Spooked - Old Gods of Appalachia - Part 3

Episode Date: June 9, 2026

The people of Bower County have had just about enough of Polly Barrow and the boys, and decide to do something about it. This is the third and final part of our introduction to Old Gods of Appalachia. If you like what you heard, you can listen to the complete podcast — currently in its sixth season here in 2026 — on your favorite podcast app! To learn more about the show, visit oldgodsofappalachia.com This episode contains scenes of an armed mob, witchcraft practices, house fire, burns / injuries incurred from those fires, non-graphic mention of a gunshot wound, strangulation, smothering / difficulty breathing, death by blunt force, explosions, body horror, supernatural attack on a woman by a man, monster violence, ageist language (used by a villain), and death. Sensitive listeners please be advised.  Written by Cam Collins and Steve Shell Special script consultant: DJ Rogers Narrated by Steve Shell Sound design by Steve Shell Produced and edited by Cam Collins and Steve Shell The voice of Polly Barrow: Tracy Johnston-Crum The voice of Granny Underwood: Stephanie Hickling-Beckman The voice of Nina Jennings: Shasparay Irvine The voice of Tobias Underwood: DJ Rogers The voice of Franklin Moses: Dr. Ray Christian Intro Music: “The Land Unknown (The Pound of Flesh Verses)” written and performed by Landon Blood Outro Music: “Pretty Polly” as performed by Landon Blood and John Lee Bullard and a second version performed by Stacie Sexton. Special guest voices (aka The Churchman Ghost Chorus): Cam Collins, Laura Hampton, Manda Alley Leonard, Jordan Shiveley, Kelson Stallard, Amerie Helton, Tonya Woolard, Nathan Cavicci, Jason Strength, Fiona Chamness, Colin Bulla, DL Armistead, Mortellus, Eric Daniel Pavey, Renee Hill, Grant McCracken, Dayv Cole, Terhan McDaniels, Monique Bouchard, Tyler Childers (no, not that Tyler Childers, the other one), Jékksyn Ícaro, Joshua Huntsinger, Theresa Daniels, Sarah Leary, Dan Craley, Edwin Maldanado Jr., Nikki Nelson-Hicks, Layla Cruse, Lindsey Deel with thanks and apologies to Billy Howell, Mayor Preston Blakely, D. Travis Brandel, Tonya Downing, Josh Roberts, and Susan Fox.  Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Just to see what would reply. But when the hollered back, that's when I knew. Because what the holler hollered was the very thing I'd hit. Then down the holler, knew exactly what I did. You've crossed over to Spooked. Stay, spooksters. Welcome back to the conclusion of our journey through the holler, the old gods of Appalachia.

If you haven't yet heard, episode one and two, I envy you. I do. Go back. Listen to those first. We'll be waiting right here. But now, understand, some of these mountains aren't on any map. The names may sound strange, the years, they don't sit still, and the monsters, you've met the monsters. The final episode of Old Gods of Appalachia starts now. Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast and therefore may continue. material not suitable for all audiences. So listener discretion is advised.

Mr. Crane was not having a good day. He had been riding around for hours, searching the hills and hollers and backroads of Bower County, West Virginia, for a house that seemed to have disappeared out of thin air. His employer, Miss Barrow, was at a... angry, very angry. He could feel the force of her rage radiating through the car from the back seat, the chill raising the hairs on the back of his neck like standing in front of an open ice box. It was making him nervous. Mr. Churchman pulled the car around the back of the cabin. The

three had been using as a base of operations, and Crane hopped out quickly to hold the door for Miss Barrow. He was rewarded. boarded with a flat stare as she stalked from the Cadillac and proceeded through the kitchen door, glass rattled as she slammed it behind her. Crane and churchmen shared a look and then cautiously followed her inside. Polly Bearers stood stiff and silent by the kitchen window. She'd board herself a drink and set it on the counter beside her, but it appeared untouched. Her mouth was set. in a grim line as she stared out the darkened window. Crane gave his partner a subtle nod,

and Mr. Churchman produced the map of Bower County they'd been using to locate their targets. He spread it across the small kitchen table. The two men peered at it as though it might somehow contain the secrets of the universe. Mr. Crane traced the route for what felt like the thousandth time and shook his head. It just didn't make sense. He turned to Miss Barra, who stood with her back to them, hand now held to her forehead as if fighting off a mighty headache.

Miss Beto, if you like, Mr. Churchman and I can split up, and Polly turned rubbing her eyes. Her tone measured and severe like a cold bullwhip. And do what? Wander around in the dark until one of you finds a hole to fall into. That would be vastly preferable to what will happen. if we go back to Barrow House without the weapon. Daddy is not a patient man, Mr. Crane. He's wondering why I haven't reported back to him about the Underwood family.

I can feel his impatience weighing on me. He wants this done. Does Mr. Barrow know the child has been misplaced? I believe the word you are looking for is. is lost, Mr. Crane. We lost the child capable of bringing death and destruction to all those around him, if not properly contained. We have lost the child who could do much more harm than good

and throw many of my daddy's plans into disarray. And to answer your question, no. I don't think we'd still be standing here if he had any inkling the child was lost. So there's that. I still do not understand what happened, Miss Barrow. My sense of direction does not fail. That house should have been right there,

and a grand house it was, too big enough for a proper family. Not some ratty old shack with one old Oma and her daughter, sending us into the woods for another eight miles. It should not have happened, miss. Agreed, Mr. Crane. What was that? I believe we have company. Would you be so kind as to be.

welcome them, Mr. Crane? To the time of my friend, to these shadows. The main and gold sunlight of that autumn afternoon, as the sun began to kiss the tops of the trees. Mary Gold Underwood had stood in the kitchen of that grand house on Oak Mountain, sweeping the last few moats of dirt into her dustpan and considering supper. It had been a long day, and she wasn't all that hungry really. She was thinking she might just lie down for a bit, maybe even turn in early.

There was Tobias to consider, of course. He might come for supper tonight as he had been lately and maybe even stay over. But she could heat up the leftover chicken she'd made last night and leave it in the oven for him. He wouldn't mind. He was a good boy or nephew. Miss Marigold had dumped the contents of the dustbin into the garbage and gone to the sink to wash her hands when she heard the front screen door slam. Her daughter's frantic voice floated down the hall.

Mama, Mama, where are you? Girl, you're going to slam my door right off the front of my house. You know better than that. What's wrong with you? We got trouble, Mama. I just talked to Miss Moses down at the dry goods. She said her husband Franklin and Tobias and a bunch of them boys that have been trying to organize

or going out to the back end of Pascoe looking to confront people from the company about what happened to the Capriottis and all those other folks. Somebody said they saw a fancy black company car out near both houses before they found everybody dead. It's them, ain't it, Mama? The ones that weren't people. I'm going to skin that boy alive and something else don't beat me to it. Bring the car around, baby.

I got to get some things together. Dang, fools going to get their self killed for nothing. What you waiting on? Get? Yes, ma'am. Nina ran back outside to start the car, and Marigold took a moment to collect herself. She'd known they'd have to do something about them company folks, sure enough, but she thought they'd have more time to plan. She told Nima they could have sleep on it and then talk things over tomorrow, but it seemed this day might never end.

Marigold shook her head wearily, then she squared her shoulders and stood up straight. She went into her workroom and bowled out her little basket again. There was no time tonight for contemplating options and carefully portioning out herbs and oils and tinctures. This was not the time for subtlety. She tossed in whole jars of anything she thought might be useful, and then she reached for her sickle. Its wooden handle gleamed with Patina, worn smooth by decades of use. Marigold could feel the power of hundreds of workings coursing through it,

lending her strength. Its weight was a comfort in her hand. As she walked into the kitchen, she gave it an experimental swing, a smooth and practiced motion, and it sang through the air. Marigold smiled. Some days you get time to plan, and some days you just have to act. And Marigold Underwood had always excelled at thinking on her feet. In another part of Bower County, just off the road that lit out of Cah borough, a group of men crouched behind a thick stand. of switchgrass and watched as a long black Cadillac slowed, then nosed its way through the weeds and up a narrow, rudded dirt track that led through the woods to a certain cabin known to be used

by the company from time to time. The sun had just sunk behind the mountain, painting the sky and flaming streaks of orange and red and the shadows of oaks and elms and hemlock stretched long across the ground. As the fancy company car rounded a bend and disappeared at a sight, Tobias Underwood slowly rose to his feet, motioning to the other men that followed the disused path into the trees. There was a dozen of them, all who worked in the mines, all men whom Tobias knew and trusted.

Some were longtime friends. Franklin Moses, the eldest of the party, was married to a good friend of Ninas, and his brother was the pastor at Auntie Merrickold's church. A couple of them had lost family in the strange and terrifying recent attacks, like Christoph Mayso, the seventh of their group who had yet to arrive. Christoph was supposed to meet them there nearly an hour ago with guns and lamp oil. Few of them had firepower. Franklin had his hunting rifle, and Tobias had bought his uncle's pistol, but not enough.

In the face of the current economic crisis, a lot of folks have been forced apart with shotguns or rifles, sometimes passed down for generations in order to put food on the table. As Tobias gazed into the trees watching for some sign of Christoph, Franklin peered at his watch and sighed. Tobias, where the hell is Christoph? How are we supposed to get anything done without some firepower? I know he always laid for work, but he can't even be bothered to show up for this?

Christoph was a skinny white kid who worked in Pascoe number three. He was a bit of a flake, always clocking in just a couple of minutes late or forgetting his lunch or needing to borrow a spare shovel, and he always had some story to tell about how those circumstances had come about. The boy seemed constitutionally incapable of keeping his mouth shut, truth be known, and Tobias had at first hesitated to include him. But Christoph was a good boy, and he was useful. His granddaddy was a gunsmith and amateur chemist who liked to tinker or, around with homemade fireworks. Christoph's aunt and uncle had also been found brutally and inexplicably murdered in their home in recent weeks, and it hadn't felt right to deny him a place at their side.

I know, I know. He should have been here hour ago. I'm starting to get worried something might have happened to him. I told him to be careful, but you know how he is. That man can't keep his mouth shut for nothing. He probably told his pastor he couldn't come to service because he had a house to burn down. He gets caught, we'll all be hurting. Tobias was considering the wisdom of leaving the group to go check on Christoph when,

finally, they heard the sound of a panel truck chugging down the road. Tobias peered through the trees and watched as a truck drove past the turn that led up to the cabin and continued on down the road, just past a stand of trees. Good man, Tobias thought. He'd warned Christoph not to come up the narrow track that led to him. to the cabin, its occupants might hear his truck. Better to pull off the road a ways down and come through the woods. A few minutes later, they heard a rustling in the underbrush and the sound of heavy breathing as Christoph Meso lugged a crate of guns into the trees. Tobias felt his

shoulders slump in relief. Christoph, what took his so long? I, Auntie, Nina, what y'all doing here? Tobias' eyes widened as his auntie Marigold and cousin. and Nina followed the skinny white kid into the clearing. Nina was helping lug a couple of jugs of what must be the lamp oil, and Miss Marigold carried a small woven basket over her left arm, and a familiar sickle in her right hand. Tobias turned to glare at Christoph. What are you doing, bringing my auntie and cousin into this mess?

What would you think? It wasn't like that, Christoph stammered. They flagged me down, and, well, You try arguing with them. Christoph threw up his hands and shrugged helplessly, his eyes darting nervously to the two women. Nina Jennings had set the jugs down and folded her arms over her chest, her mouth set in a grim, determined line.

An expression Tobias knew all too well. Auntie Merrigold raised an eyebrow. The young man speaks true. Nina got word of what y'all were up to here and came to me. Tobias Underwood, what were you thinking? What were all you fools thinking? The woman known to all of Bower County, regardless of familial affiliation as Granny Underwood, cast a stern look over the assembled men, meeting each one's eyes in turn.

Young and grown, black and white alike, they all eventually looked away. Some ducked their heads or shuffled their feet. No one said a word. Auntie, the men in that cabin, they're the ones responsible for all them folks being killed lately. They've been spotted, drawn around, and a company car nearby everywhere something happened. We know it's them.

Of course it's them, Tobias. I saw them as well. They drove up by the house this morning looking for you. They dropped that delivery off at my house, and they knew it's your address. Me? Yes, oh. And y'all think you're going to just run up on folks like that and do what?

Box their ears and send them packing. Miss Marigold shook her head. Use your head, Tobias. Them folks are dangerous. We got to do something, Auntie. We can't just let them keep killing folks. Of course not. But you boys ain't going to go running in their half-cocked.

If you do, you'll die. Hear me, you will die. She cast her gaze around the group of men again, and slowly they nodded. All but one. Franklin Moses raised his chin and spoke up. No disrespect, ma'am. But why should we be listening to you?

This is men's business. What do you know about it? Franklin Moses, you old enough to know better. But here you are encouraging these young guns in their foolishness. What do I know about it? You didn't question me when your grandbaby had the croup last winter. or when you moved into that house that needed a good cleansing. Heard any most stomping footsteps in the night?

Got cabinets banging at all hours? Uh, no, ma'am. It's been a peaceful house since you visited. Well, then, don't ask me how I know, Mr. Moses. I know. Yes, ma'am. Fair enough. Marigold nodded and turned her head from Franklin back to the rest of the gathering. Now, if we do this right,

We can run them company folks out of Bile County, and we'll all go home tonight. Y'all gather around now and listen close. Here's what we're going to do. Mayor Gold Underwood nodded. Satisfied as she put the final touches on the hasty sigils, she dug into the ground with the point of her sickle. It was sloppy work by her usual standards, but it would help keep those company folks contained,

and the fire would do the rest. She stood and stretched, working the kinks out of her back, and then nodded to Tobias, who had followed alongside her as she worked her way around the cabin in the woods, filling the symbols she etched into the ground with a mixture of lamp oil, and some of the more specialized herbs and flowers she tossed into her little basket, the sort of things she kept on a high shelf out of the side of prion eyes and the reach of curious fingers. They had been able to work in a tight circle.

staying as far clear of the surrounding trees as possible with the aid of her daughter. Nina was a deft hand with a cloaking spell. It wouldn't keep them hidden from anyone who looked directly at them. But it was handy to deflect a casual glance out of windows, saying, allow them to move all but silently. Now Miss Marigold and Nina, Tobias and Franklin and the other men, gathered around the outside of that circle. one positioned at each of the 13 sigils Marigold had carved into the ground,

the men all carried guns. And as Marigold nodded to the youngest one, Christoph, he lit the torch he carried. And then those of the two men on either side of him. One by one, the assembled miners passed fire to one another. When the last of the torches had been lit, Tobias silently raised a hand. Across the circle from him, Franklin Moses raised his as well, so that any man from any point around the circle of wards would be able to see the signal. At Tobias's nod, he and Franklin both dropped their arms, fingers pointing down,

and every man lowered his torch to set alight the symbol etched in front of him. Power thrummed through the ground as the sigils came to life at the touch of flame. It coursed down the double lines that connected. at each sign, gathering power and forming an impenetrable wall of magic-kissed fire, startled the men shuffled back a step or two. The Miss Marigold Nina and Tobias held their ground, and the others quickly settled. Standing straight, faces set with determination. The blessed fire bathed their faces in a righteous golden glow,

and their shadows stretched long behind them. Tobias opened his mouth, ready to give the signal for the next part of the plan, when the cabin's front door opened. A short white man with a scar over one eye and heavy muscles packed into a finely tailored suit stepped onto the porch. He gazed through the flames of the local men with their guns and their torches and the two women who stood among them and smirked. Well, well, well, what have we here?

Can I help you, gentlemen? It was the smile that did it. The pompous expression on the face of the man who'd brought so much pain and heartbreak to Bayer County, Tobias Underwood couldn't abide a smug bastard. Yeah, you can help us all right to murder and some bitch. We know what y'all did is the Capriades and the pastor and all them other folks. You and your boys can come out here and face us like men.

Oh, I don't know about that. But you are correct in one respect. We do contain multitudes. Mr. Crane reached out before him. His palms turned toward the ground and made an odd grasping motion with his fingers, twisting his palms around and jerking his clasped fist upward. There was a brief moment where nothing happened. And the gathered men simply stared at him,

unimpressed by the strange gesture. And then their own shadows rose up around them and attacked. It was like fight and smoke, except the shadows carried an unaccountable heft and weight that defied the nature of such things. They twisted around the men's legs like vines, pulling them from their feet, then twisted away when the miners reached to pull them loose. The shadows threw punches like champion prize fighters, shattering jaws and cracking ribs, but faded. Intangible as a bad dream when the men struck back. But they were no match for Nina Jennings. When her own unruly shadow rose up before her, she shook her head firmly, grasped in one hand like a troublesome haint, and reached out with her gift.

Well, it was almost like banishing a ghost. But instead of sending the writhing mass of darkness away entirely, she focused on the power that animated it. It felt cold and slimy against her senses, and she shuddered at its touch, but then it was gone. And her shadow returned to its proper place at her feet. Nina hadn't been entirely certain it would work, but as soon as it did, she moved to her mama's side and did the same for her, leaving Miss Marigold free to direct the burning ward. And then she moved on to help the others. Good work, baby. Keep it up. Yes, ma'am. Nina worked her way through the swirling mass of shadows and bodies, banishing the writhing spectres and helping her friends and neighbors to their feet where she was needed. She was so busy. At first she didn't notice the thin, form that emerged from the cabin. Mr. Crane smiled as his compatriot stepped on to the porch.

A little assistance, Mr. Churchman. That girl is a bit troublesome. Mr. Churchman gave a stately nod and turned his attention to the young black woman on the other side of the flame. Johann Churchman had never been a man of words, and he had spent his life before joining the ranks of the hollow men spreading that silence. He had strangled over 200 men, women, and children by the time he found his way to the halls of Barrowhouse. Some joke there wasn't much soul left to hollow out of the tall, silent man that some called breathstealer.

His hollowing had left him nigh voiceless, and it altered. certain aspects of his physical forms in unsettling way. He raised a single hand toward Nina Jennings and opened his mouth, which stretched considerably wider than any normal human mouse should. It looked as though someone had slit the corners of it and installed rows of thin bones to hold it open like a haunted whale. His teeth were black and serrated. And a foul stench bled from the man as he drew in a deep breath.

The air filled with the sound of a thousand collapsing wind pipes and the hiss of a thousand more death rattles as he began to draw the air from around Nina Jennings. The fires around her died from the lack of oxygen. And Nina swayed on her feet, her eyes wide with fear, as her lungs emptied and could find no air to refill them. terrified. She reached out with her gift in panic. Who would speak for this man?

She gasped, reaching into the darkness around her, calling out to whatever spirits were tethered by destiny to the looming form above her. And the spirits, they came pouring through the darkness in droves. Their wailing voices restored to them by death rising to a shriek in Nina's ears. The sucking pressure in her lungs disres. disappeared, and she gasped, drinking in oxygen gulp after greedy gulp. She watched as the furious dead swarm the tall man, surrounding him in a seething mass. They seemed to almost blend together so that it was hard to separate one from the next. Nina clutched her head as their cries filled her ears and visions of their deaths filled her mind.

So many deaths, so many terrible, terrible deaths. She shuddered. Oh, this man had a reckoning coming. I don't know who you used to be, mister, but I wouldn't want to be you for the world. You better hope you live a good long time. To her left, Nina heard the sound of breaking glass, and she looked over in time to see the next torch sail through the broken window.

Another landed on the porch and fire raced across the sagging, weather-worn boards. Meanwhile, Mr. Churchman continued battling the hovering ghosts, manipulating the shifting currents of air to direct them away from him, he caught sight of the young woman who had summoned the annoying spirits and spread his jaws wide again. His eyes alight with unholy glee. And Churchman watched in satisfaction as she clutched helplessly at her throat, swayed, and dropped like a puppet with her strings cut.

Oh, no, you don't! Mary Gold Underwood swung her sickle back behind. her shoulder and swept it around before her in a precise, furious arc. The curve of her blade gathered power before it, a whirling ball of air that combined with the flames before her and grew at the end of her swing, a six-foot ball of fire whipped across the yard, barreling into Johann Churchman and blowing him to the front wall of the house. Sacked, panting with the effort, and then turned her attention to her daughter. She spotted Nina on the ground some 15 feet away. To Marigold's relief, she was already moving. Rolling to her side, coughing,

struggling to get up, she had taken one step towards her daughter when a bloodthirsty roar split the night. A wide of rippling flesh and shadow and bone stepped through the ruined front wall of the cabin. As tall as the skinny white man who had attacked me how Marigold could see now and pale, and her eyes glowed with amber light. Marigold could see her face in the firelight, and she was clearly the same woman they'd seen in the black car that afternoon. But earlier, where she'd had dark hair styled and neat waves, a swirling mass of whipping shadows like tentacles,

now cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, The burned remains of her dress hung from her shoulders and tatters, and from the neck down, her body was covered in armored plates made of articulated bone and streaked with soot. Her hands were encased in thick, studded gauntlets, tipped with razor-sharp claws, her feet in more of the same. She raced to the edge of the porch, much faster than anyone so encumbered should be able to move and leapt to the ground, bringing her heavily armored fist down before her in a whoosh. A shockwave rolled across the ground around her, spreading in a wide circle that knocked the

crowd of men and women from their feet. The bone woman stood, gazing around the devastation in her midst, and her eyes lit on Miss Marigold, already gripping her sickle and struggling to her feet. A cold smile spread across Polly Barrow's still pretty face. It's you! The old bat from the shack on the mountain? You need meddling mortals, bitch! The mouth on you! Why, your mama ought to tan your hide.

Don't see her here, though, so I guess I'll have to do. Marigold Underwood squared her shoulders and planted her feet. She swept the sickle before her and the smoldering ember of her wards leapt into flame once more at her command. She smiled grimly as Polly Barrow stepped towards her, and in her heart she sent up a prayer that Nina and Tobias and all the other good men here would make it home safe tonight. The bone woman roamed over. She pulled back a heavily armored fist nearly the size of Marigold's head. head, and then suddenly, she stopped, rocking back on her heels. She dropped her fists. Her hands

going to either side of her head as she cried out. She stumbled to her knees, clutching her skull, as she called out to someone, someone no one else could see. Watched in fascinated horror. The armored woman seemed to almost flicker as her scream echoed Through the night, there was a sharp popping noise, like the sound of displaced air, just gone as if she'd never been. From behind the cabin, which was blazing merrily along, an engine roared. A moment later, the black Cadillac swung around the side of the house and screeched to a stop. The tall man, his face, a weeping mass of burned flesh and exposed bone, was behind the wheel.

He reached behind him to throw the back door. opened and the short stocky man, who someone had shot in the leg, and good for them, staggered across the yard and threw himself into the back seat. The door slammed behind him and the caddy tore off down the dirt track and into the night. Merigold Underwood sagged with relief. Dropping to her knees right there in the dirt, she sent up another silent prayer of things. It was over. It was over. Nina Jennings carefully put. pushed herself to her feet, carefully assessing herself for any broken bones or other serious injuries. She found only scrapes and bruises, and she looked around and spotted her mother on her knees

several feet away. Nina leapt up and hurried to her side. Mama! Mama! You okay? I'm fine, baby. Just got the wind knocked out of me, Zaw. Give your mama a hand with you. Tobias was on his feet as well, carrying one of the remaining torches to help him pick his way around the burning patches of grass, searching out each of his friends. Christoph Meso was dead. Tobias had seen the kid go down fighting the short man, had heard his agonized scream,

a sound that would live on in his nightmares for the rest of his days. Another man had smothered to death under the influence of whatever hoodoo the creepy tall man had been working. Tobias shuddered at the thought. As he helped a man with a broken arm to his feet, Tobias heard a low moan coming from a few feet away. He squinted into the shadows, holding his torch aloft, and spotted Franklin Moses lying near the smoldering remains of the cabin's front porch.

Tobias ran to Franklin's side and dropped to his knees next to his fallen friend. Franklin had been caught in the fire. The dark coveralls he'd worn earlier had been burned away all along his right side from the shoulder down. It was hard to see with just a torch, but the burns looked. Tobias reached out and laid a gentle hand on Franklin's chest, trying to avoid the injuries, but to keep the man still so he could get a better look. Franklin?

Hold still, ma'am. Let me go look at you. Oh, Tobias trailed off mid-sentence as the seared skin before him seemed almost to shimmer as he watched in disbelief. Torn flesh knit itself back together, and burns began to fade, then heal. As the pain faded, Franklin quieted, and took a deep shuddering breath, he stared up at Tobias in awe. Tobias, what did you do? I don't know, man. I was trying to see how bad it was.

Behind him, Tobias heard footsteps, and turned to find his auntie Mary Gold and knee. had joined him. Well, Tobias, I always said you took more after your uncle than your own daddy. Auntie? What is this? What was that? How did I do that? It's all right, baby.

You just got that hoodoo shit. Don't you worry now. Everything's going to be fine. Just fine. There's some other folks need your help now. Come on. I'll show you. It took Mr. Crane and Churchman, a solid two days to reach Barrow, Pennsylvania.

The two men were injured and exhausted from their labors and spent most of the first 24 hours after they escaped Bower County. May they never return to that foul place, parked under a bridge, one asleep in the front seat, the other in the back, allowing their wounds to heal. Then they had spent some time pondering whether it would best serve their interest to return at all. The Barrow family was not known for its tolerance of failure. In the end, they had determined that they would be tracked and hunted and die like animals if they chose that course. And so they turned the black card north and headed back to Barrow House. Mr. Churchman steered the car that had belonged to their mistress up the winding drive, that led to the front door, and the two men stepped outside. The night was silent.

Not a cricket stirred, not an owl hooted. Nothing living lingered long in Barrow. The slap of their hard-souled shoes on the marble steps was the only sound as Crane and churchmen made their way up the steps to the front door of Barrow House and let themselves inside. They found Conrad Barrow waiting for them. Welcome back, boys. Have a good time in West Virginia? Mr. Crane said nothing. Churchman stood silent and implacable as ever at his side. Conrad Grinned.

You two can head on down to the bunkhouse to wait for your next assignment. Miss Polly will be indisposed for some time. Father isn't very happy with her. Not very happy at all. Oh, hey there, family. Thank you all for listening to this special presentation of old gods of Appalachia here on Spooked. We want to thank Glenn and everyone in the Spooked family for having us over to visit, and we hope you've enjoyed your time with us.

You can find all of our episodes wherever fine and sundry podcasts are available. For a list of all our episodes, complete with transcripts, information on our cast, links to our social media and more, you can head on over to Old Gods of Appalachia.com, and if you are truly moved to join us, you can subscribe to The Holler. Our paid subscription service where you can gain access to every episode ad-free, as well as hours upon hours of exclusive storylines like Bill Mama Cawfin, Black Mouth Dog, familiar and beloved, the door under the floor, and much, much more. Today's story was written by Kim Collins and Steve Shell with script consultation by DJ Rogers.

Our intro music is by our brother Landon Blood. Our outro music is Landin' Blood, accompanied by John Lee Bullard, with a version of Pretty Polly. Speaking of Pretty Polly, the voice of Polly Barrow is Tracy Johnston Crum, the voice of Conrad Barrow, Cecil Baldwin, the voice of Nina Jennings is Chasperay Irvin, the voice of Marigold Underwood is Stephanie Hickling Beckman, the voice of Tobias Underwood is DJ Rogers,

and the voice of Franklin Moses is Dr. Ray Christian. Talk to you soon, family. Talk to you real soon. Gods of Appalachia. If you like what you've heard, listen to the complete podcast, run with a quickness, and subscribe. The Old Gods of Apalachia podcast,

more places, more characters, and more monsters await. Old Gods of Apalacha is a production of deep nerd media. To learn more about this show, visit old gods of Apalachia.com and wherever you run. Whatever you're running from,