tension. Marigold and Nina both bowed their heads. Uh, ma'am, who is supposed to vouch for me? I don't, I don't know anybody around. You know plenty of people here, Mr. Blevens. They're always with you. If they'll speak for you, we'll be just fine. I'm sorry, y'all. I just don't under... The dead, Mr. Blevins. The dead can't lie to us. Hush now. Marigold closed your eyes and began and whispering softly. Melvin couldn't make out the words, but then she lifted her head and spoke clearly to the gray sky above...

Is there one that would speak for this man, to give testimony to his heart and the truth of his word? The air and the deserted lot behind the funeral home grew colder. The cloud cover seemed to grow denser, and Melvin would not have been surprised at all if it had begun to snow. Nina looked directly past Melvin's field of vision and gasped a little. Oh, oh, Mama, look, I see a child. Mind your mouth. Marigold tilted her head and leaned in, as if she were listening to someone telling her a secret. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Merrigold murmured, nodding for all the world as if she were listening to a story no one else could hear. Nina's eyes swam with tears as she stared into the space frame, by the three of them. She didn't utter a word, but the heartbreak on her face of what she saw spoke volumes. Oh, he's stubborn, is he? I bet he is.

Yes, yes, daddies can be like that. They sure can. But in the end, he did the best he could. Yes, child? Mm-hmm. I bet he did. Hmm. Hmm.

Yes, I hear you, baby. I hear you. It's all right. It's all right. You can go now. We appreciate you, and we thank you for speaking with us today. Thank you so much. Goodbye now.

Melvin's breathing had grown heavy, and his own eyes were brimming as he looked back and forth between Nina and Marigold unable to speak. The two women appeared deeply engaged in a moving conversation with the empty space in the center of their circle, and he was still so confused, but his heart... Oh, y'all, his heart swelled and ached, and he couldn't say why. He was just overcome with a brutal sadness that broke and washed into relief as the two women gently slid their hands from his. For the briefest moment,

As the cloud cover broke and sunlight began to bleed back into the day, he could have sworn he heard her voice. Just the faintest whisper, Vera. Melvin squeezed his eyes shut and let the tears fall. You raised a strong girl, Mr. Blevins. Marigold said gently, reaching out to give his arm a comforting pat. Melvin heaved a great shuddering breath, Wapped his eyes and nodded.

Ms. Marcy said y'all had a place to leave your car. Nina's going to put her pride and joy inside the garage of that old funeral home over there. We know some people that is going to keep an eye on it till we get back. Nina Jennings pulled the flashy Packard around and unloaded their bags. Then navigated the car into the garage that must have once housed the home's funeral wagon. Once the doors were shut and secured with a heavy old chain, and padlock. Melvin loaded the bags into the back of his truck, covered him with a tarp, and produced the second picnic basket Miss Marcy had packed.

Uh, if y'all are hungry, uh, we, we got sandwiches. Seeing the hopeful glint in Melvin's eyes, Marigold looked at Nina and laughed. I think we're all right, Mr. Blavins. Well, help yourself. Now, I think we should get a little bit of it. on road, don't you? The Underwood's arrival at the Walker House came an hour or so after the delegation from Esau County had arrived and went as smoothly as one could hope.

Melvin introduced Miss Underwood and Miss Jennings, and Marcy introduced Miss Dealey and her cousin Indiana. Melvin and Indiana hit it off famously and spent the time before supper helping win ass, but otherwise keeping out from underfoot. Melvin was happy to show off some of the improvements he'd made to the upper verandas, as well as a couple of rocking chairs he made, and Indiana allowed that it was right fine work and invited Melvin to come up to the hauler sometime

and see the wood shop he was working on out back of their property. Supper wasn't all-out affair. If this was the last meal Marcy Walker ever made, it would be one to remember. The menu featured buttermilk-fried chicken. Melvin's clara's green beans and fat back, cornbread, collards that sang with just the right kiss of vinegar, mashed taters with a brown gravy that her mama

only made when special company come by and enough iced tea to baptize the congregation of Risen Creek Baptist to wash it all down. It was a proper family meal. Marcy had risen from the table and was about to head into the kitchen to continue the onslaught of cookery with a battery of fresh-baked pies, cakes, and assorted puddings for dessert when she looked up suddenly. Melvin, she said shortly. Melvin was on his feet faster than most might credit a man of his size. following Marcy to the door. Outside, they could see someone making their way from the road to the front steps.

The ward scribed into the very stone and soil of the Walker House sounded a gentle alarm to Marcy ahead of their arrival. She turned the porch light on and stepped out to peer into the gathering dusk at four people walking up the path to the house. Melvin lingered just inside the door just behind her. Their unexpected visitors stopped at the top of the front steps and seemed a bit confused as to why they could move no further, but after a moment of befuddlement, the leader of the small band recovered themselves and smiled up at them hopefully. Ladies, my name is Evelyn Burgess, and this is Georgie Triplett. We're with Good Mother Ministries. Marcy noticed that the speaker failed to introduce the two men who hung back, one of whom she recognized as Seth VIII.

Varner, known thief and general troublemaker. The other one was a stranger, but he had the posture of a man who anticipates doing bad things. Marcy felt the ward's thrum and warning as she'd looked at each of them in turn before speaking. She'd heard some troubling things about the services up on Peters Creek and thus was on her guard. Can we help y'all? It's a little late for a social call, ain't it? We're just finishing up supper. The woman introduced as Georgie Triplett bubbled right up.

Then we're just in time, ain't we, speaker? She smiled mischievously at Evelyn Burgess. We sure are. We heard you had company come to town, and we thought we'd bring a sweet treat, along with the blessed news of the good mother. Evelyn Burgess lifted a baking pan wrapped in a cloth napkin. Huckleberry cobbler!

Marcy listened with half an ear as the speaker and their companion rattled on about the cobbler. Her attention fixed more closely on the song. of the wards as they reacted to Georgie Triplett's voice. The two men were troubled for sure, but that perky little thing was the real threat. Is everything all right out here? Came Deely Hubbard's voice as she came out onto the porch, moving alongside Melvin to greet the group with a smile.

Ooh, is that cobbler I smell? Deely inhaled deeply, as of savoring the idea of dessert, but her eager expression quickly turned to confusion. That's an unusual smelling dish you have there, friends. What's in it? Huckleberries, said Evelyn, uncovering the golden brown crust and releasing the aroma of baked goods into the evening air. We just wanted to come by and talk with y'all about the miracles of the good mother and share with y'all the glory of her gospel. The speaker of Good Mother Ministries was startled into silence. As Granny Underwood abruptly shouldered her way between Marcy and Melvin and stuck her,

her finger right through the middle of the cobbler, scooping out a healthy sampling of its warm and gooey inside. Marigold looked closely at the fruit filling, but did not taste it, instead sniffing carefully. Then flinging the off into the grass, she frowned hard as she took the napkin that had been covering the cobbler from a stunned Evelyn and wiped the mess from her fingers. I think you might have made a mistake in your berry picket. That was pokeberries, don't. That's Hopeberries, darling. They'll kill you dead and tendonels, especially mixed up with that laudum

you got up in there, too. Evelyn frowned, shocked of the older woman's display. Uh, no, ma'am. Um, Georgie brought me these huckleberries just this afternoon. I think I know the difference between the Granny Underwood shook her head.

Honey, I don't have plenty of desserts left on my doorstep that would have put me in the ground quicker and greased lightning if I'd been ignorant enough to eat them. I know from what grows out the ground and what can put you under. You got you a pan full of poison there is what you got.

Evelyn sputtered, no, ma'am, I'd never make anything to hurt anyone. Tell them, Georgie. Are you sure these were huckleberries? I just, before anyone could say anything else, the wards of the Walker House engaged the situation. The air became churril. charged and tingling, like the moment before a thunderstorm kisses the upper limbs of an unfortunate oak tree.

Suddenly Evelyn Burgess hollered and dropped the cobbler pan to the porch as it grew hot enough to sear her fingers. The assembled women watched as it blackened and burned as though it had been left in the oven too long. Marcy stepped forward. Her jaw set. She could sense the energy flowing through the workings that protected her home. No, that had been a warning shot. There would not be another. I think y'all better go.

If you walk away now, we'll pretend this was a recipe gone wrong, and we never have to see each other ever again. If you don't. Well then, and she looked down at the scorched pan and gave a slight shrug. Georgie Triplett bared her teeth and snarled. Fools! All of you! You could have gone quietly and let the good mother get on with her work, but now she'll build her altar with your bones too.

Georgie? Evelyn Burgess seemed shocked and hurt. Georgie, we just come here to talk, to try to correct their path and show them the mother's mercy. Did you put something... Shut up, Evelyn! The time for talking is done. You're not fit to leave the good mother's flock no more.

This isn't about her mercy. It's about her power. And her glory, you came out here to talk? To talk? To who? A bunch of old hores and witches who want to stand in her way? What blessing did you ever seek, speaker? Whose blood have you called for? Georgie spat on the ground.

Her eyes wild and fanatical. A night sky's worth of darkness and hurt-filled rage swam in that mad gaze. As she jabbed her finger at Marcy's face, accusingly, she's going to tear y'all apart and take this world for her glory and her name. And there's nothing any of you can do. There was a sound like a branch breaking in winter, and Georgie Triplett was flung backwards off the porch and end of the two men who tumbled to the ground with her in a tangle of limbs

hitting every step on the way down. Marcy turned cold eyes to Evelyn, who still stood on the porch untouched. You should go. I think your flock has gone stray. and if you don't wrangle them, I will. Miss Walker, I swear I never, Melvin stepped in before Marcy wrangled anyone. He hadn't seen Miss Walker this angry in a long, long time.

He held his hands up in a peacekeeping gesture. You need to get on now, with or without them. Get off Miss Walker's property. Now. Marcy raised her voice and spoke loud enough so the two men and young woman getting to their feet could hear, If y'all are standing here by the time I close that door and turn off the porch lot,

I ain't going to feel sorry for what happens to you. Marcy, Melvin, and the other women turned and went back in the house, ignoring the ranting threats of Georgie Triplett as the two men and the speaker of Good Mother Ministries dragged her away into the dark. The next couple of weeks were spent preparing the working they'd need to perform at the new moon.

There were herbs and stones and other items that needed to be gathered and blessed. There were notes that Marcy had taken when she spoke with Bartholomew that she needed to compare with Ms. Marigolds. There was plenty to teach Dealey who'd never taken part in any group ritual, much less something on this scale. Nina, Indiana, and Melvin assisted wherever they could, but the bulk of the work fell to the women who'd be performing the bian. and that burden, they'd have to shoulder alone.

Before they knew it, the moon had waned to the thinnest sliver of a glowing white crescent, and then one evening as Marcy, Miss Marigold and Dealey, sat around the kitchen table after supper going over their plans for what would be one of the last times, there was a knock at the kitchen door. Marcy was startled. Once again, her wards had failed to alert her, but not entirely surprised, when she peered through the window to find Brother Bartholomew standing on her back porch. She showed him into the kitchen and offered him a coffee and a slice of pie, which he declined,

and invited him to sit. He'd come to check on their progress and answer any last-minute questions they might have about the upcoming ritual. The three women dutifully went over the plans they'd made, the preparations that were just about complete. Bartholomew offered advice here and there, small tweaks that could make this sigil stronger and that charm more potent, but overall, he seemed pleased with their work. When he asked if anyone had any other questions that he could answer, Dealey finally found her courage and blurted out. Well, I'd just like to know. How did all this get started anyway? Who is the dead queen?

Bartholomew nodded solemnly. That's a fair question, oh, Hope of Boggs holler. I've asked you to risk your life in this undertaking, and so I owe you an answer. He stretched, leaned back in the upright kitchen chair, making himself more comfortable, and began to tell the tale. As you all know, the birth of a child is a miraculous thing. A portal from one world opens through a body of flesh and bone. and out pops a whole new soul, who in the best of times will be loved and held dear.

But when times are hard, another mouth to feed can be the straw that breaks the back of whatever beast of burden you prefer. In harder times, during the selling of this land, those extra miles sometimes ended up abandoning in the wilderness to be returned to the God that made them. This was not the case in our storm. and more is the pity, as many folks would have been better off if it had. The mother was a young girl who'd fallen under the spell of a much older man, who'd promised he'd provide for her and the babe, and it must be said that he did provide. For her, he provided a shallow grave behind the place of his work. For the babe, he provided a long wagon ride to meet its intended family,

who waited in deep places between the old mountains. To him, the babe was not a babe at all, but merely a vessel. A vessel born filled to the brim with the most vile of unliving shadows, a shadow older than the stony foundations of the very mountains around them. Such a shadow brought into this world by betrayal and blood was far too powerful to be contained in such a small body for long. So another was chosen, and prepared to take its place yet another young woman, alone in the world, with no one to turn to.

They chose poorly. The new vessel refused to be filled. She resisted and she fought. Ultimately, she triumphed. With the father dead and the sponsors from under the mountains scattered, the babe was left at the mercy of the woman who had been meant to be its replacement. She, of course, saw only an infant, left alone in the woods amongst blood and darkness, and sought to lend it aid and succor, for her heart was kind.

She took it up, not knowing for what it was, and it cleaved to her breast, and latched onto her bosom, and filled her with as much of the oblivion and raised that pulse within it as it could. Before finally, desperately, she pushed back her own kind heart and green fire alight, and the swallowing, mauled. swallowing maw of the thing's hunger. The inner dark in the green, locked in a perpetual struggle over the magic rich body of an orphan girl who was not allowed to die. For seven years, the two souls fought for control, wandering the hills, looking for all the world like a mother and child. Sometimes the woman slept in the child brought terror and death to all who dwelt among the hills. Whole towns vanished in sinkholes, an entire coven of those who served the

beings of the inner dark were laid waste in an evening. Unthinkable creatures, summoned from the bones of things that had died in the place where she stood, rose to serve her every violent whim. Other nights the woman wretch controlled away and forced them to stand stock still in the deep woods for days at a time, or at least, managed to seal the force of destruction. She'd become bound to enough to minimize collateral damage. Occasionally, even do a little good, turning the fury of the combined powers back on those who had bound her in this form, slaughtering their minions, casting their plans into disarray. Eventually, witches and haints, and things alike came to counsel and agreed that the dead queen,

as that taken to calling her must be put down. So a council of seven was convened, three witches, three others, and one greater still, to bind or destroy her. In the end, they managed to bind her in an unmarked grave or a nameless ground. Every seven years, two hanks,

and two witches were returned to show up the binding, where it had weakened over time, as she fought against it, a responsibility that rotated amongst the local gifted bloodlines and through the more powerful of the darker things. It was a terrible fate for a woman who only sought to help an abandoned infant, but she wasn't a complete prisoner. She was forced to sleep in the grave with a child for one year out of every seven. On the years when the binding was renewed, but otherwise she was free to walk the land as she chose before returning to the hell of that unmarked grave. It is a sacrifice few would make,

but it is one she has made up until now. I cannot imagine it was her that broke the cycle. That poor woman, murmured Marcy. Who was she? That is of no concern of yours. Marsha, daughter of Sheila, just know that she would not allow the queen to walk if it was in her power to stop it. Thank you for sharing that with us, Marcy said. I think that's all the questions we have. Bartholomew smiled. Good, good.

You have all three done a fine job. Have courage. We'll have things set to right soon. And with a few other pleasantries, he departed and left them to their work. Come the new moon, the women loaded a couple of bags that held the supplies they need, into Melvin's rusty old truck, and the big man drove them deep into the country, down an empty, rutted road that eventually devolved into a dirt track.

Just a couple of grooves worn into the ground across tall, untended grass, and even those were barely visible these days. It was a road long since forgotten. On ground deemed too tainted for sensible folks to sew or to try to build a homestead, so eventually even the rutted remains of it faded to nothing just at the edge of the woods studded with pines. This is where we get out, Mr. Blevins. Granny Underwood reached for her cane, and Marcy took up her staff as she opened the passenger's side door.

Are you sure, ladies? This don't look safe to me at all. Melvin, we talked about this, Marcy said patiently. You can't come with us. Brother Bartholomew said it's just got to be the folks doing the work. It's too dangerous for anyone to be outside of the wards, we said. But, Miss Walker, you wait right here for us, Melvin. We'll need a ride back to the house when this is all over. But no matter what you hear, no matter what, you wait here till we come out, you promise me?

Melvin sighed. Yes, him, he said reluctantly. I promise. Marcy and Miss Marigold and Dealey climbed down from the truck and Marcy and Dealey shouldered the bags. They weren't heavy so Melvin's help wasn't needed to carry them into the trees and Marcy didn't trust that he'd go back to the truck if she let him help that far but if he promised to wait here he would. He'd wait till hell froze right over if need be. Marcy hoped it wouldn't come to that. Hope they'd

prepared themselves adequately for the trials ahead. The presence of Ms. Marigold lent her confidence a much-needed boost. The older woman had decades of experience to bring to bear, having many times been part of the seven years right to shore up the bindings they were tasked with rebuilding tonight. They'd walked a good 20 yards into the trees when they first caught sight of a faint orange glow ahead of them. Soon they reached a small clearing where a bonfire had been lit alongside a rectangular pit in the ground. Freshly dug earth was mounted up not far from it, though the ground along each side of it had been cleared. A lean, handsome young man with a ginger beard was tending the fire.

He wore a long cloak despite the warmth of the evening. Skit Tom. Seems I always find you here. Tom stood dusting his hands off on his cloak. You know me, ma'am. I always look out for my own interest. In this one case, what's good for the goose is good for the gander too. Evening ladies. He nodded politely to Marcy and Deely, and Deely noticed as he turned his head what looked like a razor-thin-rethin-reli. red line of a cut.

Stretching from behind his ears and disappearing into his beard, she suppressed a shudder, which she imagined would have been impolite. Marcy and Miss Marygold had warned her about skint Tom. It seemed he'd found himself a brand new skin just for the occasion. Is Brother Bartholome you hear? Marcy asked, glancing around the clearing. He was, Tom confirmed. He said he'll be around if we need him, so I imagine he's prowling around the

Woods doing what bears do. Granny Underwood gave him a stern look and admonished him to mind his manners, as Marcy and Dealey began unpacking their supplies. Once they had set out all the tools they would need, Marcy and Miss Marigold began scribing wards of protection around the places they would take up around the pit, leaving an open space for each woman to step inside, at which point she could close her circle. At the older woman's direction, Dealey carefully placed stone. and charm bags at specific points within the complex design,

paying close attention to how each was laid out. She did her best to commit them to memory, copying the sigils into a small notebook she had tucked into her pocket once they were complete. There was a soft rustling in the trees, and a live figure stepped from the shadows and prowled toward their bonfire, resolving itself into the shape of a woman

as she stepped into the light. She was a tiny thing. Just a touch over five feet with pale blonde hair that fell to her waist in silvery waves and green eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness like a cat's. She was also naked. Her pale skin glowing in the firelight, at least where it wasn't painted in a substance that looked suspiciously like blood. In streaks and whorls it covered her breasts and her waist down. over her hips to a few inches above the knee. To Dealey's eye looked for all the world as if she'd painted herself a dress of blood.

The strange woman grinned as she approached them. Evening ladies, Tom. Dealey saw Granny Underwood's lips thin and disapproval, but the older woman merely nodded politely. Miss Levenia, good of you to join us. Miss Marigone. Still alive and kicking, I see. Lavinia said with a wink as she turned her eyes on Marcy. And you must be one of Sheila Walker's Littlins, all grown up.

Still selling your sisters to anybody with two coins to rub together? Her eyes raked over Marcy and she raised a skeptical eyebrow. You don't take much after your mama. I can see why she never asked you to hitch up your skirts. Marcy's eyes narrowed but she didn't respond to the teeth. taunt. She had more important things to worry about than some catty haint trying to get a rise out of her. Lavinia's gaze fell on Dealey, and she stopped. But who is this?

She closed her eyes and drew air in deep through her nostrils as she stepped towards Dealy. Bogs holler. She pronounced, peering at Dealy with her strange, luminescent green eyes. One of Gloria Ann's line. But not of her power. No, not one of those teasly bitches at all. Your whalens get, through and through. I can smell the death on you, girl.

I wondered why the old bear would tap a mere pup for this, but now I see. Clever, clever. Deely glanced nervously at Granny Underwood as Lavinia turned her attention to skint Tom. The older woman gave her an encouraging, Gnard Gnod and said softly, It's all right. Don't let her get under your skin. But don't never turn your back on her either child.

She's far more powerful and more dangerous than she loves. Tom! Lavinia was saying, gazing up at him over one shoulder flirtatiously. Mighty nice suit you got there. I like this one. Very handsome. Scent Tom smiled and strut. stroked his ginger beard, preening.

I'm pretty fond of it. Might try to keep this one around a little while. He dropped Lavinia a coy wink. It's a big hit with the ladies. The shadows around them seem to just shift. And suddenly the five of them were joined by another. And now even Lavinia, for all her swagger, fell silent. What unfolded out of the news?

Dear darkness was a creature of old Appalachia. Before there was even such a name given to this place, a being of the first people, the rightful and betrayed keepers of this land. And for the moment she wore the form of a near giant, stooped over to the height of a man. Long, ratty hair hung about her massive head, drifting in the air as if it were underwater.

Her skin was the color of dense stone, and if she allowed you to perceive her in this form, you would see she was dressed in layers of animal hides. And in her left hand, she held her own beating heart. The first finger of her right hand was long, and spear-like and dripped with a viscous liquid. In the next moment, she appeared as someone different to each of the gathered women. To Dealey, she looked like her mother.

To Granny Underwood, she was a tall man with a wind and smile. that she married years ago. To Marcy Walker, her sister Aggie, she chose to wear the faces of the long dead for the witches. So they wouldn't get confused or distracted during the ritual, but she'd still get to drink in the sorrow of them seeing the ones they missed most. No one can say what old Tom and Lavinia saw when they looked at her. But neither of them looked for too long.

After a few stunned moments, Marcy cleared her throat. All right. Looks like we're all here now. Let's get this over with. Each of them took their places around the unearthed trench in the soil. Granny Underwood and their mercurial newcomer stood each at one end of the short sides. Dealey stood along one long end to Marigold's right, with Marcy across the pit from her at Marigold's left. Lavinia stood on Dealey's right with Tom across from her. Like we talked about before, this is your first time doing this working, so you'll take the part of the wool tonight.

Granny Underwood explained to Dealey. But you part of this covenant now, and one day you'll be called upon to act as weaver, so you pay close attention to what Miss Morrisy does tonight. Dealey nodded. Yes, ma'am. Around her, Deely could see the binding coming together, just as Miss Underwood and Marcy had explained during the time they spent preparing, the ritual was based on the concept of weaving. With the two at the short ends acting as the loom, anchors providing structure and stability for the spell, Deely and Skint Tom provided the wool, lending their power to Marcy and Levinia, who would use it to draw the dead queen back to the grave and weave the binding tight around.

her as the two weavers worked Dealey could feel their combined power ratcheting up around her a living web that had an almost physical sensation against her skin she could almost see it shimmering in the air across from her sweat stood out on Marcy's skin as she worked her attention focused entirely on the work at hand their feet rumbled nearly knocking Deely to her knees as a jagged seam split the ground inside the pit, and a horde of what looked like monstrous spiders spewed forth. Nothing like anything she'd ever seen before. Their jointed limbs composed of thick sinewy vines and half-rotted hairy flesh,

their backs armored with what looked like bone. They opened their colossal mouths in unison, bony mandibles dripping venom and issued forth a keen, high-pitched scream that sent a piercing pain through Dealey's ears, and then the spider things came running right forward. Deely screamed and took half a step back. Don't you move! Marseille! Stay inside your wards!

Deely staled herself, remaining rooted to the spot even as one of the terrifying things launched itself in her direction. She flinched as it seemed to bounce off empty air, just inches from her face. There was a crack like lightning. and a smell of burning hair as the thing collapsed into a pile of ash at her feet. To her right, Lavinia caught one of the things in mid-air as it leapt at her face, grabbing two of its limbs and wrenching it apart with her hands in a splatter of icker and blood,

her laughter ringing through the clearing. Across from her, Tom had his skinning knife out, putting them down one by one as they came at him. At the far end of the pit, the shadow-draped woman who wore Dealey's mother's face was skewering them with that terrifying blade-like forefinger and slinging the corpses into the trees. Suddenly, a shriek erupted from the woods behind Deely, and she whipped her head around

and saw the woman who had come to Marcy's house with the poisoned cobbler, Georgie Triplett, coming out of the trees from the same direction they'd walked in. She held a knife in her right hand, and she was running straight for Granny Underwood. Look out! Deely gasped, but she needn't have worried. Miss Marigold's cane snapped out, fast as a whip, and cracked Georgie over the knuckles. Georgie cried out in pain, dropping the knife and fall into her knees, cradling her injured hands. You bitch!

She snarled. You can't stop her? You're all fools to even try. The good mother will wreak her vengeance on you all. She will doubt this world in blood! She spun about until her eyes found Marcy Walker. You, you whoremonger, you stupid cow! You hide behind your scribbles and scrawls in the dirt like they mean something,

like they can protect you from the might of the good mother. I told you to go home, little girl, Marcy called. You don't know what you're dealing with out here. If these wards think you're a threat, you're good. Whatever Marcy said next was lost in Georgie Triplets, mindless owl, as she drew a second knife from a sheath at her ankle and threw herself at Marcy, where she met the wards, which did now understand Georgie to be a threat. head on.

The result was instantaneous. There was a pulse of orange light. A sharp metallic scent like blood spilled on a hot skillet filled the air. And the ashes that had once been Georgie Triplett wafed gently to the ground. No body, no blood, not even teeth. Just... Dust. Marcy cracked her neck and shrugged, muttering to herself.

Not even a little bit, sorry. Amidst this chaos. Almost unnoticed. A woman with tangled, dark hair and skin white as bone, had stepped silently into the clearing. She was thin, emaciated, really, and her eyes were black as pits, At her bosom she carried a swaddled bundle, the babe.

Its face turned away from her breast now and towards them, eyes glowing green as foxfire and filled with an unmistakable malice, the pair crept slowly, unhurried across the grass. Coming to a halt a good 20 feet away, the woman slowly raised her arms, and a sound like thunder of a dozen horses filled the air as more of the air, as more of the massive spider-like beasts poured into the clearing from the woods all around them. The wards held them off of the three witches, annoying as they must have been for Marcy,

deep as she was in the weaving, but they just kept coming. The strain began to show on the haints who had no such protections in place. Deely could feel the binding around her beginning to waver, weakening in places as Lavinia was continually distracted from the working with wrenching things out of the air, killing them and flinging them away. Deely wished she had a knife like Tom's or a cane like grannies or something to help. As she squinted at the incoming waves of spider beasts, her vision seemed to almost double for a moment.

And then she saw it, a thread, pulsing a sickly green, running along the tentically limbs of the strange creatures. She remembered seeing something like it before and how, if she just followed the seam of that thing, she might be able to find the end of it. There! And Deely snatched at the writhing, wriggling thread of magic that ran through one of the beast and grasped it tight,

not with her fingers precisely, though she clenched her fist, but with her gift itself, and she yanked. And like a loose thread on a ratty old sweater, the whole thing just came apart. The thin strand of death magic that held all the creatures around them together unraveling before her eyes.

The spider creatures collapsed Around them into puddles of slimy ickr, wilted vines and bones, so many bones. Suddenly exhausted by the use of her gift On top of what she was already funneling into the binding, Deely slumped to one knee,

holding herself up off the ground with a hand breathing hard And a high, furious wail split the air. The terrifying sound of the dead queen. The babe itself, howling its rage into the night. The woman's foot stomped once hard on the ground below their feet and there was a deep grinding, tearing sound. The huge rent opened up in the ground

below them. The growing crack raced across the ground toward the small band of workers gathered around the empty grave, tearing through the edge of Marcy's wards. Marcy was too focused on the work at hand to notice. In another wave of twisted creatures, the reanimated corpse of raccoons, possums and other critters bound together with vines and twigs and whatever else was nearby to give them form and shape poured from the trench that had opened in the earth. Skit Tom saw one of them racing straight for the Walker Woman. Well, shit! He took up his trusty knife and leapt for the encroaching monstrosity, tackling it to the ground

just as it tried to launch itself at Marcy. Now, Tom had never been brave in life. He'd never been a hero or even what anybody would call a good man while he still wore the skin he was born with and he'd been a worse one since his skin was off and worse still after that the night he met something under a bridge that gave him more power than he'd ever imagined in changing his face and taking the blood of lovers.

The dark he'd embraced made him stronger and faster than most things walking. By all rights, Stint Tom should be much more widely known and feared than he was but Tom was unlucky at best and cursed at the worst so when he tackled the thing that was making a beeline for one of the weavers and plunged his knife into all three of it

yellow green eyes until it finally went still he was hoping that for once in his long life that his luck might hold and for a second it did thanks to him Marcy managed to sidestep the oncoming horde of

rattle bones and resurrected horrors and she nodded her thanks to him then Tom turned to face whatever was next which turned out to be a nightmarish cloud of bats that seemed to be made up of little more than wings and wide gaping mouths ringed with jagged teeth they descended on Tom like a tornado and within seconds reduced the skinless man the pieces too small to even fish with just like that skit Tom was gone her wool lost Lavinia threw herself into the fray her long-pointed

nails lengthening and growing still sharper as she tore into the reanimated around them, keeping them away from Marcy so that she could continue weaving the binding. They were so close. The work was almost done. The babe was wailing again, this time not just in rage but in pain. The dead queen was slowly and actually coming closer, her skeletal feet shuffling across the grass. But the nearest she came, the more it became apparent that the woman was struggling against the babe's pull. fighting for control of her own legs. She held the babe out in front of her,

trying to pull it away from her chest, but the thing had locked on to her with its tiny claw-lock hands. When she, or they were in range, Lavinia struck. The dead queen's constructs forgotten. Her entire focus suddenly on the real threat. With a wild shriek of laughter,

she leapt at the pair. Her long nails rippling toward the babe's grotesque, wrinkled little head. and the pale woman's arm snapped up, catching the little blonde hanked by the throat in mid-air, and the babe turned its eerie, glowing eyes on her, and Lavinia screamed. Around the grave, Deely and Marcy cried out

at a sudden, horrible pulling sensation in their veins through muscle and sinew, down to their very bones. Granny Underwood gritted her teeth but stood fast. Her focused entirely on her own role as the loom, working with the strange, shadowy woman at the opposite end of the hole to keep the fragile binding they'd woven intact. Dealey could feel her gifts straining against the dead queen's power, knew instinctively that the monstrous child was trying to drain their life away

and fought against it. With a strength, none of them could have imagined. The dead queen flung Lavinia across the clear, and she landed in a heat near the bonfire and lay still. The threat dispatched, the babe turned its eerie, glowing eyes on Marcy and began to advance. Her steps were sure now. The efforts of the poor woman bound to this grotesque mockery of a child apparently exhausted.

Marcy gripped her staff tight and kept working, fast as she could, desperately trying to complete the binding as the woman's pale bony fingers reached for and the woods around them echoed with a furious roar that shook the devastated ground beneath their feet. The sound of snapping branches and crunching grass reached their ears a moment before the biggest bear Dealey had ever seen bounded out of the very earth near the pines. A bear seemingly wholly made of the green itself. Not a raft of animal corpses reanimated into the shape of a monster, but a beast made of living roots, vines, and soil,

a creature that as it charged became muscle, bone, gristle, and teeth, a titanic bear that leapt over the bonfire, lowered its head and rushed the spectral figure in their midst, its massive head connected with the pale woman in a bone-jarring crunch, tackling her into the pit that awaited her. Before she had time to resist at all, the bear dissolved back into the green like a landslide, burying the woman and child beneath an ocean of earth and filling the grave with the thunderclap of power that seemed to shake the very bones of the world.

The power of the babe had been draining from them snapped back like a spring let loose, the recoil knocking the three witches from their feet. Marcy recovered from the shock of it first. We've got to hurry, she snapped. Are you still with us? From the other side of the clearing, they heard a muffled groan, but a moment later, the blonde haint came limping back to resume her place. She was even paler than before,

and one of her arms twisted at an angle that made deily nauseous to look at, but she resumed her work without complaint. With Tom out of the picture, all of them would need to pour more of their power into the working, but the most powerful among them, the unnerving shade who wore their loved ones' faces stepped up to provide most of it. And finally, after several more nerve-wracking minutes that seemed like hours, the binding tightened into place like lacing up a corset,

the power sinking into the ground, anchoring the monstrous vessels safely in the earth. It was done. It was quiet in the days after. The battle had consequences both expected and unforeseen. All three witches had survived. the harrowing night, but Granny Underwood and Deely Hubbard had been, well, changed. Deely's youth and deep well of a gift had mostly shielded her from the life-stealing magic of the dead queen, but it had turned one of the honey streaks in her hair a deep ash gray,

stole most of the remaining baby fat from her face and lent her eyes a gaze far older than her years would indicate. The opposite was true. of Miss Marigold, though, who seemed to have absorbed a bit more of her share of power when the green flung it back to them. She walked upright with no need for her cane. Her eyes were bright and focused. The numbness in her left foot that she'd worried about was completely gone. She had easily shed ten years, just like that. Melvin had borne the Mrs. Underwood and Jennings back to Withful Virginia, where their car was still locked away safely and their journey back to Oak Mountain was quiet and uneventful.

Dealey and Indiana departed last, with many promises to visit soon. Melvin and Indy had bonded in their time of worry, becoming fast friends, and there would be much woodcarving when Melvin made it up to Boggs Holler, Indiana promised. Marcy had retired to the confines of the Walker House, where she vowed to sleep for at least a week, which meant she'd be up at eight tomorrow morning doing chores rather than four. So family, as these things go, all was well. In the place that has no name, that does not exist on any map.

A bear sat patiently by a newly filled grave. A bundle of clean clothes lay rolled at his feet. He was a big and handsome beast and showed none of the anxiety that might riddle a lesser creature on a daylight. Today, he waited and he watched. His eyes focused on the still earth of the burial site, and he waited. Eventually after a time, the dark earth stirred, and the bear rose to his feet. He watched as a pale, freckled hand clawed its way through the soil, soon to be joined by its counterpart,

and followed by the rest of the woman they belonged to. as she dug her way out of the ground in which she'd been buried. She looked as though she had enough years that none but the most outrageous flirt might call her young, but she was far from old, and she certainly wasn't dead. Her clothes were tattered, coming apart at the seams. Though the dirt matted it,

her hair still gleamed a vibrant, red. Her gray eyes were tired. The bear greeted her fondly with a deep and resonant. Boy, hey there, old friend. Tell me, how bad was it this time? Well, hey there, family. That was a meaty chunk of something, wasn't it? That's an hour plus of episode 30 The Dead Queen, thus bringing the conclusion to this season two of Old Gods of Appalachia

in the Pines. We ended up where we started. Right back there in the pines where the shade is the bluest but here in the post roll where the shade is the bluest, I am not alone. Usually I am alone in the darkness but I am joined here to say goodbye to this season with our own

Mistress of the Dark, Cam Collins. Cam, how are you? I'm doing great. Good to good to talk to y'all family yeah cam can doesn't get to come on the rssss speed very much unless she's playing miss lavinia or miss dealey so it's nice to have her here as herself um y'all this has been crazy the entirety of this season was produced during during the pandemic um i don't even know how to put that into words i don't know how we got through it it's twice as long as everything else we've done uh we changed careers did we not you

can in the course of we we yeah we both we both changed careers and had to just completely readap to working full time in a very different way than we're used to it's it's insane this if they want to call it art art or podcasting or content creation it's stressful just going to put it out there it's a little bit stressed a little bit stressed but i love it y'all y'all think it's easy i'm sure it's like oh what a great it's not it's not it's hard but um anyway thank y'all much for being here with us for season two of in the pines. We've got some special shoutouts, of course, because it's the end of the season. I want to give a shout out to our agent, Charlie Ferraro, UTA.

Our attorney, Joel Vandercluat at Vandercloot Law. I know it's weird to thank a lawyer, but I can't tell you everything, but Joel has made this show, that whole transition to it being our full-time job thing. Thank you, Joel Vanderclupe. That's our man. Shout out to Callum and Alex. And yes, that's Alex P. Newell over at the Rusty Quill Network. for helping us sell ads.

And on the topic of ads, those were brand new for season two. So thank you to all of our sponsors from Sucre Bay to above the tie and everybody in between. I totally pulled those two names at random. Don't get mad at me. But thank you to all our sponsors who bought space with us and traded ads with us throughout season two. You too have helped keep the lights on. Thank you to all of our Patreon patrons. Holy crap.

Patreon, you guys are everything. I stop by the Discord and tell you that in the Patreon channel all the time, but seriously, seriously, thank you. And Patreon, patreon.com slash old gods of Appalachia. You can get Build Mama a Coffin Door under the floor, Blackmouth Dog, the Build Mama Coffin prequel, as well as Porchlight, as well as Porchlight, our new Flash Fiction series,

which will feature a bunch of guest authors too, I'm hoping, is going to be happening very, very soon. We'll have release dates on those. And, Cam, you got some folks you want to thank as well. Oh, absolutely. First of all, just to echo your thanks, thank you so much to all of our Patreon family. You guys, you keep the lights on, you keep the cats fed, you really, you make this possible for us. And we appreciate every single one of you so much.

Thank you so much for everything you do. And thank you for being patient when it's come. We're finally getting caught up on all of our rewards. And the role, there is stuff at the gaming front that is stirring as soon as this season is over. maybe we'll have an announcement Maybe, maybe not Now we're Very soon after we finish up

After we wrap this up We're going to take a little vacation time But then we are actually We're getting into some gaming related things So stay tuned Yep so hopefully those of you Who have been waiting very patiently On those upper tiers of Patreon

To play some role-playing games with us We'll have something to do And some things to look at very, very soon Kim who else you got to think there Oh gosh First of all So importantly, the wonderful, just incredibly talented voice actors who joined us and helped make this season a reality. Mr. Yuri Lowenthal, the Buttercream Dream, Mr. Cori-Rine Forrester.

Scoo! Stephanie Hickling Beckman, the amazing voice of Grandi Underwood, Dr. Ray Christian, who played the voice of Bartholome. Search for Dr. Ray Christian on YouTube. There are a thousand examples of him telling stories for the moth for a snap judgment. He's been all over NPR. He is a world-class world champion storyteller. Just absolutely amazing. I've been fortunate enough to attend, you know, an event where he was storytelling and he's just, he's phenomenal.

Shasperay Irvin, amazing poet who played Nina Jennings. Just absolutely fabulous. Find Shasbury on Button Poetry and other places online. Our cultural sensitivity consultants that we've acquired, you know, your friends, hopefully, you know, and my friends, I'm getting to know them now. Catalyst Alcindor and DJ Rogers, thank you both so much. You've just, you've helped us so much with this season, especially the last couple of episodes. I'd also like to thank Deep Nerd Media family here. The wonderful Ms. Jamie Shell, who helps keep our books and wrangles the Steve Cat.

Brian Gibson, who is now helping with our patron reward fulfillment and wrangles the Cam Cat, those two people who help keep us sane, No, stop panicking. Everything's. And that goes my second brain, Sister Heather Hawkins, who handled some social media stuff and other Patreon things for us,

who puts my brain in her back pockets as you can have it back when you stop being mean to it. The rest of our Facebook mod team, Jennifer Klebor and Brandon Stanborough, thank you both so much for helping us moderate everything. Oh, and Shannon. Over on Discord, yes.

Thank you. Thank you so much. and on a personal note I would just love to thank my friends Ketley Dorgan David Beerman Shelly Toller Franz

Jennifer Yee Elizabeth Burial And honest All of my friends From the BPAL Guspi's group Who've been so kind And supportive

Of me personally And of the show Just I mean Since we launched These All of these friends have just, you know, promoted us and shared everything that I've shared

and been just super supportive and thoughtful. Thank you all so much. Also shout out to all my friends in the Society for Creative Anachronism. When we launched Old Gods, I was doing a podcast called the Known World Bardcast for the SCA, and a lot of those listeners translated right over to us and into Patreon.

So some of those folks have been giving me money for a long time. So super shout out to my nerd friends who dress up in medieval clothes and hit each other with sticks in the woods. Love y'all. Season two has been wild. It's been big. It's been wandering all over the place,

telling you a bunch of stories that all wrap up and connect, as you're seeing. Season three is going to be something very special and very different. But before we get to season three, Cam... Before season three, you can look forward to a very special trilogy

by our friend Jordan Shively, none other than at hottest singles, dread singles, on Twitter. Jordan is an absolute. just a pillar and cornerstone and a delight, but he's a pillar and a cornerstone as well as a delight of creepy short fiction on Twitter. He was, when he became a friend of the show,

I was super excited, so I've been a fan of the stuff Jordan has been doing on Twitter for a while. And just a super nice human being as well. That trilogy will announce a release date for it in the very near future, just like anything else in the very near future. Because guess what? We're tired.

We're real tired. It's been a long non-stop ride And we're going to take it We're about to take a little vacation Yes We're going to take a little break And then we will start announcing The new stuff on Patreon for summer and fall very soon

Shortly after that The trilogy by Jordan Shively And then after that you'll get the release date for season three Until then go re-listen If you haven't joined us on Patreon Patreon.com slash old gods of Appalachia Build Mama coffin is there As well as door under the floor

And there's going to be a ton of new stuff on there very, very shortly, going to be a well-worthy, it's going to be a worthy investment. That's all I'm going to say. And just, you know, just a pro tip, friends, you absolutely want to listen to build Mama a coffin before you listen to Sam of the new stuff. Yep, yep.

And this is your everyday reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of deep nerd media distributed by the Rusty Quill Network. Today's story was written by Cam Collins and Steve Shell. The voice of Brother Bartholomew was Dr. Ray Cronachron. Christian. Granny Underwood was Stephanie Hick and Beckman. Nina Jennings was Shasperay Irvin, Indiana Boggs was Brandon Sartane. Miss Slovenia and Deely Hubbard were none other than Cam Collins and all other voices were yours truly. My name is Steve Shell. We'll see you soon, family. See you soon. See you real soon.