Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 42: A Fool's Paradise

Episode Date: September 8, 2022

Mr. J.T. Fields of Paradise prepares to offer a very specific form of assistance to young Tommy Adkins.CW: Depictions/discussion of poverty and financial stress, alcohol, workplace related supernatural death, light dismemberment, and an industrial disaster. Written by Cam CollinsNarrated by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve ShellIntro music: “The Land Unknown (The Pound of Flesh Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music: "I Cannot Escape the Darkness" written and performed by Those Poor BastardsAdditional audio engineering: Kris HayesSpecial equipment consideration provided by Lauten Audio.Returning sponsor: Sucreabeille – Visit sucreabeille.com and use the code LOVEGODS. Spend $25 anywhere in the store and add a dram of “Attempted Murder” to your cart and get that dram free.LEARN 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.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 Season 3 is brought to you in part by Suchrabe. Sucribe is a woman owned and operated fragrance company dedicated to increasing the visibility and accessibility of products made by independent women makers. With a website packed with stories and lore

connected to their dazzling and fantastically named fragrances, sucrabe provides a truly immersive experience for those who wish to carry the sense of whimsy and darkness with them wherever they go. Their vibrant and engaging Facebook group brings the whole package together, allowing fans to become family, and you know how Cam and I feel about family. As a special thank you to old gods, Ken folks, follow the link in the show notes, spend $25 and use the code, Love Gods, L-O-V-E-G-O-D-S to get a free dram of attempted murder. Sent notes include a misty forest thick with oak moss with a scent of bonfire, Cypress Wade, and us, Manthas.

Sukra Bay, welcome to the dark side. We smell awesome. Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Appalachia is a land that has seen centuries of suffering, all caused in one way or another by men. She is born witness to some of the worst crimes that men in positions of authority inflict on those without the power. to oppose them. And then there are the everyday evils that average folks who generally think of themselves as good people carry out every day.

Acts of bigotry and greed, pettiness and mean-spiritedness. The folks on the receiving end of these injustices, both great and small, tend to be those who have been pushed to the margins of our society. Indigenous folks, black and brown folks, queer folks, folks whose bodies and brains work a little bit differently than most. It is a land where for far too long, too many people have struggled while those who could choose to do the right thing,

to share the wealth they have amassed with those who sacrifice their youth and their bodies and their time to produce the goods that afford them their comfortable lives, look down upon them and simply turn away. It is an environment that is ripe for certain kinds. of stories. Folks whose talents and hard work have been exploited for generation aren't so partial to your moralistic fables so you can keep your ants and your grasshoppers, thanks. Here tales of folks who make their way through the world not through toil and labor, but through wit and trickery find their natural home. Give us your sly foxes,

your clever rabbits. It is, of course, the perfect place to hear tales. of Jack. Little wonder then that here in the heart of Appalachia in a pleasant little city by the name of Paradise you may sometimes find a man who currently goes by the upstanding civilized moniker of Mr. J.T. Fields. A sunny afternoon in November of 1935

found this Mr. Fields considering how to best remove his young friend Tommy Atkins from the position he placed him in at lock rail for the better part of week. It was a bit of a delicate problem. Seeing as how Barrow and Locke didn't offer much by the way of a severance package for folks in management or those who served them, not unless one interpreted the term

severance. In a very literal sense, Tommy had served Jack well in his tenure at Lock Rail. He had been privy to correspondents between B&L executives, management, and other entities, which he had committed to memory. Copying in the paper when he had a moment's privacy or in the evenings at home, he had surreptitiously duplicated the notes he had taken during meetings he attended or telephone calls he overheard, and he had excellent recall and could reproduce his employer's schedule from memory on request all of this information he had discreetly funneled to Jack during their weekly and sometimes even more frequent meetings. Tommy had proven himself an uncommonly valuable.

tool. And Jack hated to lose him. But at this stage in the game, the boy had mostly served his purpose. If that weren't the case, Jack would have pursued other means of solving the young and problems. He felt certain he could have persuaded Jenny that Hollywood was no place for a nice girl like her and shouldn't she just come on home and settle down? That would have been the simplest answer. And perhaps Jack should have just called her up and had done with it, but Tommy had sacrificed a lot to support Jenny's dreams of a career in the pictures. Far more than she knew. Anyway, the girl had talent,

and Jack hated to see potential go unexplorted. Besides, Jack had acquired just about all the information he needed. One way or another, it was time to extract the boy from Barrow and Law. Doing so without bringing harm to either Tommy or Jack's interest was proven a challenge, however. One Jack had been ruminating on for the better. part of a fortnight, he had devised and discarded a number of potential schemes as unworkable. He had even briefly considered drafting a letter to the Locke air, requesting that he released Tommy so that the boy might return to his own employ.

But an inquiry of that sort might arouse suspicion to a mind as compulsively paranoid as Nathaniel Locke's. Thus, a Monday afternoon found Jack in his office, settled in his comfy chair before a cozy fire, ruminating once more on the best course of action. In a few hours, Tommy would come by to load the week's deliveries of J.T. Fields special brew into his old pickup truck. He always stopped by the office for a chat as a courtesy, and Jack was loathed to disappoint him once again with news that he hadn't worked out a plan just yet. He was J.T. Fields. He always had a plan. It was a particular point of pride, and it was vexing him that this situation proved so daunting.

As he sat pondering and considering the creative stimulation of draft of his own brew might provide, the heavy black rotary telephone on his desk released a shrill peel. J.T. Fields, how could I help you? Jack, this is Nathaniel. Like the first ray of sunshine piercing through the cloud cover after a storm, the answer presented itself. It seemed that Lock Rail had devised a scheme of their own. In the midst of the rail industry's current economic downturn, the company needed to find a new means of generating revenue.

They planned to introduce a new amenity on board their passenger trains, a whole new car, designed exclusively for the traveler's entertainment. The bar car would be furnished in rich upholstery, tooled, leather, polished wood, reminiscent of the glory days of the speakeasies of the night. 1920s and feature fine spirits and classic cocktails to appeal to their wealthiest passenger, as well as beer in deference to the reduced circumstances so many folks found themselves in these days. The beverage car's grand opening would be celebrated with an exclusive inaugural run from Locke's offices and paradise to the Barrow's headquarters in Pennsylvania. One long party chugging its way north packed with. with B&L executives and their closest associates and overseen by Mr. Nathaniel Locke himself.

Mr. Locke would be delighted to stock his fancy new bar with Fields Distillings finest and to make a gift of several barrels to his counterparts at Barrow. For J.T. Fields, it represented a golden opportunity. As he said his goodbyes and returned the receiver to its cradle, the plan was already forming in his mind. It was, by Jack's standards, nearly perfect. It was simple, elegant, and would accomplish multiple goals at once. He could extricate Tommy from his entanglement with Barrow and Lock,

and thus relieve himself of that nettlesome sense of indebtedness, while removing an increasingly troublesome obstacle from his own path. The one small difficulty might, be ensuring the boy's safety after he played his part but that could be handled easily enough the man currently known as mr. J.T. Fields lifted the telephones receiver again dialed an old acquaintance and called in a favor As the sun sank my friend to these shadows with the old drone As the sun sank gracefully down behind the gentle slopes of the Appalachians and the evening temperatures dropped.

The street lights of paradise sparked to life, their incandescent glow illuminating the small city's wide sidewalks for her citizens as they rushed about. Heading home from a day's work in the offices downtown or hustling into the shops before they closed. closed. It had been a bright crisp November day and was shaping up to be a chilly night, or so the forecast had predicted. It had been a long day at the office as the Barrow-en-Lock, and Tommy Adkins was tired. His employer had been in rare form since early that morning, vacillating between buzzing enthusiasm as they made arrangements for the launch of a new service on board lock rails, passenger trains, and seething rage as he ponded. honored the guest list for its grand opening.

Nathaniel Locke was not especially fond of his colleagues, particularly those affiliated with the barrow half of B and L. Dealing with his mood swings was exhausting for his staff, particularly Tommy, who had a better sense than most of what lurked beneath the man's urbane exterior. As he stepped out into the cool twilight, tipping his hat to the doorman on his way out, Tommy wanted nothing more than to head back to his small apartment. Heat up a jar of the vegetable soup his mama insisted on sending him home with every time he visited

and spent the evening curled up in the comfortable old chair next to the wood stove with the book. He'd begun rereading the Maltese falcon last week. A favorite in part because it had been a birthday gift from Jenny a few years back, but had picked up Hammett's last novel at the drugstore newsstand over the weekend and was eager to dive into it. Unfortunately, that plan would have to wait. It was Monday, and Tommy had deliveries to make on behalf of Fields distilling, so he walked out to his old beat-up model tea,

started her up, and turned toward the small warehouse that housed Mr. Fields' bottling operation. The facility was quiet by the time Tommy pulled his truck up to the loading dock out back. its small staff having already departed for home at least an hour before B&L finally released their employees for the day. He could see a light on in the office, though, which meant Jack would still be here. He had a few bits of information from B&L to pass on, so he walked around to the office door, wrapped lightly on its surface, and stepped inside. Jack appeared to be in unusually high spirits, greeting Tommy.

with a cheery. Tommy! Just a face I wanted to see. Come in, come in, I have great news. Tommy's mood lifted instantly. There could be only one piece of news Jack had that would matter to him. He'd figured out a way to release Tommy from his service to Barrow and Lock so that he could join Jenny in California. Yeah? Yes, hopefully.

I certainly do. I assume you're aware of the new cars lock rail plans to roll out on their passenger trains. Tommy's forehead creased in confusion. Yeah, but I only heard about it today. I was coming here to tell you. Where'd you find out about it? Jack Grinned. Your boss called to tell me personally this afternoon.

Seems like they're going to make quite the spectacle of it. A big party to celebrate the launch of Lockrail's new bar car on its inaugural run from Paradise to Barrow, featuring only the finest spirits, including whiskey from Fields distilling, of course. Tommy nodded thoughtfully. Right, but how does that help us? You want me to, what, just sneak out of town while Mr. Locke is away? No, no, no, Jack chuckled.

Obviously, they'd just track you down if you tried that, son. I have a more permanent solution in mind. He gestured Tommy to the comfortable chair across the desk, which he'd occupied on many occasions before. Sit down and let me explain. Now, I've asked Nathaniel to allow you to personally accompany those barrels of my special brew up to Pennsylvania, seeing as you're my delivery manager. It's only fitting that you act as my personal envoy in this matter.

Tommy nodded again. Still confused and Jack continued. The barrels you'll be transporting will contain a very special brew indeed. one I'll prepare just for our good friends at being able. At a certain point along your route, don't worry, I'll map it all out for you. Be easy as pie. All you'll have to do is light of fuse, exit the train, then Jack spread his hands in an expansive gesture. Tommy's brow furrowed.

Boom, he repeated apprehensively. If I didn't know better, Mr. Fields, I'd say you're suggesting I'd, I blow up a train. A smile spread slowly across Jack's face, and he shrugged. It's a neat solution to several problems I've been considering, Tommy. Amongst him your own. Don't worry, you'll be fine. Once you light the fuse, you'll have a good 60 seconds to hop off the train.

Tommy spluttered with indignation. Hop off. I can't. People die from jumping trains, Jack. Oh, don't be so dramatic. You'll be fine. Jack assured him. Like I said, you'll wait to get to a certain spot up on the line.

The train will slow down to change tracks. You'll be perfectly safe. And I'll have a man meet you there, personal friend, to collect you and ensure you get on your way safely. B&L will assume you die in the explosion, and you'll be on your way to sunny California to meet your sweetheart. It'll all be just fine. Tommy stared at Jack.

Dumbfounded for a moment. There were times that Mr. Fields appeared to have difficulty appreciated the concerns of, well, everyday folks. In these situations, Tommy typically found it best to exercise patience and carefully explain his position. To be fair, Jack was rarely moved by such explanations. He just tended to plow ahead with whatever scheme he meant to pursue, but on occasion, he could be persuaded. And so Tommy tried. Mr. Field, Jack, you can't just ask me to blow up a train. A passenger train, especially.

Who knows how many innocent people get hurt or even killed? You've got to understand. I can't have that on my conscience. Tommy, Jack shouted. Have I ever asked you to do something like that? Of course not. I promise you, there will be no innocent people on this run. It's a very exclusive trip. party on the rails, open only to Barrow and Lock and those who serve them.

His face darkened and his voice grew serious. You've seen enough to know. There will be no innocence among them, Tommy. You'll hurt no one who hasn't earned it many times over. Tommy sighed and dropped his head into his hands. It was true. In the course of his employment at Barrow and Lock, he had seen or heard a good many things. things he wished he could forget.

He had worked side by side with a man whose voice never sounded quite right to him. Echoed as it was by phantom whispers, particularly when he was in a temper, which was often. Nathaniel Locke's rages filled the room with writhing shadows and left a rhyme of frost on the windows. Tommy was certain that Locke had killed one of the family's accountants right in front of him, although he hadn't physically laid a finger on the man. Whatever it was, inside the air to lock rail brush against him. The incident had been explained away as a sudden stroke. I wasn't fortunate.

So tragic and wasn't so young. Be shorts and flowers to the family, won't you, Tommy? Tommy had called the florist, not to mention the undertaker, and had carried on as though he had no sense of what had truly happened. When they come to take the body away, Tommy showed them into the office and assisted as best he could. He phoned the man's supervisor and explained the situation and expressed the appropriate sympathies to his friends and colleagues. And at the end of the day, he went home to the tiny set of rooms he occupied in one of Jack's properties and locked himself in the bathroom. And he huddled in the cold, empty porcelain tub and squeezed himself into a ball

and muffled his screams into his folded arms until he finally stopped shaking. The next morning, Tommy had reported for work. Taking up pen and paper to begin the day's task at 8 a.m. on the dot, there was no mention of the accountant. Not by Nathaniel Locke nor anyone else at B&L so far as Tommy ever heard.

But he never forgot the man. It was far from the only such incident he'd witnessed, and not even the worst, but it had stuck with him. The world would not suffer. The absence of a man like Nathaniel Locke would likely be even the better for it, and Tommy would be a liar if he tried to say otherwise, and his mommy and daddy had raised him better than that. I can't believe I'm even considering this.

Tommy mumbled, sometimes, son, we're called upon to make hard choices. To do things we would usually never consider in the interest of folks we care about, or our own. Why can't you do it then? I've seen a lot over the past seven years, Mr. Fields. I know I... I know...

I know you're not a normal man either. Jack fell silent. His eyes on Tommy is still as a rattlesnake about to strike. The air, an almost suffocating mugginess rising out of the November chill and the smell of strangler vine and muddy creek water filled Tommy's nose. He froze, realizing that might have been the wrong thing to say. It was the unspoken rule that governed their acquaintanceship, and here he'd blundered right into it, backside,

rubbing one hand over the faint stubble on his cheek. Oh, what that I could, boy, but my hands are tied. if I took direct action against them, well, there would be consequences. I have to move through proxies, be discreet. It's frustrating as hell, but necessary. You sound like a politician. Jack reared back in his seat and shock, and the expression on his face reminded Tommy of a deeply affronted cat.

Now, Tommy, I know you're under a lot of strain here, but that was just uncalled for, he said stiffly. Tommy raised his hands and surrendered, sorry, sorry, he conceded it with a sigh. Fine, now I'm not saying I'll do it, but tell me more about this plan here's. Well, the next part you're probably not going to like, Jack said with a wince. I don't like anything about this plan. How bad can it be? Well, the thing is, B&L is going to investigate the explosion pretty thoroughly, Jack They're going to need proof you died in that crash.

Nothing major now. A fanger would probably be enough. What do you mean a finger? Tommy asked suspiciously. Oh, it's no big deal, just a pinky will do. It'll be real quick. I'll sharpen the axe myself. You want me to cut off a finger.

Or, well, a toe would probably suffice. Sweet Jesus, I can't believe we're even talking about this, Jack. I can't cut off a toe. How am I supposed to jump off a train and run after I do that? Tommy pointed out. hoping to appeal to reason. Well, it'll have to be the finger then, Jack sighed, the barely held patience in his voice sounding for all the world like Tommy's mama,

dealing with one of his more recalcitrant siblings. You're right-handed, ain't you? Just use a left pinky. You'll barely miss it. I'm not cutting off my finger or anything else. That's all there is to it. Jack threw up his hands in exasperation. Fine, fine, we'll figure something else out, but they send them haul them in looking for you.

Don't blame me. I won't. All right then. Go on. Get out of here. I got details to iron out. You got deliveries to make. Jack grumbled, pointedly eyeing the door.

Tommy shook his head. I can't believe it'll let you talk me into this. He grumbled back. But as he stepped out into the night, there was a smile on his face. The exhaustion that had weighed him down earlier was all but gone. and as he loaded crates of J.T. Fields a special brew into the bed of his truck, he hardly felt their weight. They had a plan. Soon he could put all the horrors of barren lock behind him, and soon he would be free.

And he and Jenny would be together. Well, hey there, family. My, oh my, we are headed. into some troubled waters now, aren't we? We can all trust our man, Jack, to have Tommy's best interests at heart, can't we? Can't we? Yeah, that's what I thought.

I do want to thank everybody who has recently joined the family by completing their social media ritual by following us on Twitter, Instagram, and on Facebook. Links to all those things, and the wonderful world of the Discord server are available over at Old Godsvapalachia.com. If you would like to show your support in a more tangible and worldly way,

you can pledge it to us on Patreon, where those tithing $10 or more a month, can find 29 episodes of exclusive content in the forms of Build Mama, a coffin, blackmouth dog, and door under the floor waiting for you as well as special programming like Steve Reads or Cam Reads. You also get your episodes a day early and ad free. Cam and I just started discussing what might be the next big story to come to Patreon just the other day. And I promise you, no matter which one we choose, y'all are in for some horrifically good time. But if you want to give and a monthly pledge isn't something you're comfortable with, you can acquire a whole year of Patreon up front with an annual subscription, which saves you 10% off the top.

Or you can make a one-time donation via the ACAS supporter feature, which is linked down in the show notes. This is your ever-so-offing reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of deep nerd media distributed by Rusty Quill. Today's story was written by Cam Collins and performed by Steve Shell. Our intro music is by our brother, Land and Blood, and our outro music is by Those Poor Bastards. Additional audio engineering by Chris Hayes

and special equipment considerations provided by Loudoun Audio. Talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon.