Old Gods of Appalachia - Episode 89: Lost in the Shadows

Episode Date: September 4, 2025

In the penultimate episode of season five, all roads lead to a sanctuary for music and those who worship at its altar. CW: Gore, trauma related flashbacks, group vocalizations of pain related to ritual practices, awkward teenage romance, lots of vampire violence. Description of stress induced vomiting (no sounds), and ritualized vampire self-harm. Discussion of complicated family relationships,sexuality and high school bullshit. Written by Steve Shell, Cam Collins and special guest NitaJadeProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve Shell Narrated and performed by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellThe voice of Hummingbird Bouknight: NitaJadeVoices of the hunters: Jay Cash, Jamie Eva, Jack Flanary, Chad Rogers, DJ RogersThe voice of Troy: Adam KampourisThe voice of Lori Powers: Allison MullinsThe voice of Miranda Coffey: Andi Marie TillmanThe voice of Denise Ramey: Autumn BoegemanThe voice of Micah Ramey: Aaron BentleyThe voice of Brendan McDaniels: Craig RiceThe voice of Jessamine Rogers: Cam CollinsThe voice of Vamp #2: Jared Leonard Intro music: “The Land Unknown (The Home is Nowhere Verses)” written and performed by Landon BloodOutro music: “Last Night” by Foxhole Atheist (a.k.a. Steve Shell and Jason Sturgill, with production by Jason Sturgill) and “Far Away” by No More Light (a.k.a. Steve Shell and Matt Evans, with production by Kris Hayes; available on our bandcamp at oldgodsofappalachia.bandcamp.com)Special 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.Buy t-shirts, hoodies, mugs, and other Old Gods merch.CLASSIC MERCH: merch.oldgodsofappalachia.comTOUR MERCH & SPECIALTY ITEMS: oldgodsmerch.com.Transcripts available on our website at www.oldgodsofappalachia.com/episodes.© 2025 DeepNerd Media. All rights reserved. No part of this audio production or its written transcript may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.Support this show http://supporter.acast.com/old-gods-of-appalachia. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Well, hey there, family, if you love Old Gods of Appalachia, I want to help us keep the home fires burning, but maybe aren't comfortable with the monthly commitment. Well, you can still support us via the ACAS supporter feature. No gift too large, no gift too small. Just click on the link in the show description, and you too can toss your tithe in the collection plate. Feel free to go ahead and do that.

Right about now. Old Gods of Appalachia is a whole. horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. The only good thing birds saw on I-40 was the great smoky mountains it wound through, granting her solid protection on either side. Two crows played on the wind, showing off their feathers against the emerald trees and the ray overcast sky.

They'd been flying with her for a while. It was here, wrapped in these hills flanked by her black-winked guides that she felt safe enough to breathe deeply. When bird breathed, her mind had permission to wander from the details of her last hunt and the preparation for her next.

She inhaled and found herself in the memory at the side of her late grandma's bed, rubbing the arthritis out of her hands with a bowl of warm shay butter. She exhaled and she was back on the highway. She inhaled again, and this time the memory came alive. Her grandma's shay butter soaked hands grabbed onto hers, violently squeezing until bird's joints cracked and buckled, and when she opened her mouth the screen,

her jaw opened wider and water until it dislocated, doubled back onto itself until the skin peeled away and revealed the bulgin face of her father. Father, boots, from that night. Except this time she was too late. His eyes were bugged out and red-rimmed, moon-filled, and permanent. Bird slowed the truck as her heart rate increased. She traded relaxed breathing for a clenched jaw.

She dabbed at the sweat on her forehead. A swerve took her to the nearest exit. She pulled over, hopped out, doubled over, and emptied her stomach right there on the roadside. It wouldn't like her to get this consumed on the way to a job. As bird hitched small spurts of air into her lungs, she took note of her surroundings, dirt and gravel. What might be the same crows perched in a poplar. Across the road sat a mom and pop gas station with an ugly-ass hatchback parked out front. Its rear window plastered with so many stickers, she wondered how its driver didn't get full

over. When her breath steadied, she wiped the vomit from her mouth. Damn it. Focus. You track, you hunt, you protect your kin. You track, you hunt, you do him proud. You track and you hunt and you go on about your business. Come on. Get your shit together. It was then the hum caught up to her. She'd gotten so distracted that she hadn't noticed that had already begun a faint vibration she could feel now in the back of her teeth. She regained her senses and honed in on the amico across the way. She took a few steps back, and then a few steps forward, to discern that the hum faded or intensified forward.

It was. The signal growing stronger, the closer she drew to the other side of the road. She hopped back into her truck, popped a U-turn, and pulled into the Amico in time. to see a pair of teenagers draw up to a sorry-looking pasty little thing standing by a bay of a phone. The hum, all but screamed at her. That was the thing that it called her, stilling her nerves and her hands. It wasn't time to fly into action just yet. There were witnesses, after all. Civilians. She took in the group's attire. The death-rimmed eyes and the blood-stained lips, the ripped clothes and fishnets, the desire to look like the monster she hunted.

She felt the corner of her lip rise in a snarl. These children played at a reality they couldn't possibly understand. Real enough to rob her town of Rucker Lee, real enough to take from boots what couldn't be replaced, she shook her head at the naive teens, already extending a helping hand. Her mind raced through the weapons. most easily brought to hand. As sharp as her eye was, she couldn't let a knife fly

without catching one of the kids. A shot in the air might scatter them, but that would draw too much unwanted attention. She'd just have to wait. She settled on allowing them to pile into their old gray beater, electing to tell them. From what bird could tell,

the payphone vampire was a baby. She didn't have the impression, frozen gaze of a well-seasoned bloodsucker or the tell-tale still moved mostly like the kids who picked her up. It was a shame that some mother's child, some daddy's baby girl, had been turned into this. But she was what she was now. Bird couldn't look past the target on her back, couldn't allow her to become an even more dangerous predator than she already was. Bird kept her eyes trained on the Virginia license plate, kept her priorities straight by getting her. guessing how many bodies the young leech had drained already.

Up was a five, maybe ten if she's smart. I wouldn't put it past her kind to go after the weak ones or the addicts, widowers. It's always the innocent-looking fuckers. How many lives you don't rob, little girl? How many families you got out here searching for their loved ones in vain? You're probably the trifling type to come in without a second thought, stir up, trouble and grief and leave nothing but corpses and a string of questions in your wake. This is where Bird found her peace, tracking and chasing, envisioning plunging steak after blade after steak until one of their kinds lights dimmed, picking off one blot after another until the humming beneath her flesh went blessedly quiet.

The prospect of a good hunt made her excited and greedy. She reached for her CB's microphone and thumbed it on to issue a public service announcement. Breaker, breaker, this is Bird flying down to K-town. All you sandbag and SOBs and ratchet jaws, get your ears on. If y'all hear any talk about a parasit attitude, don't worry about it. There was a moment of silence before the first response came. Because this is Mama J. We read you loud and clear, don't we all? Over.

Yes, ma'am, over. As the airwaves quieted, Bird steered the truck off a downtown exit following the gray hatchback toward whatever festered there. Ready to face it down alone. Just the way she liked it. And the light gets swallowed. And there ain't no place that feels like home. And to 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. It grows cold, home is nowhere. Then you might as well. When darkness calls run like hell.

Dusty warehouse in Knoxville's old city had once housed a company that manufactured furniture and it showed. Sawdust lingered in every crack in the concrete floor and the scent of varnish still lingered underneath the dust mold and decay. He might not have noticed if Franklin Rutledge mused, had he not been granted the power he now held, his every sense awakened as if he had been sleepwalking his entire unlife, his strength at least

tripled, his reflex is honed to a razor's edge. The man he had to thank for these blessings stood atop an ornate dining table placed incongruously at the center of the warehouse's grimy basement, speaking to a gathering of perhaps a dozen other vampires, including Mowbly Willett and himself. From the street, the warehouse had appeared abandoned. Its windows boarded up, graffiti decorating the plywood, but Troy had directed Franklin to drive around back anyway. There they found three sleek luxury sedans and a handful of high-end motorcycles

in a small, recently paved parking lot. Franklin parked the Voyager next to her Mercedes-Benz 300 that outclassed. the lumbering minivan by light-years, and he and Mowbly had followed Troy down a set of similarly well-maintained backstairs to a basement door, where Troy informed the vampire who answered his knock that someone named Cyrus had sent him. The three of them had been led down a narrow hallway

and through a second door that opened into the yawning space that, contrary to outward appearances, held many of the trappings of wealth. The floor, while still concrete, had been cleaned and refinished. The walls were draped in a combination of velvet panels and intricately woven tapestries. Elegant sofas with chairs and clean modern lines were scattered about the cavernous room, creating cozy conversation areas. And in the center of the room sat a long ornately carved dining table with six chairs on either side

and an enormous throne-like chair at its head. Somewhat, it was clear, normally held court in this space. At the moment, however, they were nowhere to be found. The throne sat empty and only a handful of what were clearly younger vampires occupied the warehouse. They were stretched across the various sofas or perched on the arms of plushed chairs. As of sensing Troy's power, however, they all sat up when the newcomers stepped into the room. Troy had merely stood, gazed and around at them for a moment until they wandered over, gathering around him like Mom. drawn to a flame.

Finally, he addressed the room at large. Who's in charge here? A lanky young blonde man in a trench coat and combat boots who looked to have been turned at no older than 18 years had swaggered forward. You wouldn't be here if you didn't know. Cyrus runs things this side of town. Troy gazed around him, his brow furrowing in apparent confusion.

Is he? Because I don't see him. In fact, I don't see any of the great and mighty elders who claim dominion over this place, them that require you to kneel at their feet to earn the privilege of living in Scruffy City. These tradition-bound fools who would demand your obedience in exchange for their so-called protection, I don't see any of them motherfuckers around. I guess they don't need to worry about y'all mind in the store, a well-trained dog. won't reach for more than it's offered.

There were some discontented mutterings at this, and this time it was a young woman who responded to Troy. What the fuck, man? We know every vampire in Knoxville, and we don't know you. You don't sound like you're from around here either, and you come in here talking shit about us? About our makers? Who the fuck do you think you are?

Haven't seen what Troy could do. Having witnessed his power firsthand, Franklin had expected him to rip out the young woman's throat. But instead, he merely smiled benevolently. What's your name, youngin? Jessamine Rogers of Cyrus's git? Well, Jessamine Rogers. I the fuck am the man who's come to set you all free of the shackles that have bound you your entire unlife. I'm the man who's going to tell all of you the truth that's been hidden for you.

from you. I am the man who's come to offer you the power that's been denied you. That is yours by right. The young woman fell silent at this, her head inclining thoughtfully. Troy had her attention now. It was at this point that he'd leapt up onto the long table and begun pacing its length, raising his voice to address the room. Miss Gissiman says I'm not from around here. And she's right. I've spent some time all over, including the mountains they tell y'all you gotta stay out of. And what I found? Oh, what I found there was more than I ever dreamed possible. You see, you youngans have been told a lie.

You have been sold a bill of goods by your very own makers, those who you should be able to trust the most. They tell you our kind was hunted up in them hollers because the cattle were too few. and too far between, and our fading was too easily noticed. They say we sought sanctuary in the cities and entered into a devil's bargain with witches in their ilk and the interest of peace. Peace! They didn't want peace. What they wanted was power.

They wanted to keep what they found up in them hills. out of our hands. That's the reason we ain't allowed to go wherever we please in Appalachia. It's to keep us under their boot because them witches know that with the power that lies sleeping under those mountains, we could crush them. We could rule this land. Not just Appalachia, my friends, but from sea to shining sea. Someone from the back of the small gathering snorted.

You sound like that feller that sold my mama snake oil when she had the cancer. Promising she'd be more than healed. She'd feel better than she ever felt in her whole damn life. But all she ever got was a pine box and a six-foot drop. Again, Troy responded to their questions, not with anger, but understanding. He was indeed one hell of a salesman, Franklin mused. It just so happened that what he was selling was the genuine article. Yes, I understand.

I come to y'all with some lofty claims. Well, I don't expect you just to take my word for it, youngans. I've come here tonight to show you exactly what I'm talking about, to offer you a taste of the power that can be yours. so that you can throw off those shackles I mentioned. Right here, right now. Troy reached into the pocket of his peacoat and pulled a slender dagger from the sheath. Franklin knew from his own anointing what was concealed inside.

He held it aloft so that those assembled around the table could all see it. Then he shrugged off his coat. He rolled up the left sleeve of his black. silk shirt displaying his pale, muscular forearm to the crowd. The young vampires drew closer, growing more and more interested. As they all watched, Troy drew the blade across his flesh, cutting deep down to the thick veins beneath. There was a collective gasp as his blood bubbled forth, blood, and something more. The rich red fluid fairly pulsed with tendrils of inky dark. With the power

are so black, it seemed to suck the light from the room pulsing with dark energy. They could all feel, he could almost hear their pupils dilating, the saliva, gathering in their mouths with the hunger for Troy's mom. One at a time now, there's plenty for everybody. Come taste what your masters have denied you, denied us,

for far too long. And so they did. One by one, each of them stepped up to tentatively lick and then suck, drinking deep of what Troy offered them. It's all right now. Be fine. Troy hopped down from the table and walked amongst them as they writhed and cried. Offering a comforting hand here, a gentle word there. The transformation was brief but visceral.

Franklin remembered sympathetically. It had taken only a few minutes, but those minutes had felt like it. When it was over, the ragged crew staggered to their feet, shaky as young deer just learning to walk, unused to the raw feeling of power that coursed through bone and sinews, blood, and fiber. The young woman who seemed to have become the crew's de facto leaders spoke again. He proved you weren't bullshitting us, so what now? You didn't come here to give us this gift out of the goodness of your heart. Darling, we show this city who's in charge.

I believe a show of force is an order. And I know just the place to start. Denise was lucky enough to find parking just a scant four blocks from the venue. She and her friends, along with their new companion, had made their way to Market Square. And now finally stood before the haunted. reliquary at the end of their long pilgrimage. The Mercury Theater. The Mercury, or as locals typically referred to it,

the Merck, was a tall, skinny two-story affair, sandwiched between a now-defunct department store and a long-since shuttered sandwich shop. The mere sight of its exterior struck the band of travelers with a sense of near reference. In the church-line streets of Glein, or pretty much anywhere else in Esau County, for that matter, no such sanctuary would be allowed to exist.

It was shabby in a way that would no doubt suggest to their parents that what lay beyond the flyer plastered double doors might be the domain of the devil himself. A study in 20th century commercial style replete with elaborate corbling, limestone seals, lentils, and cornices, the building that housed the music hall had been home to a variety of enterprises before becoming the dark heart of the Knoxville music scene. The signage over the doors was a simple stove-pipe black panel

weathered to the color of a well-loved band t-shirt and bore a single word the white lettering etched there was clean and straight yet still bore a hint of something sinister perhaps due to the alchemical symbol for mercury stamped on either side of the name like a cult book in Miranda smiled up at the building's facade as if greeting an old friend

This was where she had found the life she'd always wanted. Here, in the belly of a beast, most folks would be scared to set foot in. Market Square was mostly empty, save for the showgoers milling around outside, along with the handful of panhandlers and homeless folks doing the best they could to get by as night fell over the city. She breathed deep and felt some of the stress she'd been carrying lift from her shoulders. She was well-fed, and was finally done. dark, and she felt all right for once. Her senses, sharpened by feeding, brought her the sights, sense, and sounds of the cities

she loved with a clarity she had never known in her mortal life. Her new friends kept moving, but Miranda hung back and let them go. As they neared the door, Lori noticed that she hadn't followed. Hey, Randy, come with us. We can skip the line and go on backstage. That's sweet of you, but no thanks. Y'all go on ahead. My friends should be here any minute now, so I'm going to wait for them out here.

Don't you worry about me. Are you sure? Miranda moved quickly to catch up with the group. She hugged Lori and Denise warmly and beamed at them as she pulled away. Positive. Thanks for the ride. Y'all, I have no idea how much you've made my night. I'll see you guys inside.

Micah and Brendan threw up their hands in polite waves as they turned. and moved toward the doors of the venue. Denise looked back one last time, and Miranda was gone. The closer the old gray beater got to Knoxville, the more bird had wanted to crawl out of her skin. There was something sinister and familiar in the downtown area, a frequency too akin to what she felt in Aramenta.

She could take care of the baby-faced freak easily, but there was a bigger, insidious energy in the atmosphere. She clenched her jaw to hold back a smile. She might actually bring boots an interesting story when she got back home. Bird tailed the clueless kids and their parasite to a parking lot and watched them clamber out of their ugly hatchback. She pulled into an alley across the street with a sign denoting it, permit parking only, and eased her truck into a narrow space.

She looked at the only other vehicle park nearby, an old station wagon, and clocked the parking permit hanging from its rearview mirror. She rummaged around in her glove box through a variety of stickers, placards, and hang tags she kept there for just such an occasion until she found one that roughly matched the color and shape of the one in the wagon. Ain't nobody going to look too close at a parking permit in this part of town at night. She'd made sure she wouldn't blocking the other car in and stepped out of the truck and waited at the mouth of the alley.

She kept her head down as the group of kids strolled past, then stepped onto the sidewalk, trailing them at a measured pace toward their destination. By the time she rounded the corner, both her eyes and the hum told her the bloodsucker was no longer latched on to these youngans. That suited bird just fine. If she could keep children out of her line of fire, all the better. The bunch from the chivet walked up on a tattered gray building with the word mercury, sandwiched between what looked like two horned female symbols.

her killing grounds then. She took note of the security guy's attire as he led the teenagers through a side door then circled back to the truck. She parted her hair down the middle and platted one tuft of her hair after the other until both sides laid flat. Two braids fit nicely under a cap

and would draw less attention than a low puff. She reached into her glove compartment again, fished around for one last item to complete her get-up. Then she was back on the street, walking steadily past the venue's front door, doors and around the building. As she approached the back door of the mercury, bird pulled a laminate with the word staff,

printed in all caps from under her shirt and let it dangle over her dark clothes. She waited as quiet as she could until she heard voices. Thick accents echoed up the alleyway, but these weren't Tennessee boys. These sounded more like folks from the eastern half of the bluegrass state. Two men lugged a martial cab between them while a third carried two guitar cases. The one leading with the speaker cabinet carried up a short set of concrete steps

and pounded on the back door. The three men groused amongst themselves but having to haul all their gear from two streets away for a few minutes and then the door swung open. Music from the house sound system carried into the muggy alleyway on a waft of cool central air.

A tall man and a tightly stretched tea with staff emblazoned across his chest. pushed the door open and walked away. Hey, asshole! You can at least hold the door! The first man scrambled to catch the door before it closed, but suddenly someone reached around him and caught the handle. I got it. The man startled as Bird appeared behind him.

He looked her over for a second, and catching side of the laminarment around her neck merely nodded. Oh, thanks. Bird returned the nod and held the door for the three musicians, then slipped in behind them. It was amazing the places you could just walk into if you looked the least bit like you belong there. The mercury smelled like worms, sweat, blood.

Bird figured her best bet would be to pick a spot on the leftmost side of the venue toward the back, a vantage point that would permit her to keep eyes on the concert floor, the bar, and the entry. There are some folks who can walk into a crowded concert hall and determine the resident frequency of the room in two seconds, flat. In the same way, bird could walk into a crowd, catch a hum, and discern a hand. The hum always started in the pit of her stomach and branched out into her chest, her fingers, her throat.

If the hum stopped at the base of her throat, she knew it was some good for nothing human worthy of beating the shit out of. If the hum spilled out into her skin, however, she knew she was hunting something on the mercury overflowing. The humming. The humming, had grown so intense, bird felt like a wasper's nest had replaced her flesh. Not only was the place crawling with parasites, but also that insidious energy she'd noticed earlier pulsed here. The source she fed was somewhere. In the upstairs hallway of the mercury, Brendan, Denise, Lori, and Micah stood outside the green room doors, saying their goodbyes. They spent the past 20 minutes with the members of No More Light. Lori reminiscent about growing up with her cousin Mark

while the others chatted with the band about how much they'd loved their last record. And just as they'd begun wrapping up their visit, John David from Violet Fear had popped into Snagga Dr. Pepper from the fridge. At first, Micah hadn't recognized the charismatic frontman without his signature ski mask, but then Marcus had called him over to introduce him to his cousin and her friends. Micah had done his best not to stare in awe at the heavily tattooed bald monster who turned out to be a sweetheart in person. Lori had quickly shepherded their little crew towards the door before they could overstay their welcome.

Thank you so much, Marcus. I'll tell Mom and them you said hi. John David, it was so nice to meet you. Y'all have a good show, okay? Thanks, guys. We really appreciate it. I just, I... Don't be a weirdo.

Just say thank you. Thank you. Addaboy. The door to the green room closed behind them, and the teens made their way down. the hallway to the stairs leading back to the venue proper. Now that they were finally here, Denise was more relaxed. Her pretty face glowing with excitement. The chatter of the growing crowd below was a dull roar as other people their age or a little older filtered through the

Mercury's doors. The buzz of excited energy was palpable even from here. Seized by a sudden thought, Micah grabbed Denise's arm. Didi, I got to get a shirt. Come with me. Ooh, I want to go one too right behind you. Y'all go on ahead. I got to find a bathroom. Color me surprised. Come on, Micah. Let's hurry before the line gets too long. The cousins bounded down the stairs, leaving Brendan and Lori alone in the relative quiet of the hallway. Better do it now. I understand most bands frown on peeing in the pit.

G.G. Allen might disagree with you on that one. That dude went when and wherever he wanted. Lori rolled her eyes and turned to follow Denise and Micah. Brandon stopped her with a touch on the shoulder. Hey, Lori, hang on a sec. Afraid you'll get lost, sugar tits. I just wanted to talk to you for a second, if you don't mind. Noticing the door to one of the smaller dressing rooms was open, he stepped inside in motion for Lori to follow.

She hesitated for a moment, waiting on someone to stop them, then followed the tall boy inside, a puzzled expression on her face. What's going on, Shug? What I said in the car, I really wouldn't have made it through this year without you. Honey, Spanish 3 wasn't that hard. You would have been... I'm not talking about Spanish. I mean, I don't know.

In general, in like, life. Moving to a new school your senior year is fucking hard. I didn't know anybody. And I couldn't do my usual... Hey, me good with catching. ball, befriend, caveman routine. Kevin moved further away for school and I was on my own. You were the one bright spot I looked forward to every day. I mean, all of you guys have been awesome, but you're special. Brendan took a step closer to the tall girl and suddenly

Lori realized this was a very different sort of conversation. Brendan, what are you saying exactly? I guess that I like you. You know, like you, like you. And I wonder if you might feel the same. But what about Kevin? What about Kevin? I mean, what would he think of you telling a girl you like her? I think he'd be happy for me.

He's a great guy. I mean, you're Kevin. Would be okay with you pulling a girl into a dark corner and telling her you like her? My uncle, Kevin. Why would he even factor into this? Your uncle? I thought you said you went to school with Kevin. He bought you presents, got you into good music, and took you to the movies and such. He's kind of all you've ever talked about. Oh, my papal got remarried to a way younger woman when Mamaw died. It didn't last long, but the one cool thing about it was she had a kid just a couple years older than me. But technically, he was my uncle by marriage. Dude became like my best friend or big brother.

Why didn't you tell us he was your uncle? I mean, would you go around telling everybody that your papa married a woman half his age, who took him for half of what he was worth? But at least you got your best friend out of it? Wait. Did you think Kevin was my boyfriend? Yes, we all did. You guys thought I was gay?

Lori gestured to the handsome boy's overall style for the... evening and smiled awkwardly. The new jock kid from over the mountain joins our freaky little friend group, talks about a boy he misses a lot and is very much into trying out makeup and is frankly way too pretty to be straight? Yes, we figured you'd tell us when you were ready. Brendan looked at his sparkly purple nails with pride and grinned. That's fair, I guess.

And hell, who knows, maybe I'm not totally straight. What I do know is, I like you. You are beautiful, funny, kind, and smart, and I would really like to be closer to you. So what do you think? As Brendan moved closer, Lori cast her eyes down, feeling suddenly shy. She had always dismissed his flirting before,

though she had secretly loved it. She gazed up at him through her lashes, Lori was a tall girl, had always been taller than her girlfriend's and of a height with most of the boys in her class, but he was taller. She closed her eyes as he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She could feel the blush that spread over her cheeks as she smiled up at him. I definitely think that's something we can talk about, sugar tids. I'm glad you feel that way.

Now if you'll give me just a second, I am about to pee myself. I'll be right back. Brendan grinned dopily as he slipped around Lori to go find the restroom. He was pretty sure he'd noticed a private one-seater at the end of the hall and was pleased to find his memory was correct. He ducked inside, quickly answered nature's call, and checked himself in the mirror. He couldn't help, but grin. He looked amazing, and he was about to see some great bands with the coolest girl he knew, who appeared to be interested in him too. Maybe the next time they came to the mercury it would be for an official date.

Hearing heavy footfalls in the hallway, Brendan smoothed his hair one last time in the mirror, then opened the door to see the facilities to whoever was outside. A man he hadn't seen earlier was waiting. Brendan made the obligatory brief eye contact and nod required by the male social contract, then stepped forward to slip sideways and allow the other guy past him. The stranger, who was Brendan's height but a bit thicker than him, leaned into his path, shoulder-checking him as he passed.

Brendan bounced off the man in surprise. It was a dick move under any circumstances, but what adult does that to a kid, obviously, several years his junior. Not one to rise to that sort of cheap bait, Brendan smiled and tried to play it off. Oh, hey! Whoa, let's watch where we're going, all right, buddy. The dude didn't move. So Brendan tried again to sidestep his way through the door.

The stranger blocked him again. Harder this time. The collision sending him sprawling onto his backside, and that's when the switch flipped for Brendan McDaniels. In that moment, every bully, every asshole that had fucked with him since the time he was little until he'd had his gross bird at 14, every jock who'd ever yelled shit out the window of a passing truck at his friends flashed before his eyes. He scrambled to his feet, ready to fight.

Hey, what the fuck? Fuck, man! Before he could so much as blink, the man was on him. A wall of heavy muscle, an ungodly, impossible strength. Barreling into him with the force of a cannonball, Brendan went down hard, his head smacking the towel floor hard enough to see stars. He heard something crack and pain lanced through him, his arm, his back, his head, everywhere. Instinctively, he shoved at the heavy form on top of him, but the stranger had an arm across his chest, his grip like a vice, and he leered down, and Brendan saw a flash of teeth white and impossibly long. He opened his mouth to scream, but the man, the monster was too fast, and the next thing he knew was more pain as those teeth ripped through his throat,

stealing both his breath and his voice. Blood sprayed on the wall above his head, and there was a gurgling sound. Brendan McDaniel's final thought was he could not be sure if the noise was his own death rattle, or the sound of the beast's feeding. In the small dressing room down the hall, Lori sat on a love seat waiting for Brendan to return from the bathroom. She could hear the first band finishing sound check downstairs. Where the hell was Brendan?

They had to find Denise and Micah and secure their spot near the stage. She'd be damned if she watched her own cousin from the back of the room. With a sigh, she picked up her purse and stepped out into the hall to look for him. Maybe he ducked into the green room after he used the restroom for a quick snack and got tied up talking to one of the bands,

she thought. She poked her head in there first, but there was no sign of him. Beginning to grow irritated, she called out for him. Hey, sugar tits, you get lost? She moved past the green room and stepped into the next dressing room just beyond it. A young woman's voice came from the hallway behind her. Hey, you can't be back here. It's fine. I have a pass. Lori glanced over her shoulder distractedly as she scanned the room for Brendan.

Let's try that again. Hey, Mortisha, you don't want to be back here. The bitchy edge to the girl's voice drew Lori up short. She whirled around her eyebrow arching. Excuse me? Who the fuck are you? Before she could finish the question, the girl was on her. Fangs tearing into the soft column of her throat. Blood surged into Jessamine Rogers' mouth as she lowered Lori to the dressing room floor. From downstairs, the chords of Foxhole Atheist's first song rose to the venue on a chorus of chief. It was the last thing, Lori Powell ever heard. Well, hey there, family.

We are closing in fast on the final episode of Season 5 of Old Gods of Appalachia, run like hell. And the bodies are starting to hit the floor. Who will survive the night, ye old Mercury? I guess you'll have to come back in a couple of weeks for that season finale, now, won't you? I bet you will. Now, as the season comes to a close, this is a time when folks usually start asking, Steve, Cam, what do I listen to now? Well, if you haven't joined us already in The Holler, there's no time like the present.

For just $10 a month, you can access over 24 hours of exclusive storylines like Build Mama Coughin, familiar and beloved, and many more. And sure, you could listen to it all in one day if you'd, don't bother to take time for the little things like sleep, food, or paying attention to your housemates. But family, we don't recommend that, and neither would you doctor, so pace yourself. You can sign up today over at Old Gods of Appalachia.com slash the holler, and while you're there, be sure to complete your social media ritual to join us on your favorite platforms. And this is your one thing about Knoxville I never could stomach, all the damn vampires,

reminder that Old Gods of Appalachia is a production of deep nerd media, and is distributed by Rusty Quill. Today's story was written by Steve Shell, Cam Collins, and special guest writer Nita Jade. The voice of Hummingbird Bonite was Nita Jade. The voice of Troy was Adam Kampurus. The voice of Lori Powers was Allison Mullins. And the voice of Miranda Coffee was Andy Marie Tillman. The voice of Denise Ramey was Autumn Bogerman. And the voice of Micahy was Aaron Bentley. The voice of Brendan McDaniels was Craig Rice. The voice of Jessamine Rogers was our very own Cam Collins. Our intro music is by Brother Land and Blood, and our outro music was Last Night by Foxhole Atheist,

otherwise known as yours truly and my buddy Jason Sturgell, with production by Jason Sturgell, followed by Far Away by No More Light, otherwise known as Steve Shell and Matt Evans with production by Chris Hayes. You can download that one from our band camp, which is linked in the show notes. We'll talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon.