Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 71: Season Five Prologue

Episode Date: December 5, 2024

Welcome to Season Five, family.CW: Imagery of being trapped in a small town, imagery associated with the satanic panic, family strife.Written by Steve Shell and Cam CollinsNarrated by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve ShellIntro music: “The Land Unknown (The Home is Nowhere Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music: “The Land Unknown (Instrumental & Acoustic)” written and performed by Landon BloodSpecial equipment consideration provided by Lauten Audio.LEARN MORE ABOUT OLD GODS OF APPALACHIA: www.oldgodsofappalachia.comCOMPLETE YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA RITUAL:FacebookInstagramBlueskySUPPORT 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, is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Oh, Appalachia, we have heard your call,

have felt it pull on our heartstrings and tug at our innards any time we might think of moving away. We have felt your breath on the back of, of our necks when we dare wonder what else is out there and if indeed the grass might be greener there. Oh, Appalachia, how quick is your hand to correct an errant child to blister a backside if we stray from the five miles to work, two miles to church, and back routine that was good enough for them that come before us? Oh, Appalachia, the voice of a mother is that of a jealous God at times. She wants what is best for us, holds us close to her loving bosom so that we can only breathe

when she breathes. Our heart is allowed to beat only because it is in time with hers. Oh, mother, can't you see that after a lifetime of eating at the same table, praying at the same altar, hearing the same stories about how things used to be and how they were so much better back then? We can't help but strain our necks to get a look at that wind and blacktop beast that eventually becomes one with the pounded heart of the highway. And if we stay, then we've been seduced by that siren serenade as surely as if she stood on our shoulders whispering that home is where the heart is. While she holds hours clutched, bleeding in her talons, oh Appalachian, You tell us that the road that leads from this place, all asphalt and yellow lines paved and maintained by the county can only bear us to damnation, but the road that carries us home? Well, blessed be, that well-worn path, that holy back road, that marriage of gravel and cold earth that calls us back again and again whether we mean it to or not.

Oh, do you not see that they are one, the same, oh mother, will you ever let us go? For some folks, hearth and holler might be enough, but the further you get from the generations that live, died, and killed to hold on to this land, you'll find notions of the grandeur of familial proximity tend to wane. There is a whole world outside of Appalachia, and it's full of bright lights and jobs behind desks and buildings that are clean and carpeted and well-lit, while the folks back home are still scraping beneath the earth for the remaining crumbs of the dark wealth that filled our coffers for so very long. See, there are places in this world that these mountains never wanted you to see.

Places where earning a living doesn't have to come with a lifetime of pain and misery where generations of judgment and expectations don't hang over your head, like the cold-choked heart of the mountain. The world change, but often people do not. You may love your mamma or your mama and daddy, but the day may come when their kind and accepting hearts seem a little bit less of both. They see who you're becoming, and it ain't like them, and they don't know what to do with that.

Traditions begin to feel like obligation, and who you are and who they raised you to be start to feel like fighters on opposite sides of a squared circle, you begin to ask questions. A lot of folks around here don't like it when you ask questions because questions make people nervous. Pretty soon they're looking at you like a stranger, asking questions about them books you've been reading,

them bands you've been listening to, and pretty soon everything about you seems dark and worried. worrisome to them. Folks start muttering about appearances of evil and warning you about that devil music, all them backward messages hidden in the mix that you don't even realize you're singing along with until it's too late, because shouting at the devil is all fun and games, they say, until the devil shouts back. So you might be a teenage girl writing poetry darker than a vice-principle's heart

in the back room of your mama's single wide up on Sherry Hill, just counting the days till your old. enough to get the hell out of this town that threatens to wrap around you like the weeds that choke the medians on the four lane that lead down the mountain and away from this awful and beautiful place. The license issued to you by the Commonwealth on your 16th birthday may be the greatest treasure you will ever own as it bestows upon you the right to follow that great asphalt ribbon wherever it leads. And for a girl who yearns to escape the petty prejudices and strangling expectations of small town life, the holy rites of clutch and gear shift, the combination of speed and a mix tape in the

cassette deck are the closest thing to religion you may ever accept. And you know one day they will take you far from here. And yet, when it calls, you answer. And that always means a detour. You might be a boy. On the cusp of 17. Being told you're already a man grown. Your daddy and mommy were practically married at your age, and your daddy knows somebody

over at B&L that can get you on digging coal or turning wrenches on the diesel up on the strip job. A little bit of training, you'll be making that good money in no time, son. Oh, it ain't like it used to be. There's all kinds of safety measures in place now to make sure the company can ring 30 or 40 years out of you instead of the usual 20. I'm sure people still get buried alive or cooked in fires, but shoot.

Nowadays, you're more than likely to end up with ever jointing your body ground down to gristle and dust your spine, a crumbling avalanche of herniated discs and nerve damage before your lungs even start to go bad. What? You want to be like them that run off and left their blood behind? Then they think they're better than us going off some fancy college or applying to jobs at some better place.

What place is better than home? Unless it's military course. That's different. Man can leave here a hillbilly and come back a hero. I mean, as long as he comes back at all. Could be you're a child of the moon and stars. Your body and ill-fitting. garment against your soul, the bones that bury you upright little more than a cage to keep you in.

In these hills, your heart has to work three times harder just to keep you upright and moving. And you learn early on that escape is your best option, that staying here is a death sentence. And you've got living to do, so you've got to get out and stay out. And you can feel in your bones that there are places that will love and accept you as you are. You just have to find it. Those places are not here. We'll likely never be here. Oh, you'll find a place or two that's tolerable, maybe.

But it's tolerable enough to hang your whole life on. So you go. You write letters home from time to time, call a friend or two you left behind, ask after your people without having to deal with your people, if you know what I'm saying? Maybe you come home to bury somebody who was dear to you. Maybe you see your friends, familiar smiles,

pressed like the fingerprints of ghosts under the faces of their children and grandchildren before the last of them forgets you or is gone. You can try to ignore it. You can refuse to answer. You can sit still and pretend you haven't heard

its call, but if you stay in these mountains for any time at all, you will find yourself there. Alone, far from the light of your own porch. Your feet carrying you ever deep, into the velveteen nod of these hills with a different voice in your ear

one that sounds more like your own or the one you wished you had whispering when the walls and the light gets swallowed and there ain't

no place that feels like home the ones you turn into strangers and you cast your eyes through the winding road Keep your foot on the gas, your eyes straight forward, clear your heart and mind. Best leave them ghosts behind. Hope is nowhere, then you might as well.

When darkness calls, run like hell. Oh, hey there, family, and welcome to season five of old gods of Appalachia, Run Like Hell. This season will be returning to our traditional anthology format With a variety of tales centered on one simple truth About living in a place like this Eventually when the hills seem to close in around you And there's not enough daylight to go around When you just can't stand it anymore

We've all tried to get out And sometimes that means we do indeed You gotta run like hell I am not alone here in the Void family I think I hear a familiar voice coming through the gloom. Well, hey there, family. I thought I'd pop over and join Steve for the premiere of this season that I know we are both very excited about.

And we hope you are too. But that's not the only thing we're excited about. I don't know if you've heard us shouting from the mountaintops over on social media lately, but we have launched our very own paid subscription service called The Holler. Powered by Supercast, a platform designed from the ground up with podcasters and our listeners in mind,

the holler is replacing our Patreon as the one true destination for all of our exclusive storylines and extras such as Build Mama Coffin, Blackmouth Dog, the door under the floor, and so much more. It's all in a streamlined, well-organized format that folks who've already moved to the holler have been really excited about. If you've already moved to the holler, we thank you for all those kind words and welcome you home. If you're an existing Patreon member and you haven't made the move yet, it's quick and easy. Just log into Patreon and look for the post-time.

titled A Friendly Reminder from Steve. Listen to the audio message from yours truly and follow the instructions that Cam has so meticulously laid out for you. You can ask questions if you need to, and the good folks over at Supercast are standing by to help if you have any technical questions or need help getting moved on over. And speaking of billing, you don't even have to figure out when your current Patreon subscription expires,

then wait till that day to make the switch. We know that's a huge pain to try to remember. So Supercast is going to credit you the remaining time you have on Patreon, to your new subscription with The Holler. Now I know what some of y'all are thinking, blah, blah, blah, Cam, I'm not on Patreon. Well, for those of you who haven't tossed your tithe in the offering plate yet, or maybe you used to subscribe,

but you've been waiting for this new season to start. We got you. You can head on over to Old Gods of Appalachia.com slash the holler. The link is right here in the show notes, and join the family in the holler today. It's so quick and easy to gain access to hours of exclusive content with just a few clicks. Is that everything, which?

I know we had a lot to tell the family about today. Did we remember everything? I think we did. And if we missed anything, well, we'll just post it on socials, fam. All right, then. Once again, we are super excited to have you with us for Season 5, family. We got miles to go before we sleep, and that sleep probably won't be easy or untroubled.

So let's go, y'all. We'll talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon.