Old Gods of Appalachia - One Last House

Episode Date: October 31, 2025

A special preview of the exclusive content to be found within the Holler. www.oldgodsofappalachia.com/theholler When the porch lights begin to wink out, it’s time for all little ghouls and goblins to head on home, but two children decide to knock on just one more door.CW: Bugs. So. Many. Bugs. We can’t stress this enough: BUGS. Children splitting time between divorced parents, unsanitary living conditions, children in danger, monster sounds.Written by Cam Collins Narrated by Steve ShellSound design by Steve ShellProduced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve ShellThe voice of Alicia Jesse: Manda LeonardThe voice of Hannah Jesse: Antonia TrasattiThe voice of Taylor Jesse: Cam Collins Intro/outro music: "50 Second Instrumental” 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.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. Hey there, family. I know y'all didn't expect to hear from us so soon here on the main feed, but it's a special time of year, and we thought you deserved a little treat. First of all, it's our birthday today. Six years ago, on a dark and spooky Halloween night, the very first episode of Old Gods of Appalachia crawled from the shadows and into your heart. We want to thank y'all for sticking with us over the past six years and helping us build a community that has exceeded anything we could have ever dreamed as just this past week. we exceeded 30 million all-time downloads. You heard me?

30 million. So from the bottom of all seven of our shriveled and blackened hearts, thank you, family. Thank you so much. And now for your treat. We had prepared a spooky holiday episode for the residents of the holler, our paid subscription service,

and thought that on this very special birthday, we'd share the candy with everybody. To give y'all a little taste of the sort of bonus episode that the residents of The Holler who subscribe at the $10 level and up enjoy every month. In addition to this juicy little story, there are hours of existing stories to explore, such as Build Mama a Coffin, Door Under the Floor, Blackmouth Dog, and Familiar and Beloved and More. So if you like what you hear and you want to tide yourself over until we return in January of 2026, visit Old Gods of Appalachia.com slash the holler and move on in with the rest of the family today.

Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised. Halloween of 2014 was an unusually cold one in Mavisdale, Virginia. The high temperature hovering a few degrees below 50, instead of the usual balmy weather in the 60s residents of Hazel County had come to expect. By the time local parents had gotten home from work and began getting their offspring ready for the Friday evening spooky festivities, the temperature had dropped precipitously.

And most mommas and daddies were insisted on coats over costumes. The chorus of but moms from the town's little goblins at this pronouncement could be heard from one side of the mountain to the other. Kevin Jesse's children were no exception. As the two girls' wines harmonized, rising in pitch, he glanced at his wife with a long-suffering look that conveyed, and the telepathy couples develop once their children gain linguistic skills. Is this really the hill we want to die on? Alicia's raised eyebrows and firm nod made her position on the matter clear.

Given that Kevin will be the one taking the girls out tonight, however, she was gracious enough to step into the role of bad cop. Y'all heard me. Alicia Jessie's hands went to her hips as she turned away from the vegetable she was chopping on the counter. You can wear your jackets, or you can stay home. But Mom! Taylor protested, propping her hands on her own hips in a gesture that so perfectly and unconsciously mirrored her mother that Kevin had to suppress a grin. The costumes are their whole point. At 12, their oldest daughter was the spitting image of Alicia in more ways than worn.

Everybody needs to see my dress. Hannah, who was eight, chimed in to support her sister, spinning around in her sparkly blue and white Disney princess costume for emphasis. Taylor rolled her eyes and sniped. As if anyone on the planet at this point hasn't seen an Elsa costume. Taylor Louise Jessie. There was a warning note in Kevin's tone as he fixed his eldest with a stern look. Taylor was a great kid. Whips smart and with the quickest wit he'd ever seen, but he had an inkling her teen years were not going to be easy.

Like a lot of smart kids, she lacked patience with anyone who wasn't on her intellectual level, or those whom she perceived to be beneath her level, such as her annoying parents and little sister. To her credit, though, Taylor's expression grew contrite at his gentle correction, and she apologized without being prompted. Sorry, Hannah. Waiting into the fray to avoid further argument, Kevin Jesse raised his hands in a peacemaking gesture. All right now, I'm sure there's some way to keep y'all warm without spoiling your costumes. let's put on a problem solving hats and figure this out.

Taylor rolled her eyes again at his hokey dad speak, but wisely kept her mouth shut. In the end, Alicia loaned their older daughter the use of a sleek brown leather jacket Kevin had given her for Christmas the year before, which fit better with her Hunger Games costume than Taylor's own pink puffy coat and allowed enough room for her to sling a quiver of arrows over her back.

For Hannah, they fashioned to make-shift fur cloak out of a fuzzy throw blanket and a fancy-looking costume jewelry brooch that had once belonged to Kevin's own mama. With the girls situated, Kevin pulled a fleece over his own head, having no desire either to fight the battle with Alicia himself, or endure the girl's questioning of why he didn't have to wear a jacket for the next two hours, and the three of them piled into the family's outback and headed into town. The student parking lot behind Mavisdale High School was lined with minivans and hatchpacks with their trunks popped open, while other vehicles jockeyed for spaces in the big field behind the tennis court used as an overflow lot during football and basketball games.

Lights blazed in both the parking lot and on the football field, chasing the shadows of dust from every corner of the school grounds. The earth was still a little soft from yesterday's rain, and not for the first time Kevin was grateful the car had all-wheel drive. Once a volunteer had waved them into a space, he and the girls picked their way carefully across the muddy field and onto the welcome solidity of the asphalt lane headed into the parking lot. Hannah held on to his hand, swinging his arm along behind her as she danced toward the line of cars set up for Mavisdale's annual trunk or treat event.

Once they reached the safe zone past a row of traffic cone set up to prevent other cars from driving into the area where families were milling about, his youngest let go of his hand, dashing towards the nearest trunk. Taylor trailed behind her, more or less keeping pace with her dad. She sighed and muttered something under her breath, the toe of her boots sending a gravel spinning across the asphalt. What was that? I said, it's lame, Dad. This isn't trick-or-treating.

It's just walking around a parking lot. Kevin really couldn't argue with her there. This carefully curated and ruthlessly organized version of the holiday held none of the excitement that had made Halloween special when he was a kid. The fun of digging through your parents' closet or mamma's attic looking for treasures to cobble together a costume. going house to house lugging increasingly heavy bags of candy, older siblings trailing somewhere far behind,

neglecting their chaperoning duties to hang out with their own friends, checking out the neighbor's Halloween decorations. Some folks got into the spirit more than others, but there were always a handful of families who went all out with creative and sometimes terrifying displays. The feral joy of running through the dark with your friends amidst a horde of other goblins, some of whom you might recognize while others were a pure mystery.

The way the air was filled with the heady pagan aroma of bonfires lit under the silver sickle moon. In central Appalachia, that iconic autumn scent came mostly from wood-burning stoves and a bit of leaf burning, though the forestry service strongly discouraged that these days. But on Halloween night, the source was just as likely an actual bonfire at some field party or another. It had been pure magic. And like all true magic, it had carried just a hint of danger. These days Halloween had become little more than another market employee. These days, Halloween had become little more than another marketing employee.

Even regular department stores like Walmart were filled with dozens of mass-produced costumes, let alone the spirit Halloween shops that inevitably sprung up in whatever shuttered storefront was available. Most parents were too afraid to take their kids from door to door, let alone allow a group of kids to run around the neighborhood unsupervised. So many didn't even bother filling a bowl. of candy anymore. Relying on the popularity of trunk or treats, brightly lit, sanitized events organized by churches, schools, or even shopping centers to allow kids a controlled environment in which to beg for candy. You're not wrong, kiddo. It's a, well, it's a hell of a lot different

when I was a kid, but it is safer for everybody. Oh, come on, dad. You know as well as I do that all that bullshit about poison candy was just that bullshit. You'd better not let your mother hear you say that, Tay. Taylor rolled her eyes again, and Kevin had to fight down the urge to parrot his own daddy's words at her. You'd keep it up, and your eyes are going to get stuck that way. Then she nodded in grudging agreement, so he conceded the point. You're not wrong. There wasn't really a bunch of people out there poisoning kids candy, but it could be dangerous. There was stuff to be afraid of, and there still is, even in our own backyard. I know, dad. Stranger danger and all that. I'm not. I'm not. Kevin shook his head. His expression growing serious. He glanced around for his youngest daughter,

who was a few cars ahead, chattering excitedly with a friend from school, safely out of earshot. Turning back to Taylor, he took a deep breath, considering whether he should tell this story or not. Well, it's not just that. Listen. Old Gods of Appalachia presents one last house, a tale for the season. Mavisdale, Virginia. Nineteen. Eighty-one. It was a perfect night for trick-or-treating.

A crescent moon shone overhead amidst a field of stars, not a cloud in sight. The temperature hovered just above 60 degrees as Kevin Jesse and his older brother, Stevie, sat at the kitchen table at their dad's house, putting the finishing touches on the Halloween costumes they spent all Saturday afternoon pulling together. At 13, Stevie was getting a little old for trick-or-treating, but taking responsibility for his little brother granted him another year's leeway before the folks handing out the candy started asking, Aren't you a little old for this, son?

The past few years, playing chaperone had fallen to their older sister, but at 15, she had finally been granted permission to attend a Halloween party with some of her high school friends, so she had skipped this weekend to dads. That suited Kevin just fine. Jenny, who lately had begun insisting on being called, Jennifer used to be fun. But these days she acted too much like their mom, constantly correcting their grammar,

harping at them about whether they'd finish their homework, and nitpicking every little thing they did like she was the queen of Mavisdale or something. You always ready? Gary, Jesse, walked into the kitchen, tucking the tail of a clean plaid shirt into his jeans, hair still damp and the scent of old spice lingering on his freshly shaved cheeks. Simon, the snowshoe Siamese cat,

who'd been part of their family since Kevin, was four trotted in after him, leaping up onto the kitchen table and buttoned his head into Gary's arm, begging for attention. Simon was an outgoing friendly cat, the kind of cat who'd never met a stranger, but their dad was by far his favorite person. Gary scratched his chin absently as he admired the two boys' costumes. Kevin were one of the white button-ups their mama had bought for him for church, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and had fished an old brown fedora out of the adit that once belonged to Papal Jesse. Stevie wore an old pair of Kevin's coveralls and a Michael Myers mask he'd bought at Ben Franklin with some of the money he'd saved up mowing yards that summer.

He'd asked to borrow one of his daddy's hunting knives, but unlike the machetes, Gary kept those sharp. So the boys had agreed to take turns carrying that. Stevie's voice was muffled behind the white-faced rubber mask over his head. Kevin's face lit with a gap-tooth grin as he shot their dad a thumbs up. Yep, ready, Dad. Let's go, then. The plan was for the boys to ride into town with Gary, who was headed over to Jocco's Bar and Grill for his regular Saturday night out.

The Jesse farm was on the outskirts of Mavisdale and didn't have many close neighbors. Kevin and Stevie's parents had always preferred they do their trick-or-treating in town, where there were sidewalks and streetlights and plenty of other kids running around whose mommies and daddies drove them in for the same reason. The sort of folks who had nice houses within the town limits tended to be doctors, lawyers, dentists and accountants and the like, community leaders that parents felt more comfortable trusting not to hand out candy that was doped or, God forbid, poison. From their youngens perspective, they were also the type who could afford to give out the best

candy. Recy cups and Kit Katz, Hershey bars, and Starburst, as opposed to the weird stuff like liquorish whips and butterscotch chews. Hell, one of the local judges was even known to hand out full-size snicker bars. Gary pulled his old blue and white two-tone. F-100 into the parking lot behind Joccos and the three of them filed out. He surveyed his boys with a look filled with both love and caution. You two mind curfew. Don't be knocking on anybody's doors after nine, okay? You got your watch, Stevie?

Yes, sir. If you boys don't feel like walking all the way back home, you come get me at Jocco's. We'll be fine, Dad. All right, y'all have fun. Be careful now. And check that candy before you eat it. You hear me? Yes, sir.

Gary gave the oversized finessexed. Dora on Kevin's head a playful swat and turned to head into Mavisdale's only pub. Set free at last, Kevin and Stevie ran down the street to join a gaggle of other kids approaching the door of the nearest house. The soft orange glow of the streetlights above shone through the trees overhanging the streets of the sleepy little town, painting the sidewalks and shifting leaf-dappled shadows as a cold breeze blew through their branches. Dead leaves and a ride of oranges, reds and browns crunched underfoot, and the wood smoke scented air rang with the crackling of little witches

and the giggling of baby ghouls. They took in a good hall that night. The orange and black plastic bags they carried weighing heavy in their hands by the time folks started turning off their porch lights, signaling it was time for the local ghouls and goblins to head on home. The two boys were about halfway down a narrow weed choked dead-in street, its trees draped in a strangling cloak of kudzu when lights behind them began winging out. Stevie paused under a street line, pulling his mask off and pushing up the sleeve of his cover-alls to look at his watch. 8.55. It's about time to head home. Kevin shot his older brother a pleading look. Oh, come on. Just one more. Stevie hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the darkened porches behind them. It looks like everybody's done for the night.

Once they turn out the lights, they're probably out of candy anyway. Not that one. Kevin pointed in the direction they'd been heading. At the far end of the street past a rusty boarded-up trailer and an overgrown lot with a set of steps heading up to a barren space where a house must have once stood. A lone porch line flickered weakly through the leaves of a massive oak tree. Stevie's side. Okay, one more, and then we're heading home. Got it?

Got it? Kevin sprinted toward the end of the street. His sneakers crunching over dead leaves, busted bits of sidewalk and rocks, as paved road gave way to a thin layer of gravel over packed dirt. The property at the end of the street was surrounded by a battered chain-linked fence that dragged the ground from a bent left gate post. Its busted gate swaying in the breeze. The house itself. A narrow Victorian with a rusted tin roof, a weathered porch whose rotting boards listed to one side and a couple of three windows that have been boarded over.

Sat back from the road behind a pair of ancient-looking oaks whose branches hung low over the fringhamgoy. burdened with the weight of both time and the kudzu vines that spread between them over the roof of the old structure. If he'd seen it in daylight, Kevin Jesse would have thought the place was abandoned. And yet, from the inky shadows beneath the age-bowed roof overhanging the porch, a bare bulb emitted a weak, stuttering glow, just illuminating a ragged-looking scarecrow propped up next to the front door. On the opposite side, a scorched jack-a-lantern sat dark. Its candle guttered. Stevie's footsteps crunched over the gravel as he caught up,

but Kevin still startled when his brother's hand landed on his shoulder, and Stevie chuckled. You wanted one more house, Kit. Look like you picked a winner. He nodded toward the front door. Go on. The front steps creaked. The lepidated wood sagging underfoot.

As Kevin stepped up onto the porch, his eyes taken in the details of the scarecrow guarding the door. A stitched together burlap sack formed a misshaping head that leaned to the right. Its blackened eyes appearing almost burned in the gloom. It had no mouth. And the head was secured to whatever formed its body with a rope tied into a noose. The orange plaid flannel at war looked almost new, as did the jeans. that made up its legs. A pair of white converse high tops protruded from the cuffs.

Well, that's creepy as shit. Yeah, it's really good. Kevin turned toward the door. It was an old-fashioned number made of a thick slab of heavy oak that, though its varnish had long since peeled away, was nonetheless still solid as stone. A wide center panel that had once no doubt held a thick pane of leaded glass, maybe even stained glass, had been half-ass repaired with a piece of plywood.

He wrapped his knuckles lightly on that hardwood. Trick-or-treat! As they waited for the occupant to answer, Kevin glanced down at the creepy scarecrow. With a startled cry, he stumbled away as a fat cockroach wriggled out of one of the effigies' empty eye sockets. His older brother chuckled, though he too took a cautious step away from the scarecrow. Gross.

I don't think they heard you. Let me try. Stevie raised his hand to the door, applying three solid thunks to its surface. This time they both called out. Trick or treat! The latch gave a soft, door swung open on silent,

well-oiled hinges, revealing a darkened foyer within. To the left, what must have once been a grand stairway rose into darkness. It's carved railing now coated with a thick layer of dust. To the ride, they could dimly make out a bulky, lumping shape resembling an old humpback sofa draped in a sheet.

At the end of the hallway ahead, a faint beam of light stretched around a corner. An elderly voice called to them from the direction of the light. Come in, dears. Come on and get your treat. In the back of his mind, Kevin could hear. hear the voices of his mama and daddy. Never get in a stranger's car. A stranger's house must count, too, right? I'm afraid I can't make it to the door again tonight. It's my arthritis, you know? Kevin glanced up at Stevie. His older brother shrugged and leaned down to whisper to him.

It's okay. She's just an old lady. Come on. Kevin. stepped hesitantly over the threshold, his slow footsteps carrying him toward the light. There was a strange, musty smell to the air. It reminded Kevin of the smell of addicts filled with old clothes, but carried a hint of cloying sweetness twined with a bitter whiff of ammonia. To his ride, amorphous shapes loomed out of the shadows of what must have been the living room. From the porch, She had seen a wide bay window that must be in there, but its drapes were pulled tight, admitting no light from the street. Ahead, a wan yellow glow illuminated the stretch of cracked linoleum in the corner of a cabinet.

As Kevin and Stevie approached the doorway at the end of the hall, the elderly woman's voice came to them again. Very faintly, a gentle crooning sound. Sh, yes, my baby. Sh, soon, so... Kevin wondered if she was looking after her grandbaby tonight, or maybe talking to a little dog. Though if so, it wasn't much of a watchdog, maybe a cat.

As they stepped into the kitchen, his ears picked up a soft, skittering note. Must be a cat, Kevin thought. Their cat had never run when somebody visited their dad's house, but some of their friend's cats were afraid of strangers. The noise hadn't really sounded like a cat. Not exactly. It didn't quite have the weight of a cat's feet scrabbling on a smooth surface, but what else could it be? Something small? A kitten? Oh, maybe the old lady had mice and she needed a cat. The kitchen Kevin and his brother entered was decades out of date. Its fixtures and appliances relics of a bygone era, which was no surprise given the condition of the home's exterior. The cabinets were,

which must have once been white, were yellowed with age, and warped with damp. A hulking wood-burning stove positioned against one wall where it connected to a metal pipe that must lead to a chimney consumed the majority of the space. A double basin sink, its porcelain, chipped and stained, stood adjacent to it, stacked high with dirty dishes that nearly obscured a small window, like most of those he had observed from outside, had been covered with cheap plywood. The cracked linoleum into their feet was patterned in sort of a blocky black and white zigzag. The room was far dimmer and dirtier than any kitchen Kevin had ever set foot in. There were black stains along the edges of the floor and dust bunnies like tumbleweeds in the corners.

The stovetop looked greasy, and the musty odor they had noticed when they entered the house was overlaid here with a sour tang. His memo, he thought, would have been horrified. His mama, too. Hell, even his daddy and his fishing buddy, Mr. Collins, kept better house than this. At a small square table with spindly legs and a formica top that might have once been white under decades of nicotine stain and coffee rings sat the owner of the voice that had invited the two boys inside.

The woman appeared ancient. The topography of time. carved into her face like a map, her shoulders hunched under its burden, the pattern of the brown dress that draped her spindly frame was near indescipherable, though Kevin thought it might have been meant to look like flowers. A ragged black shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and an old-fashioned black tobacco pop with a curved handle rested at one elbow. At the side of them, black eyes squinting from behind a pair of round coat bottle glasses. The old lady picked up the cane that rested at her knee and pushed shakily to her feet.

Yes, come in. Come in, children. It is so lovely to have young people visit again. She had an unpleasant way of speaking. Her words accompanied by a sort of smacking sound, her tongue darting around her mouth and over her teeth. like an unruly little dog jerking at its leash. Come on, boys, don't be scared.

I won't. The lines of her face parted in a smile, revealing a set of teeth that seemed almost too large for her face. Her gums were blackened with what looked like disease, and the teeth were yellowed with age and tobacco stains, though for all that they weren't worn to nubs. They were large and sturdy. and shiny with spittle.

As a graying pink tongue darted across them again, Kevin had the unsettling impression that she might very well bite after all. At a nudge from Stevie, Kevin realized he must be staring. Thumbling, he stammered, trick or treat? The old lady cackled with the light. Oh, my, yes, it is all. Hal is Eve, isn't it, my babies? Now, where did I put my candy,

Oh, but Kevin shot his brother a nervous glance as she turned away from them. Shouldn't she already have the candy out? There were Halloween decorations on the porch. She'd invited them in because he'd yell trick-or-treat. Stevie just shrugged and subtly twirled a finger at his temple. Just a crazy old lady, Kevin interpreted. Right. Sure.

The elderly woman tottered over to the counter and began rooting around the lower cabinet, keeping up a low patter under her breath. Oh, yes. Yes, my baby's candy. Candy for the children. Treats for my babies. Yes, soon, my lovelies, my darling, so soon. Yes.

Kevin felt the hairs rise on his neck. Wondering again just who or what she was talking to. The old lady spun back around with a surprising speed, Lunging at them across the kitchen, Kevin took an involuntary step back, startled, and she cackled again. Trick-o-treat! A splashed. And Kevin almost thought he heard a note of mockery in her voice as she parroted at his words back to him. Here you go, boys.

Help yourselves. In her arms, she carried a green carnival glass punch bowl filled to the brim with rainbow-colored hard candies wrapped in clear plastic. There were peppermint rounds and lemon drops, buttermints and licorice sticks, chicken bones, and toffee chews. Mammal candies, Kevin and Stevie had always called them, not a fun-sized snickers or many wreaths or even a tussie pop inside. When Kevin hesitated, though, the old lady thrust the bowl at him. Don't be shy.

Kevin forced a smile and reluctantly reached into the bowl, pushing his hand below the top layer to feel around, just in case some more appetizing offering might lurk beneath the surface. Something grabbed onto his finger, and then his wrist, and then another finger, within the space of a heartbeat, the moment it took to draw a breath, something was crawling all over his hand. Kevin jerked his hand out of the bowl, staring at it in shock. A dozen or more of them clung to his hand, beginning to crawl up his exposed wrist.

He started to scream, What the fuck? The old lady screamed. screamed with laughter as Stevie pulled the Michael Myers mask out of the pocket of his coveralls, using it to swipe the foul things off his younger brother's hand. Kevin's heart thuddered and revulsion and terror, and he thought he might wet his pants. His face was wet with tears and his skin crawled, though he could see they were gone now. He could still feel tiny legs all over his arm.

The bowl of candy roiled, a choppy rainbow sea. As the roaches hidden beneath the layer of sweets rose to its surface, the old lady's face split. and a rapturous death's head grin. Come out, come out, my babies. Got me to. Who's come for dinner? A skittering, chirping hum rose around them growing in volume. The shadows seemed to gather and seethe

as a rising tide of gleaming brownish black carapaces rolled from every dark corner. Stevie grabbed Kevin's arm and jerked him into motion, out of the kitchen and back into the narrow hallway. A heavy slam echoed throughout the old house. shaking the rotting walls, and Kevin knew, even as the two boys fled toward the front door, they would find it shut tight. Stevie reached it first, yanking at the latch, but the door wouldn't budge. It was locked, he realized, though he couldn't fathom how.

They had left the door open behind them. He had neither seen nor heard anyone but the old woman, whose screeching laughter still carried from the kitchen. Kevin pressed closer to him, his voice high and keening with panic. Stevie, get the door, they're coming! Behind them. A tide of chattering darkness was filling the house, marching across the floor and crawling up the walls,

spreading over the ceiling like a coat of oily black armor, and they were getting closer. As he watched, a few scouts began to pull ahead of the horde, running straight for Kevin's sneakers with a yelp. Kevin stopped them in disgust. Stevie! They had to get out of this place. Squinting in the dim light of the foyer,

Stevie let both his eyes and fingers roam over the door, searching for some way to open it. The lock was a deadbolt. keyed on both sides, and both the door and the trim looked unaccountably sturdy for what appeared to be a wreck of a house. When his fingers found the old piece of plywood that covered the window pane, he curled them against the edges of the wood and yanked. He got only scraped hands and splinters for his trouble, but an idea occurred to him and he grabbed his little brother's arm. Where's that machete? Kevin blinked in momentary confusion.

He had forgotten all about the rusty old knife their dad had let them borrow for their costumes, and he fumbled with the leather cord he'd used to secure it to one of his belt loops and then passed the machete. to his brother. Stevie wedged the long blade behind one corner of the plywood panel, wedged his foot against the door for leverage, and pulled on the handle with all his strength. Wood and rusty nails groaned, and for a moment he almost thought this wasn't going to work. Then there was a tearing sound, and the plank came free, spilling him onto his back atop the incoming flood of cockroaches. Stevie Jesse had never jumped up so fast in his life. Ignoring the roaches now, clinging to his back in his hair, he grabbed Kevin by the shoulders and spun him toward the hole in the door, all

but shoving him through it. The younger boy scrambled out onto the porch, then turned back waiting for his big brother. Go, Kevin, however, could see what Stevie could not. A figure looming out of the darkness behind his brother. The hunched back monstrosity, humanoid in shape but covered in roaches move with uncanny speed. Kevin grabbed his arm just as a clawed hand seized on the back of Stevie's coveralls.

If he hadn't been holding on to him, his big brother would have been pulled down, even with Kevin yanking him through the door, Stevie could feel the roaches spreading over his coveralls, beginning to wriggle under the collar and climb up his pant leg. He reached and found the zipper and yanked it down. Shrugging his arms free, he dove through the hole, spilling under the porch,

momentum and the grasping thing inside the house, pulling his sneakers off along with the legs of his coveralls. Kevin grabbed him by the back of the t-shirt he wore underneath and hauled him toward the stairs. Stevie stumbled to his sock feet, grabbed Kevin's hands, and the two brothers ran. Down the rotting steps. and through the overgrown front yard out into the street.

They didn't slow until they reached the parking lot where Gary Jesse had parked his old F-100 and the welcoming familiar neon glow of Jocco's Bar and Grill. I'll trade you my skittles for a bag of Reese's pieces. As he sipped on a beer in the kitchen and listened to his girls giggling and trading candy over the soundtrack of a scary movie in the den,

Kevin Jesse was pretty sure his eldest hadn't believed the story he told her earlier that evening. If he hadn't known better, he probably wouldn't have believed it himself. Her uncle Stevie could have verified the tale if he was willing to talk about it. Stevie, who preferred to be called Steve these days, didn't like to talk about that, though. Over the years he had mostly tried to forget, Kevin didn't press him on the matter. Their daddy had believed him when they stumbled into joccos that night, Stevie's costume lost, and both their candy halls abandoned in that monstrous house.

He'd even driven over to the rotting old Victoria in the following morning. No one had answered his knock, and he'd seen no sign of the old woman Kevin had come to think of as the roach mother. Or even so much as the creepy porch decorations the boys had described, though he had found one of his older sons abandoned sneakers on the porch. Gary Jesse had good reason to believe. As he told Kevin some years later, Gary had seen a lot of strange sense. things in Mavistale. At one point, Kevin had asked him, why didn't he just move away? And his daddy's answer had always stuck with him. Every place is haunted. Sometimes it's just

best to stick with the haints, you know. Well, hey there, family. I hope we didn't ruin anybody's appetite for candy. We just wanted to share the holiday spirit with y'all on this most hallowed birthday night. Now, this is your y'all weren't kidding about the bugs in that content warning 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 Kim Collins and narrated by Steve Schell. The voice of Alicia Jessie was Mandela Leonard.

The voice of Taylor Jesse was Kim Collins. The voice of Hannah Jesse was Antonia Trissotti. Our intro and outro music is by our brother Land and Blood. We'll talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon.