Welcome to Stuff you should know, a production of I Heart Radio. Hey, and welcome to the spook Cast. I'm Josh, and there's Chuck and there's Jerry Booberry, Roland Booberry. That was the best one. I like it. And this is Stuff you should Know, the Spooktacular, Spooky Halloween Edition. That's right, this is our spook Tacular. That's awesome. And I went back and looked and uh, we started out kind of timid mm hmm with the early days, and then we kind of got I think it was a few years in when we finally started in with like the two stories and really got our wheels. Are Halloween wheels going? I can feel them just burning up the tree act right now. That's right. And also this is as we always like to mention, one of our two episodes of the year, that we have fought tooth and nail to keep ad free. That's right, because nothing will ruin a spooky Halloween story more than stopping to sell stamps, That's right. You just want the scares and the thrills and the chills to be perfectly uninterrupted, right. Yeah. And both of these stories of parents have never heard these, uh, they are both fine for kids to listen to a little creepy, but largely because we have to use uh what's it called when you can read it public domain stories, and usually those aren't you know, they're older, so they're not as gross as the stories you would get today. Yeah, I mean the language they use. Adults barely know what's going on. Kids definitely don't. So those are the stories we like to pick two good ones. So I'm looking forward to these two, two quality stories. Let's start with yours. The Boarded Window by Ambrose Beer. Right, yeah, Ambrose Beer is one of the great journalists and spooky story writers in history. I believe we already have done one Beers piece, definitely. I can't remember the name of it, but it was good. Yeah, it was good. I think he was also called like the wickedest man alive at some point in time. No, that was what's his face? You know what I'm saying. I think more than one person has been called that. Okay, I've been called that before. Come on, no, that's not true. All right, So you want to start this one, Yeah, I'll give this one a whirl, all right, And Jerry, if you don't mind bringing on the amazing sound effects. A hand for Jerry. Everybody, she does it up. Every year, she does it up. So here we go. Everybody darken the lights, pore up a spooky cider or something, and here we go with the boarded window by Ambrose Beers. In eighteen thirty, only a few miles away from what is now the great city of Cincinnata lay an immense and almost unbroken forest. The whole region was sparsely settled by people of the frontier, restless souls who no sooner had hewn fairly habitable homes out of the wilderness and attained to that degree of prosperity which today we should call indigence, than impelled by some mysterious impulse of their nature, they abandoned all and pushed farther westward to encounter new perils and privations, and the effort to regain the meager comforts which they had voluntarily renounced. It's quite a sentence, it is. It's clever, though I know, I love how they pushed further westward into Cincinnati. That's right, many of them had already forsaken that region for the remoter settlements. But among those remaining was one who had been of those first arriving. He lived alone in a house of logs, surrounded on all sides by the great forest, of whose gloom in silence he seemed to part, for no one had ever known him to smile nor speak a needless word. His simple wants were supplied by the sale or barter of skins of wild animals in the river town. For not a thing did he grow upon the land, which, if needful, he might have claimed by right of undisturbed possession. So this guy's like the king of his domain e there basically definitely, But he doesn't really do anything. He just kind of lays around and skins animals, I guess, as we will see, there were evidences of quote improvement end quote, which is kind of harsh, I think, to say, A few acres of ground immediately about the house had once been cleared of its trees, the decayed stumps of which were half concealed by the new growth that had been suffered to repair the ravage wrought by the acts. Apparently the man zeal for agriculture had burned with a failing flame expiring in penitential ashes. The a log house with his chimney of sticks, its roof of warping clapboards weighted with traversing polls, and it's quote chinking quote of clay had a single door and directly opposite a window. The ladder, however, was boarded up. Nobody could remember a time when it was not, and no one knew why it was so closed, certainly not because of the occupant's dislike of light and air. For on one of those rare occasions when a hunter had passed that lonely spot, the recluse had commonly been seen sunning himself on his doorstep. If Heaven hath provided sunshine for his need, I fancy there are a few persons living today who ever knew the secret of that window. But I am one, as you shall see right. So, yeah, you're dis guys living out there in the woods. Seems a little bit lazy, and he's got a boarded up window, and he likes the sun himself, And just because of his living situation and where he lives, there's just no way he's wearing clothes while he's sunning himself outside of his house, very much naked out there. I bet um, okay, my turn. Yes. The man's name was said to be Merlock. He was apparently seventy years old, actually about fifty something. Besides years had had a hand in his aging. His hair and long full beard were white, his gray, lusterless eyes sunk in his face singularly seamed with wrinkles, which appeared to belong to two intersecting systems in figure. He was tall and spare, with a stoop of the shoulders, a burden bearer. I never saw him. These particulars I learned from my grandfather, from whom I also got the man's story. When I was a lad. He had known him when living nearby. In that early day. One day Merlock was found in his cabin dead. It was not a time and place for coroners and newspapers, And I suppose it was agreed that he had died from natural causes, or I should have been told and should remember her. I know only that, with what was probably a sense of the fitness of things, the body was buried near the cabin, alongside the grave of his wife, who had preceded him by so many years that local tradition had retained hardly a hint of her existence. That closes the final chapter of this true story. Excepting indeed, the circumstance. Many years afterward, in company with an equally intrepid spirit, I penetrated to the place, and ventured near enough to the ruined cabin to throw a stone against it, and ran away to avoid the ghost, which every well informed boy thereabout knew haunted the spot. But there was an earlier chapter that supplied by my grandfather, when Merlock built his cabin and began laying sturdily about with his axe to hue out of farm. The rifle meanwhile his means of support. He was young, strong, and full of hope in that eastern country. Whence he came, he had married, as was the fashion, a young woman and always worthy of his honest devotion, who shared the dangers and privations of his lot with a willing spirit and light heart. There is no known record of her name, of her charms of mind and person. Tradition is silent, and the doubter is at liberty to entertain his doubt. But God forbid that I should share it. Of their affection and happiness, there is abundant assurance in every added day of the man's widowed life. For what but the magnetism of a blessed memory could have changed that venturesome spirit to a lot like that. All right, So he had a wife, she died. He was later found dead. Yeah, do you know what happened? Well, no, but he's saying like he loved her very much because he didn't move from that place where she died. That's right. One day Merlock returned from gunning in a distant part of the forest to find his wife prostrate with fever and delirious. There was no physician within miles, no neighbor, nor was she in a condition to be left to someone help, so he said about the task of nursing her back to health. But at the end of the third day, she fell into unconsciousness and so passed away, apparently with never a gleam of returning reason. For what we know of a nature like his, we may venture to sketch in some of the details of the outline picture drawn by my grandfather. When convinced that she was dead, Murlock had sense enough to remember that the dead must be prepared for burial and performance of that sacred duty. He blundered now and again, did certain things incorrectly, and others which he did correctly were done over and over. So this guy's kind of stumbling through this. He's like, oh my gosh, yeah, jeez, he's not doing I broke her arm. Now. His occasional failures to accomplish some simple and ordinary act filled him with astonishment, like that of a drunken man who wonders at the suspension of familiar natural laws. He was surprised, too, that he did not weep, surprised and a little ashamed. Surely it is unkind not to weep for the dead. Tomorrow, he said aloud, I shall have to make the coffin and dig the grave, and then I shall miss her when she is no longer in sight. But now she is dead, of course, But it is all right. It must be all right. Somehow things cannot be so bad as they seem. Sad. Yeah, he's in the denial stage of grief, I think, right. Yeah, for sure. He stood over the body in the fading light, adjusting the hair and putting the finishing touches to the simple toilet. Now what does that mean? I I think he was like cleaning her up, not but not like not like she was peeing or pooping. Like the toilet is like what they called me, the little overnight kit that you take with you, that toothpaste and all that stuff. That's the only thing I can think of that he was like combing her hair and maybe like cleaning whatever off of her mouth, or you know, get that part. But just the simple toilet. I thought they meant her, but I don't think could be. Was the wickedest man alive, all right, So let me just uh do that since again, putting the finishing touches to the simple toilet, doing all mechanically with soullless care, and still through his consciousness ran an under sense of conviction that all was all right, that he should have her again as before, and everything explained. He had no experience in grief. His capacity had not been enlarged by use. His heart could not contain at all, nor his imagination rightly conceive it. He did not know. He was so hard struck that knowledge would come later and never go grief. As an artist of powers as various as the instruments upon which he plays his urges for the dead, evoking some of the sharpest, shrillest notes from others. The low grave chords that throb recurrent like the slow beating of a distant drum. Some natures it startles some, it stupefies to when it comes like the stroke of an arrow, stinging all the sensibilities to a keener life. To another is the blow of a bludgeon, which, in crushing benumbs we may conceive Murlock to have been that way affected. For and this is parenthetical, by the way, and here we are upon surer ground than that of conjecture. No sooner had he finished his pious work than sinking into his chair by the side of the table upon which the body lay, and noting how white the profile showed in the deepening gloom, he laid his arms upon the table's edge and dropped his face into them, tearless yet and unutterably weary. At that moment came in through the open window a long wailing sound, like the cry of a lost child in the far deeps of the darkening woods. But the man did not move again, and nearer than before sounded that unearthly cry upon his failing. Since perhaps it was a wild beast, perhaps it was a dream. For Merlock was asleep very nice, so he fixed his wife's toilet, was so just overwrought and and um worn out by the experience that he fell asleep with his face and arms on the table where her body was. Right. Yeah, I like that long bit about how grief can act as well. It stuff very good too, okay me yes. Some hours later, as it afterward appeared, this unfaithful watcher awoke, and, lifting his head from his arms, intently listened. He knew not why, there in the black darkness by the side of the dead, recalling all without a shock, He strained his eyes to see. He knew not what. His senses were all alert, His breath was suspended, his blood had stilled its tides, as if to assist the silence. Who what had waked him? And where was it? Suddenly the table shook beneath his arms, and at the same moment he heard, or fancied that he heard a light, soft step, another sounds of bare feet upon the floor. He was terrified, beyond the power to cry out or move perforce. He waited, waited there in the darkness, through seeming centuries of such dread as one may know yet lived to tell. He tried vainly to speak the dead woman's name, vainly to stretch forth his hand across the table to learn if she were there. His throat was powerless, his arms and hands were like lead. Then occurred something most frightful. Some heavy body seemed hurled against the table with an impetus that pushed it against his breast so sharply as nearly to overthrow him. And at the same instant he heard and felt the fall of something upon the floor was so violent a thump that the whole house was shaken by the impact, a scuffling, en suit, and a confusion of sounds impossible to describe. Murlock had risen to his feet, fear had by excess forfeited control of his faculties. He flung his hands upon the table. Nothing was there. Get pretty creepy for sure, because I mean, it's just him and his wife in this cabin in Cincinnati, and um, you know, nothing's supposed to be going on, that's right, And this is he fell asleep for goodness sake. There is a point at which terror may turn to madness, and madness incites to action with no definite intent, from no motive, but the wayward impulse of a madman. Merlock sprang to the wall with a little groping, ceased his loaded rifle, and without aim, discharged by the flash, which lit up the room with a vivid illumination. He saw an enormous panther dragging the dead woman toward the window, its teeth fixed in her throat. Then there was darkness, blacker than before, in silence, and when he returned to consciousness, the sun was hot and the wood vocal with songs of birds. All right, I didn't see that coming. I didn't even know there are panthers in Ohio, and I grew up in Ohio. I guess there, we're back then. Yeah, I guess it was a long time ago. But you know, this guy fires off his rifle just out of instinct, like it could have been his wife. You don't know what's going on. Yeah, I imagine him being like Barney Fife, trying to take a shot while he's really worked up. All right, let's finish this thing up. Okay. The body lay near the window where the beasts had left it when frightened away by the flash and report of the rifle. The clothing was deranged, the long hair and disorder the limbs lay anyhow, from the throat dreadfully lacerated. He had issued a pool of blood, not yet entirely coagulated. The ribbon with which he had bound the wrists was broken, The hands were tightly clenched between the teeth was a fragment the animals here, all right. I read a little bit of what do you call it when people interpret things I don't know? Is yeah? Sure? And you know they seemed to be an agreement that the wife was not dead and that he tied her up, and then she struggled to try and free herself and like, fight this panther. I like to think that she was dead this being Halloween, and came back to life for one last struggle with the panther. She was like not my man, panther, and and saved his life. Okay, I like it. Good story. It was a good story. Good choice, Chuck, and good job Ambrose Bears. If you can hear us wherever you are now, aka Josh, he's selling Santa Claus. Okay, so you want to start mine because we don't have to take an ad break, remember that's right. Uh yeah, sure, we've got our parts worked out, right, we do. I think you should take the the other guy, the landlord. Yeah, you take the landlord because he's talking to my guy. So that makes sense. Okay, cool, and then I'll start this one out and we'll just kind of switch off, right yeah. Yeah, So we're gonna read The toll House. And it's a short story by W. W. Jacobs written in nineteen o seven in or at least published for the first time in ninetuen and seven. And W. W. Jacobs was much more famous for having written The Monkeys Paw. Oh okay, I knew, I knew that name. Yeah, he should have entitled this the toll House parentheses. Those ain't cookies. Yeah, yeah, I can't think of anything but that. It'll make sense in a minute, right, Okay, remember when we did that Cookies episode, we found out some people actually call chocolate chip cookies toll houses. Yeah, it's weird. That is really weird. Don't be weird people just calling chocolate chip cookies exactly. So where are these guys from. I haven't worked on any accents or affectations yet. Well, I think that's great. We can just leave it up to our imaginations. But I'm gonna guess, um, somewhere in the Middle East. Oh no, alright, Middle East of America. Let's say. Yeah, okay, no, no, I was kidding. I meant Middle East. No, I think that's they're meant to be British. I think this is set in in England. Oh out fun, this is gonna get weird. Then I love it. Yeah that if you, if you could stop and edit like our initial accents, with the ones we end up on finally that they're like night and day. All right, here we go. It's all nonsense, said Jack Barnes. Of course people have died in the house. People die in every house. As for the noises wind in the chimney and rats and the wainscott are very convincing to a nervous man. Give me another cup of Team Megel. Lester and White are first, said Meagel, who was presiding at the tea table. Of the three feathers in you've had two. Lester and White finish their cup with irritating slowness, pausing between SIPs to sniff the aroma and to discover the sex and dates of arrival of the strangers, which floated in some numbers in the beverage. Now what is that? I have no idea. I really wondered about that. It doesn't make any sense. The only way I can make heaser tails of it. Is if the beverage is like that a bar another word for the bar, and there there there's people coming in and out of this public bar that they're in. That's all I can do. Yeah, that makes a little bit of sense at least. Mr Meagle served them to the brim, and then turning to the grimly expectant Mr Barnes blandly requested him to ring for hot water. We'll try and keep your nerves in a healthy present condition, he remarked. For my part, I have a sort of half and half belief in the supernatural. All sensible people have, said Leicester. An auntie of mine saw a ghost once. White nodded. I had an uncle that saw one, he said. It always is somebody else that sees them. Well, there's a house, said Meagle, a lot to house at an absurdly low rate, and nobody will take it. It has taken toll of at least one life of every family that's lived there, however short at the time, and since it has stood empty, caretaker after caretaker has died there. The last caretaker died there fifteen years ago. Wow, I love Meagle. It's really evolved. He's changed all of a sudden that tea is doing something. Yeah, now, I just have to remember the next time he speaks. Well, I've tried to separate my two guys by by class. You don't, oh nice? Okay, all right exactly, said Barnes, long enough for legends to accumulate. Okay, I'll bet you a sovereign you won't spend the night there alone for all your talk, said White suddenly. And I no, said Barnes slowly. I don't believe in ghost snore, in any supernatural things whatever, all the aim, I admit that I should not care to pass a night there alone. But why not? Inquired White? Wind in the chimney, said Meagle with the green I don't remember what Meagle founded like rats and the Wainscott chimed in lester as you like, said Barnes, coloring. Suppose we all go, said Meagle, start after supper and get there about eleven. We've been walking for ten days now without an adventure except for bonness discovery that ditch water smells longest. There will be a novelty at any rate. And if we break the spell by all surviving, the grateful owner ought to come down handsome. Let's see what the landlord has to say about it. First, said Leicester, there is no fun in passing a night in an ordinary empty house. Let us make sure that it is haunted. He rang the bell, and, sending for the landlord, appealed to him, in the name of our common humanity not to let them waste a night watching in a house in which specters and hobgoblins had no part. The reply was more than reassuring, and the landlord, after describing with considerable art the exact appearance of a head which had been seen hanging out of a window in the moonlight, wound up with a polite but urgent request that they would settle his bill before they went. It's all very well for you young gentlemen to have your fun, he said, indulgently. But supposing, as how, you are all found dead in the morning, what about me. It ain't called the toll house for nothing. You know you die there, last, inquired Barnes, with an air of polite derision. A tramp was the reply. He went there for the sake of half a crown, and they found him next morning hanging from the ballusters. Dead. Suicide, said Barnes, unsound mind. The landlord nodded. That's what the jury brought in, he said slowly, but his mind was sound enough when he went in there. I'd known him off and on for years. I'm a pool man, but I wouldn't spend the night in that house for a hundred pounds. And also, by the way, Chuck, I went ahead and did the inflation calculator and then translated it into USD. So he's saying, the landlord saying here that he wouldn't spend the night in that house for nine thousand, two hundred and seventy two pounds in today's money or ten thousand, four hundred and eighty eight dollars and fifty three cents in America. Very nice. He repeated this remark as they started on their expedition. A few hours later, they left as the inn was closing for the night. Bolts shot noisily behind them, and as the regular customers trudged slowly homewards, they set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the house. Most of the cottages were already in darkness, and lights and others went out as they passed. All right, So I mean, here we have four gentlemen, we have a haunted house and a bit of a dare to each other, right to go spend the night in that thing? Exactly? And I think it was um, I think it was Barnes who just apropos of nothing, started talking about how he doesn't believe in ghosts, right, but he's like, I don't want to go there, but it's not because of ghosts, right exactly. So they're like, Okay, we're gonna get you out. We're all loaded up on English tea right now, so let's go see this haunted house. That's right. So I think you should take over. Okay, alright, but we'll keep the same voices, right, or should we just get really weird? Well, well, I think it doesn't matter whether we try or not. That's what's going to happen. Hey, I've got my guys, so I'm talking about me then, alright, So that's uh, that's you starting out as White. It seems rather hard that we have got to lose Night's Rest in order to convince Barnes of the existence of ghosts. Wit is White from Maryland. All of a sudden, said White. It's in a good cause, said megel a most worthy object. And something seems to tell me that we shall succeed. You didn't forget the candles, lester, Oh man, I love Meagle. I gotta hang out with this guy. What's he gonna say? I brought two, was the reply all the old man could spare. There was but little moon, and the night was cloudy. The road between high hedges was dark, and in one place where it ran through a wood so black that they twice stumbled, and the uneven ground at the side of it. Fancy leaving our comfortable beds for this, said White again. Let me see this desirable residential suppulcher lies to the right, doesn't it further on? Said Megel. They walked on for some time in silence, broken only by White's tribute to the softness, the cleanliness, and the comfort of the head, which was receding farther and farther into the distance. Under Meagel's guidance, they turned off at last to the right, and after a walk of a quarter of a mile, saw the gates of the house before them. The lodge was almost hidden by overgrown shrubs, and the dry was choked with rank growths. M Meagle leading, they pushed through it until the dark pile of the house loomed above them. There's a window at the back where we can get in, so the landlord, says, said Lester, as they stood before the hall floor window, said Megel, nonsense, let's do the thing properly. Where's the knocker? He Oh, that's my new ringtowne for you. Where's the knocker? I'm not getting in there. Jerry isolated that and send it to me please. He fell for it in the darkness and gave a thundering rattat at the door. Don't a fool, said Barnes crossly. Ghostly servants are all asleep, said Meagle gravely. But I'll wake them up before I'm done with them. It's scandalous keeping us out here in the dark. He plied the knocker again, and the noise volleyed in the emptiness beyond. Then, with a sudden exclamation, he put out his hands and stumbled forward. Why it was open all the time, he said, with an odd catch in his voice. You're not getting there and really put that in there. Come on, I don't believe it was open, said Lester, hanging back. Somebody is playing us a trick. Nonsense, said Meagle, sharply, give me a candle thanks, who's got a match? You'll butt in my face? Oh wait, sorry, Barnes produced a box and struck one, and Megal, shielding the candle with his hand, led the way forward to the foot of the stairs. Shut the door, somebody, he said, there's too much draft. It is shut, said White, glancing behind him. Megel fingered his chin. Who shut it, he inquired, looking from one to the other, Who came in last? I did, said Lester, But I don't remember shutting it. Perhaps I did, though Meagle, about to speak, thought better of it, and, still carefully guarding the flame, began to explore the house with the others close behind. Shadows danced on the walls and lurked in the corners as they proceeded. At the end of the passage, they found a second staircase, and, descending it slowly gained the first floor. Careful, said Meagle. As they gained the landing, he held the candle forward and showed where the balusters had broken away. Then he peered curiously into the void beneath. This is where the trump hanged himself. I suppose, he said, thoughtfully, you have an unwholesome mind, said White, As they walked on this place is quite creepy enough without you remembering that. Now, let's find a comfortable room and have a little nip of whiskey, a piece and a pipe. How will this too? He Now we're talking. There's a White at every party. I like it. He opened a door at the end of the passage and revealed a small, square room. Meagel led the way with a candle, and, first melting a drop or two of tallow, stuck it on the mantelpiece. The others seated themselves on the floor and watched pleasantly as White drew from his pocket a small bottle of whiskey and a tin cup. Hmmm, I've forgotten the water, he exclaimed. I'll soon get some, said Megel. He tucked violently at the bell handle, and the rusty jangling of a bell sounded from a distant kitchen. He rang again. Don't play a fool, said Barnes roughly. Megel laughed. I only wanted to convince you, he said kindly, there ought to be at any rate one ghost in the servants hall. Barnes held up his hand for silence. Yess, said Meagle, with a grin at the other two. Is anybody coming. All right, this seems like a good switch point. So it seems like a Meagle is like making a big, you know, spectacle of this whole thing. He's he's a bit of a he's a bit of a jackass. I'm just gonna say it. Yeah, you're not taking this very seriously, No, for sure not. And he's a little he's being a little mean to Barnes, who's clearly on edge. Yeah. Barnes, for all his spawning over not being afraid of ghosts, is clearly afraid, right, and Megal is heating it up like a puppy on a straw steak. All right, here we go with Barnes, and then you're taking over. Good yep, Suppose we draw this game and go back, said Barnes. Suddenly. I don't believe in spirits, but nerves are outside anybody's command. You may laugh as you like, but it really seems to me that I heard a door open below and steps on the stairs. His voice was drowned in a roar of laughter. He's coming around, said Megel with a smirk. By the time I've done with him, he will be a confirmed believer. Well, who will go and get some water? Will you barns now, was the reply. If there is any it might not be safe to drink after all these years, said Blister, we must do without it. Meagle nodded, and, taking a seat on the floor, held out his hand for the cup. Pipes were lit and the clean, wholesome smell of tobacco filled the room. White produced a pack of cards. Talk and laughter rang through the room and died away reluctantly. In distant corners, cypercill played on the high fi Uh Marlon Wayne showed up empty rooms. Always delude me into the belief that I possess a deep voice, said Megel. Tomorrow. He started with a smothered exclamation eck as the light went out suddenly and something struck him on the head. The others sprang to their feet. Then Migel laughed. It's the candle, he exclaimed. I didn't stick it enough. Barnes struck a match and, relighting the candle, stuck it on the mantelpiece, and sitting down, took up his cards again. What was I going to say? Said Megel? Oh, I know tomorrow, I listen, said White, laying his hand on the other sleep upon my word. I really thought I heard a laugh. Look here, said Barnes. What do you say to go him back? I've had enough of this. I keep fancying that I hear things too, sounds of something moving about in the passage outside. I know it's only fancy, but it's uncomfortable. Oh you go if you want to, said Meagle, and we will play dummy. Or you might ask the tramp to take your hand as you go downstairs. Barnes shivered and exclaimed angrily. He got up, and, walking to the half closed door, listened. Go outside, said Megel, winking at the other two. I'll dare you to go down to the hall door and back by yourself. Co co co co cock. Barnes came back. Oh sorry, Barnes came back, and, bending forward, lit his pipe at the candle. I am nervous, but rational, he said, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke. Me nerves tell me that there is something prowling up and down the long passage outside. My reason tells me that it is all nonsense. Where are my cards? He sat down again, and taking up his hand through it carefully and led your play, white, he said. After a pause. White made no sign. Why he is asleep, said Meagle, wake up, old man, wake up and play. Lester, who was sitting next to him, took the sleeping man by the arm and shook him gently at first, and then with some roughness. But White, with his back against the wall and his head bowed, made no sign. Meagle bawled in his ear and then turned a puzzled face to the others. He sleeps like the dead, he said, grimacing. Well there are still three of us to keep each other company. Yes, said Lester, nodding, unless, good Lord, suppose he broke off and eyed them trembling. Suppose what inquired Megel. Nothing, stammered Lester. Let's wake him, try him again, White, White, it's no good, said Meagle. Seriously, there's something wrong about that sleep, That's what I meant, said Lester. And if he goes to sleep like that, well, why shouldn't Meagles sprang to his feet. Nonsense, he said roughly. He's tired out, that's all. Still. Let's take him up and clear out. You take his legs, and bonds will lead the way with the candle. Yes, who's that? He looked up quickly towards the door. I thought I heard somebody tap, he said, with a shame faced. Laugh now Lester up with him. One, two, Lester, Lester. He sprang forward too late. Lester, with his face buried in his arms, had rolled over under the floor, fast asleep, and his utmost efforts failed to awaken him. He is asleep, he stammered, asleep. Barnes, who had taken the candle from the mantelpiece, stood peering at the sleepers in silence and dropping tallow over the floor. We must get out of this, said Megal. Quick Barnes hesitated. We can't leave him here, he began. We must, said Meagles, in strident tones. If you go to sleep, I shall go quick come. He seized the other by the arm and strove to drag him to the door. Barnes shook him off, and, putting the candle back on the mantelpiece, tried again to arouse the sleepers. It's no good, he said at last, and turning from them, watched Megal. Don't you go to sleep? He said anxiously. Meagle shook his head, and they stood for some time in uneasy silence. May as well shut the door, said Barnes at last, I think this is a good good time to transition over to you. All right, I gotta say, uh, Megal, this chap has a flair for the dramatic. He's very easily excitable. It turns out very much. I really like this guy. Yeah. It so, just to just to recap, Lester and White have inexplicably fallen asleep and cannot be roused. Yeah, they're not dead, because it seems like they're definitely asleep and breathing right, And so Megel and Barnes are freaked out, and it's sufficiently freaky that even Meagles like, yeah, let's let's get out of here. But Barnes, there was credit, is like, no, we're not leaving these guys. We gotta wake him up. Yeah, but I also get the feeling Barnes is like, now I'm stuck with with Megel. Everybody, No one likes that. All right, here we go. He crossed over and closed it gently. Then, at a scuffling noise behind him, he turned and saw Megel in a heap on the hearthstone. With a sharp catch in his breath, he stood motionless inside the room. The candle fluttering in the draft show dimly the grotesque attitudes of the sleepers. That's a great line. Beyond the door there seemed to be his overwrought imagination, a strange and stealthy unrest. He tried to whistle, but his lips were parched, And then a mechanical fashion, he stooped and began to pick up the cards which littered the floor. He stopped once or twice and stood with bent head listening. The unrest outside seemed to increase a loud creaking sound from the stairs. Who's there, he cried loudly. The creaking ceased. He crossed to the door, and, flinging it open, strode out into the corridor. As he walked, his fears left him. Suddenly, come on, he cried, with a low laugh. All of you, all of you, show your faces, your infernal, ugly faces. Don't skulk. He laughed again, and walked on, and the heap in the fireplace put out his head toward us fashion and listened in horror to the retreating footsteps. That's creepy. Not until they had become inaudible in the distance did the listeners features relax. Good Lord Lester, we've driven him bad, he said, in a frightened whisper. We must go after him. There was no reply. Migel sprung to his feet. Do you hear? He cried, Stop your fooling, Now, this is serious. What Lester, do you hear? He bent and surveyed them in angry bewilderment. All right, he said, in a trembling voice. You won't front me, you know. His croutch wet with urine w w Jacobs set up his grave and applauded. He turned away and walked with exaggerated carelessness into the direction of the door. He even went outside and peeped through the crack, but the sleepers did not stir. He glanced into the blackness behind, and then came hastily into the room again. So he's all alone at this point, right, yeah, and freaked out. He stood for a few seconds regarding them. The stillness in the house was horrible. He could not even hear them breathe. With a sudden resolution, he snatched the candle from the mantelpiece and held the flame him to White's finger. Then, as he reeled back, stupefied, the footsteps again became audible. He stood with a candle in his shaking hand, listening. He heard them ascending the farther staircase, but they stopped suddenly as he went to the door. He walked a little way along the passage, and they went scurrying down the stairs, and then at a jog trot along the corridor below. He went back to the main staircase and they ceased again. All right, so this is getting really creepy at this point. Yeah, so you can't see anything. All of his buddies are all in some weird mystical sleep, and now there's phantom footsteps chasing him around the house. All right, I think you should take it over for a time. He hung over the ballusters, listening and trying to pierce the blackness belowe. Then, slowly, step by step, he made his downstairs, and, holding the candle above his head, peered about him barns, he called out, where are you? Shaking with fright, he made his way along the passage, and, summoning up all his courage, pushed open doors and gazed fearfully into empty rooms. Then quite suddenly he heard the footsteps in front of him. He followed slowly for fear of extinguishing the candle, until they led him at last into a vast, bare kitchen with damp walls and a broken floor. In front of him, A door leading into an inside room had just closed. He ran toward it and flung it open, and a cold air blew out the candle. He stood aghast barns. He cried again, don't be afraid, it is I me go to save the day right. There was no answer. He stood gazing into the darkness, and all the time the idea of something close at hand watching was upon him. Then suddenly the steps broke out overhead again. He drew back hastily, and, passing through the kitchen, groped his way along the narrow passages. He could now see better in the darkness, and, finding himself at last at the foot of the staircase, began to ascend it noiselessly. He reached the landing just in time to see a figure disappear around the angle of the wall. Still careful to make no noise, he followed the sound of the steps until they led him to the top floor, and he cornered the chase. At the end of a short passage palns, He whispered, but something stirred in the darkness. A small circular window at the end of the passage just softened the blackness and revealed the dim outlines of a motionless figure. Nagel, in place of advancing, stood almost as still as a sudden horrible doubt took possession of him. With his eyes fixed on the shape in front, he all back slowly, and as it advanced upon him, burst into a terrible crod barns for god, sick is it you? I think you take over now, okay, and then you can take it home? How about that? Yeah? Also, I just want to w W. Jacobs doesn't really play this up as much. He kind of touched on it with like the creepy vast bear kitchen with damp walls and broken floor, but he hasn't really included the this empty, abandoned, scary, haunted house as much of a character. So you just have to remind yourself like, this is going on in an empty house where this man is alone in the dark and scared sless, scared less. The echoes of his voice left the air quivering, but the figure before him paid no heed. For a moment, he tried to brace his courage up to endure its approach. Then with a smothered cry, he turned and fled. The passages wound like a maze and he threaded them blindly in a vain search for the stairs if he could get down and open the hall door. He caught his breath in a sob. The steps had begun again, at a lumbering trot. They clattered up and down the bare passages, in and out, up and down, as though in search of him. He stood appalled, and as they drew near, entered a small room and stood behind the door. As they rushed by. He came out and ran swiftly and noiselessly in the other direction, and in a moment the steps were after him. He found the long corridor and raced along it at top speed. The stair he knew where at the end, and with the steps close behind, he descended them in a blind haste. The steps gained on him, and he shrank to the side to let them pass, still continuing his headlong flight. Then suddenly he seemed to slip off of the Earth into space. Why don't you take it home? Okay? WHOA lester awoke in the morning to find the sunshine streaming into the room and white, sitting up and regarding with some perplexity a badly blistered finger. Where are the others? Inquired Lester. Gone, I suppose, said White. We must have been asleep. Lester arose, and White could have used a better a little more development, but I'm gonna just stick with it, since that was the last quote of his. That's right, he's he's the least interesting guy here, I think. Lester arose, and, stretching his stiffened limbs, dusted his clothes with his hands, and went out into the corridor. White followed. At the noise of their approach, a figure which had been lying asleep at the other end, sat up and revealed the face of Barnes. Why I've been asleep, he said, in surprise. I don't remember coming here. How did I get here? Nice place to come? Were a nap, said Lester severely, as he pointed to the gap and the balusters. Look there another yard, and where would you have been? He walked carelessly to the edge and looked over. In response to his startled cry, the others drew near, and all three to gazing at the dead man. Bill and W W. Jacobs doesn't say it, but the dead man was Megal Megal and looks you know, I think, Lester there was exclaiming, how like that could have been you. It could have been any of us, yeah, for sure, but thank god it was a Megal. It was Megal, the Central European cousin. Good stuff. That's a really good story. That was a good story. We should do the Monkey's Pause sometime too. Yeah. For some reason, I've been avoiding that because it's so well known. But yeah, we should totally do that. I honestly I've never read it, but yeah, I just know about it from like the Simpsons Treehouse of Horror. It's good, good story. Well that's it, everybody, right, Chuck. I mean it's time to say Happy Halloween and all that. Right, That's right. Do you guys be safe out there, have fun trick or treating or going to your parties, or if you choose to not participate, then that's fine too. But Halloween's the best. So get out there and don't forget to take every piece of your candy to your local e R and weight around while they X ray it for you. That's right, Happy Halloween, everybody from us and Jerry h. Stuff you should Know is a production of I Heart Radio. For more podcasts my heart Radio, visit the i heart Radio app Apple podcasts or wherever you listen to your favorite shows. H

Welcome to Stuff you should know, a production of I Heart Radio. Hey, and welcome to the spook Cast. I'm Josh, and there's Chuck and there's Jerry Booberry, Roland Booberry. That was the best one. I like it. And this is Stuff you should Know, the Spooktacular, Spooky Halloween Edition. That's right, this is our spook Tacular. That's awesome. And I went back and looked and uh, we started out kind of timid mm hmm with the early days, and then we kind of got I think it was a few years in when we finally started in with like the two stories and really got our wheels. Are Halloween wheels going? I can feel them just burning up the tree act right now. That's right. And also this is as we always like to mention, one of our two episodes of the year, that we have fought tooth and nail to keep ad free. That's right, because nothing will ruin a spooky Halloween story more than stopping to sell stamps, That's right. You just want the scares and the thrills and the chills to be perfectly uninterrupted, right. Yeah. And both of these stories of parents have never heard these, uh, they are both fine for kids to listen to a little creepy, but largely because we have to use uh what's it called when you can read it public domain stories, and usually those aren't you know, they're older, so they're not as gross as the stories you would get today. Yeah, I mean the language they use. Adults barely know what's going on. Kids definitely don't. So those are the stories we like to pick two good ones. So I'm looking forward to these two, two quality stories. Let's start with yours. The Boarded Window by Ambrose Beer. Right, yeah, Ambrose Beer is one of the great journalists and spooky story writers in history. I believe we already have done one Beers piece, definitely. I can't remember the name of it, but it was good. Yeah, it was good. I think he was also called like the wickedest man alive at some point in time. No, that was what's his face? You know what I'm saying. I think more than one person has been called that. Okay, I've been called that before. Come on, no, that's not true. All right, So you want to start this one, Yeah, I'll give this one a whirl, all right, And Jerry, if you don't mind bringing on the amazing sound effects. A hand for Jerry. Everybody, she does it up. Every year, she does it up. So here we go. Everybody darken the lights, pore up a spooky cider or something, and here we go with the boarded window by Ambrose Beers. In eighteen thirty, only a few miles away from what is now the great city of Cincinnata lay an immense and almost unbroken forest. The whole region was sparsely settled by people of the frontier, restless souls who no sooner had hewn fairly habitable homes out of the wilderness and attained to that degree of prosperity which today we should call indigence, than impelled by some mysterious impulse of their nature, they abandoned all and pushed farther westward to encounter new perils and privations, and the effort to regain the meager comforts which they had voluntarily renounced. It's quite a sentence, it is. It's clever, though I know, I love how they pushed further westward into Cincinnati. That's right, many of them had already forsaken that region for the remoter settlements. But among those remaining was one who had been of those first arriving. He lived alone in a house of logs, surrounded on all sides by the great forest, of whose gloom in silence he seemed to part, for no one had ever known him to smile nor speak a needless word. His simple wants were supplied by the sale or barter of skins of wild animals in the river town. For not a thing did he grow upon the land, which, if needful, he might have claimed by right of undisturbed possession. So this guy's like the king of his domain e there basically definitely, But he doesn't really do anything. He just kind of lays around and skins animals, I guess, as we will see, there were evidences of quote improvement end quote, which is kind of harsh, I think, to say, A few acres of ground immediately about the house had once been cleared of its trees, the decayed stumps of which were half concealed by the new growth that had been suffered to repair the ravage wrought by the acts. Apparently the man zeal for agriculture had burned with a failing flame expiring in penitential ashes. The a log house with his chimney of sticks, its roof of warping clapboards weighted with traversing polls, and it's quote chinking quote of clay had a single door and directly opposite a window. The ladder, however, was boarded up. Nobody could remember a time when it was not, and no one knew why it was so closed, certainly not because of the occupant's dislike of light and air. For on one of those rare occasions when a hunter had passed that lonely spot, the recluse had commonly been seen sunning himself on his doorstep. If Heaven hath provided sunshine for his need, I fancy there are a few persons living today who ever knew the secret of that window. But I am one, as you shall see right. So, yeah, you're dis guys living out there in the woods. Seems a little bit lazy, and he's got a boarded up window, and he likes the sun himself, And just because of his living situation and where he lives, there's just no way he's wearing clothes while he's sunning himself outside of his house, very much naked out there. I bet um, okay, my turn. Yes. The man's name was said to be Merlock. He was apparently seventy years old, actually about fifty something. Besides years had had a hand in his aging. His hair and long full beard were white, his gray, lusterless eyes sunk in his face singularly seamed with wrinkles, which appeared to belong to two intersecting systems in figure. He was tall and spare, with a stoop of the shoulders, a burden bearer. I never saw him. These particulars I learned from my grandfather, from whom I also got the man's story. When I was a lad. He had known him when living nearby. In that early day. One day Merlock was found in his cabin dead. It was not a time and place for coroners and newspapers, And I suppose it was agreed that he had died from natural causes, or I should have been told and should remember her. I know only that, with what was probably a sense of the fitness of things, the body was buried near the cabin, alongside the grave of his wife, who had preceded him by so many years that local tradition had retained hardly a hint of her existence. That closes the final chapter of this true story. Excepting indeed, the circumstance. Many years afterward, in company with an equally intrepid spirit, I penetrated to the place, and ventured near enough to the ruined cabin to throw a stone against it, and ran away to avoid the ghost, which every well informed boy thereabout knew haunted the spot. But there was an earlier chapter that supplied by my grandfather, when Merlock built his cabin and began laying sturdily about with his axe to hue out of farm. The rifle meanwhile his means of support. He was young, strong, and full of hope in that eastern country. Whence he came, he had married, as was the fashion, a young woman and always worthy of his honest devotion, who shared the dangers and privations of his lot with a willing spirit and light heart. There is no known record of her name, of her charms of mind and person. Tradition is silent, and the doubter is at liberty to entertain his doubt. But God forbid that I should share it. Of their affection and happiness, there is abundant assurance in every added day of the man's widowed life. For what but the magnetism of a blessed memory could have changed that venturesome spirit to a lot like that. All right, So he had a wife, she died. He was later found dead. Yeah, do you know what happened? Well, no, but he's saying like he loved her very much because he didn't move from that place where she died. That's right. One day Merlock returned from gunning in a distant part of the forest to find his wife prostrate with fever and delirious. There was no physician within miles, no neighbor, nor was she in a condition to be left to someone help, so he said about the task of nursing her back to health. But at the end of the third day, she fell into unconsciousness and so passed away, apparently with never a gleam of returning reason. For what we know of a nature like his, we may venture to sketch in some of the details of the outline picture drawn by my grandfather. When convinced that she was dead, Murlock had sense enough to remember that the dead must be prepared for burial and performance of that sacred duty. He blundered now and again, did certain things incorrectly, and others which he did correctly were done over and over. So this guy's kind of stumbling through this. He's like, oh my gosh, yeah, jeez, he's not doing I broke her arm. Now. His occasional failures to accomplish some simple and ordinary act filled him with astonishment, like that of a drunken man who wonders at the suspension of familiar natural laws. He was surprised, too, that he did not weep, surprised and a little ashamed. Surely it is unkind not to weep for the dead. Tomorrow, he said aloud, I shall have to make the coffin and dig the grave, and then I shall miss her when she is no longer in sight. But now she is dead, of course, But it is all right. It must be all right. Somehow things cannot be so bad as they seem. Sad. Yeah, he's in the denial stage of grief, I think, right. Yeah, for sure. He stood over the body in the fading light, adjusting the hair and putting the finishing touches to the simple toilet. Now what does that mean? I I think he was like cleaning her up, not but not like not like she was peeing or pooping. Like the toilet is like what they called me, the little overnight kit that you take with you, that toothpaste and all that stuff. That's the only thing I can think of that he was like combing her hair and maybe like cleaning whatever off of her mouth, or you know, get that part. But just the simple toilet. I thought they meant her, but I don't think could be. Was the wickedest man alive, all right, So let me just uh do that since again, putting the finishing touches to the simple toilet, doing all mechanically with soullless care, and still through his consciousness ran an under sense of conviction that all was all right, that he should have her again as before, and everything explained. He had no experience in grief. His capacity had not been enlarged by use. His heart could not contain at all, nor his imagination rightly conceive it. He did not know. He was so hard struck that knowledge would come later and never go grief. As an artist of powers as various as the instruments upon which he plays his urges for the dead, evoking some of the sharpest, shrillest notes from others. The low grave chords that throb recurrent like the slow beating of a distant drum. Some natures it startles some, it stupefies to when it comes like the stroke of an arrow, stinging all the sensibilities to a keener life. To another is the blow of a bludgeon, which, in crushing benumbs we may conceive Murlock to have been that way affected. For and this is parenthetical, by the way, and here we are upon surer ground than that of conjecture. No sooner had he finished his pious work than sinking into his chair by the side of the table upon which the body lay, and noting how white the profile showed in the deepening gloom, he laid his arms upon the table's edge and dropped his face into them, tearless yet and unutterably weary. At that moment came in through the open window a long wailing sound, like the cry of a lost child in the far deeps of the darkening woods. But the man did not move again, and nearer than before sounded that unearthly cry upon his failing. Since perhaps it was a wild beast, perhaps it was a dream. For Merlock was asleep very nice, so he fixed his wife's toilet, was so just overwrought and and um worn out by the experience that he fell asleep with his face and arms on the table where her body was. Right. Yeah, I like that long bit about how grief can act as well. It stuff very good too, okay me yes. Some hours later, as it afterward appeared, this unfaithful watcher awoke, and, lifting his head from his arms, intently listened. He knew not why, there in the black darkness by the side of the dead, recalling all without a shock, He strained his eyes to see. He knew not what. His senses were all alert, His breath was suspended, his blood had stilled its tides, as if to assist the silence. Who what had waked him? And where was it? Suddenly the table shook beneath his arms, and at the same moment he heard, or fancied that he heard a light, soft step, another sounds of bare feet upon the floor. He was terrified, beyond the power to cry out or move perforce. He waited, waited there in the darkness, through seeming centuries of such dread as one may know yet lived to tell. He tried vainly to speak the dead woman's name, vainly to stretch forth his hand across the table to learn if she were there. His throat was powerless, his arms and hands were like lead. Then occurred something most frightful. Some heavy body seemed hurled against the table with an impetus that pushed it against his breast so sharply as nearly to overthrow him. And at the same instant he heard and felt the fall of something upon the floor was so violent a thump that the whole house was shaken by the impact, a scuffling, en suit, and a confusion of sounds impossible to describe. Murlock had risen to his feet, fear had by excess forfeited control of his faculties. He flung his hands upon the table. Nothing was there. Get pretty creepy for sure, because I mean, it's just him and his wife in this cabin in Cincinnati, and um, you know, nothing's supposed to be going on, that's right, And this is he fell asleep for goodness sake. There is a point at which terror may turn to madness, and madness incites to action with no definite intent, from no motive, but the wayward impulse of a madman. Merlock sprang to the wall with a little groping, ceased his loaded rifle, and without aim, discharged by the flash, which lit up the room with a vivid illumination. He saw an enormous panther dragging the dead woman toward the window, its teeth fixed in her throat. Then there was darkness, blacker than before, in silence, and when he returned to consciousness, the sun was hot and the wood vocal with songs of birds. All right, I didn't see that coming. I didn't even know there are panthers in Ohio, and I grew up in Ohio. I guess there, we're back then. Yeah, I guess it was a long time ago. But you know, this guy fires off his rifle just out of instinct, like it could have been his wife. You don't know what's going on. Yeah, I imagine him being like Barney Fife, trying to take a shot while he's really worked up. All right, let's finish this thing up. Okay. The body lay near the window where the beasts had left it when frightened away by the flash and report of the rifle. The clothing was deranged, the long hair and disorder the limbs lay anyhow, from the throat dreadfully lacerated. He had issued a pool of blood, not yet entirely coagulated. The ribbon with which he had bound the wrists was broken, The hands were tightly clenched between the teeth was a fragment the animals here, all right. I read a little bit of what do you call it when people interpret things I don't know? Is yeah? Sure? And you know they seemed to be an agreement that the wife was not dead and that he tied her up, and then she struggled to try and free herself and like, fight this panther. I like to think that she was dead this being Halloween, and came back to life for one last struggle with the panther. She was like not my man, panther, and and saved his life. Okay, I like it. Good story. It was a good story. Good choice, Chuck, and good job Ambrose Bears. If you can hear us wherever you are now, aka Josh, he's selling Santa Claus. Okay, so you want to start mine because we don't have to take an ad break, remember that's right. Uh yeah, sure, we've got our parts worked out, right, we do. I think you should take the the other guy, the landlord. Yeah, you take the landlord because he's talking to my guy. So that makes sense. Okay, cool, and then I'll start this one out and we'll just kind of switch off, right yeah. Yeah, So we're gonna read The toll House. And it's a short story by W. W. Jacobs written in nineteen o seven in or at least published for the first time in ninetuen and seven. And W. W. Jacobs was much more famous for having written The Monkeys Paw. Oh okay, I knew, I knew that name. Yeah, he should have entitled this the toll House parentheses. Those ain't cookies. Yeah, yeah, I can't think of anything but that. It'll make sense in a minute, right, Okay, remember when we did that Cookies episode, we found out some people actually call chocolate chip cookies toll houses. Yeah, it's weird. That is really weird. Don't be weird people just calling chocolate chip cookies exactly. So where are these guys from. I haven't worked on any accents or affectations yet. Well, I think that's great. We can just leave it up to our imaginations. But I'm gonna guess, um, somewhere in the Middle East. Oh no, alright, Middle East of America. Let's say. Yeah, okay, no, no, I was kidding. I meant Middle East. No, I think that's they're meant to be British. I think this is set in in England. Oh out fun, this is gonna get weird. Then I love it. Yeah that if you, if you could stop and edit like our initial accents, with the ones we end up on finally that they're like night and day. All right, here we go. It's all nonsense, said Jack Barnes. Of course people have died in the house. People die in every house. As for the noises wind in the chimney and rats and the wainscott are very convincing to a nervous man. Give me another cup of Team Megel. Lester and White are first, said Meagel, who was presiding at the tea table. Of the three feathers in you've had two. Lester and White finish their cup with irritating slowness, pausing between SIPs to sniff the aroma and to discover the sex and dates of arrival of the strangers, which floated in some numbers in the beverage. Now what is that? I have no idea. I really wondered about that. It doesn't make any sense. The only way I can make heaser tails of it. Is if the beverage is like that a bar another word for the bar, and there there there's people coming in and out of this public bar that they're in. That's all I can do. Yeah, that makes a little bit of sense at least. Mr Meagle served them to the brim, and then turning to the grimly expectant Mr Barnes blandly requested him to ring for hot water. We'll try and keep your nerves in a healthy present condition, he remarked. For my part, I have a sort of half and half belief in the supernatural. All sensible people have, said Leicester. An auntie of mine saw a ghost once. White nodded. I had an uncle that saw one, he said. It always is somebody else that sees them. Well, there's a house, said Meagle, a lot to house at an absurdly low rate, and nobody will take it. It has taken toll of at least one life of every family that's lived there, however short at the time, and since it has stood empty, caretaker after caretaker has died there. The last caretaker died there fifteen years ago. Wow, I love Meagle. It's really evolved. He's changed all of a sudden that tea is doing something. Yeah, now, I just have to remember the next time he speaks. Well, I've tried to separate my two guys by by class. You don't, oh nice? Okay, all right exactly, said Barnes, long enough for legends to accumulate. Okay, I'll bet you a sovereign you won't spend the night there alone for all your talk, said White suddenly. And I no, said Barnes slowly. I don't believe in ghost snore, in any supernatural things whatever, all the aim, I admit that I should not care to pass a night there alone. But why not? Inquired White? Wind in the chimney, said Meagle with the green I don't remember what Meagle founded like rats and the Wainscott chimed in lester as you like, said Barnes, coloring. Suppose we all go, said Meagle, start after supper and get there about eleven. We've been walking for ten days now without an adventure except for bonness discovery that ditch water smells longest. There will be a novelty at any rate. And if we break the spell by all surviving, the grateful owner ought to come down handsome. Let's see what the landlord has to say about it. First, said Leicester, there is no fun in passing a night in an ordinary empty house. Let us make sure that it is haunted. He rang the bell, and, sending for the landlord, appealed to him, in the name of our common humanity not to let them waste a night watching in a house in which specters and hobgoblins had no part. The reply was more than reassuring, and the landlord, after describing with considerable art the exact appearance of a head which had been seen hanging out of a window in the moonlight, wound up with a polite but urgent request that they would settle his bill before they went. It's all very well for you young gentlemen to have your fun, he said, indulgently. But supposing, as how, you are all found dead in the morning, what about me. It ain't called the toll house for nothing. You know you die there, last, inquired Barnes, with an air of polite derision. A tramp was the reply. He went there for the sake of half a crown, and they found him next morning hanging from the ballusters. Dead. Suicide, said Barnes, unsound mind. The landlord nodded. That's what the jury brought in, he said slowly, but his mind was sound enough when he went in there. I'd known him off and on for years. I'm a pool man, but I wouldn't spend the night in that house for a hundred pounds. And also, by the way, Chuck, I went ahead and did the inflation calculator and then translated it into USD. So he's saying, the landlord saying here that he wouldn't spend the night in that house for nine thousand, two hundred and seventy two pounds in today's money or ten thousand, four hundred and eighty eight dollars and fifty three cents in America. Very nice. He repeated this remark as they started on their expedition. A few hours later, they left as the inn was closing for the night. Bolts shot noisily behind them, and as the regular customers trudged slowly homewards, they set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the house. Most of the cottages were already in darkness, and lights and others went out as they passed. All right, So I mean, here we have four gentlemen, we have a haunted house and a bit of a dare to each other, right to go spend the night in that thing? Exactly? And I think it was um, I think it was Barnes who just apropos of nothing, started talking about how he doesn't believe in ghosts, right, but he's like, I don't want to go there, but it's not because of ghosts, right exactly. So they're like, Okay, we're gonna get you out. We're all loaded up on English tea right now, so let's go see this haunted house. That's right. So I think you should take over. Okay, alright, but we'll keep the same voices, right, or should we just get really weird? Well, well, I think it doesn't matter whether we try or not. That's what's going to happen. Hey, I've got my guys, so I'm talking about me then, alright, So that's uh, that's you starting out as White. It seems rather hard that we have got to lose Night's Rest in order to convince Barnes of the existence of ghosts. Wit is White from Maryland. All of a sudden, said White. It's in a good cause, said megel a most worthy object. And something seems to tell me that we shall succeed. You didn't forget the candles, lester, Oh man, I love Meagle. I gotta hang out with this guy. What's he gonna say? I brought two, was the reply all the old man could spare. There was but little moon, and the night was cloudy. The road between high hedges was dark, and in one place where it ran through a wood so black that they twice stumbled, and the uneven ground at the side of it. Fancy leaving our comfortable beds for this, said White again. Let me see this desirable residential suppulcher lies to the right, doesn't it further on? Said Megel. They walked on for some time in silence, broken only by White's tribute to the softness, the cleanliness, and the comfort of the head, which was receding farther and farther into the distance. Under Meagel's guidance, they turned off at last to the right, and after a walk of a quarter of a mile, saw the gates of the house before them. The lodge was almost hidden by overgrown shrubs, and the dry was choked with rank growths. M Meagle leading, they pushed through it until the dark pile of the house loomed above them. There's a window at the back where we can get in, so the landlord, says, said Lester, as they stood before the hall floor window, said Megel, nonsense, let's do the thing properly. Where's the knocker? He Oh, that's my new ringtowne for you. Where's the knocker? I'm not getting in there. Jerry isolated that and send it to me please. He fell for it in the darkness and gave a thundering rattat at the door. Don't a fool, said Barnes crossly. Ghostly servants are all asleep, said Meagle gravely. But I'll wake them up before I'm done with them. It's scandalous keeping us out here in the dark. He plied the knocker again, and the noise volleyed in the emptiness beyond. Then, with a sudden exclamation, he put out his hands and stumbled forward. Why it was open all the time, he said, with an odd catch in his voice. You're not getting there and really put that in there. Come on, I don't believe it was open, said Lester, hanging back. Somebody is playing us a trick. Nonsense, said Meagle, sharply, give me a candle thanks, who's got a match? You'll butt in my face? Oh wait, sorry, Barnes produced a box and struck one, and Megal, shielding the candle with his hand, led the way forward to the foot of the stairs. Shut the door, somebody, he said, there's too much draft. It is shut, said White, glancing behind him. Megel fingered his chin. Who shut it, he inquired, looking from one to the other, Who came in last? I did, said Lester, But I don't remember shutting it. Perhaps I did, though Meagle, about to speak, thought better of it, and, still carefully guarding the flame, began to explore the house with the others close behind. Shadows danced on the walls and lurked in the corners as they proceeded. At the end of the passage, they found a second staircase, and, descending it slowly gained the first floor. Careful, said Meagle. As they gained the landing, he held the candle forward and showed where the balusters had broken away. Then he peered curiously into the void beneath. This is where the trump hanged himself. I suppose, he said, thoughtfully, you have an unwholesome mind, said White, As they walked on this place is quite creepy enough without you remembering that. Now, let's find a comfortable room and have a little nip of whiskey, a piece and a pipe. How will this too? He Now we're talking. There's a White at every party. I like it. He opened a door at the end of the passage and revealed a small, square room. Meagel led the way with a candle, and, first melting a drop or two of tallow, stuck it on the mantelpiece. The others seated themselves on the floor and watched pleasantly as White drew from his pocket a small bottle of whiskey and a tin cup. Hmmm, I've forgotten the water, he exclaimed. I'll soon get some, said Megel. He tucked violently at the bell handle, and the rusty jangling of a bell sounded from a distant kitchen. He rang again. Don't play a fool, said Barnes roughly. Megel laughed. I only wanted to convince you, he said kindly, there ought to be at any rate one ghost in the servants hall. Barnes held up his hand for silence. Yess, said Meagle, with a grin at the other two. Is anybody coming. All right, this seems like a good switch point. So it seems like a Meagle is like making a big, you know, spectacle of this whole thing. He's he's a bit of a he's a bit of a jackass. I'm just gonna say it. Yeah, you're not taking this very seriously, No, for sure not. And he's a little he's being a little mean to Barnes, who's clearly on edge. Yeah. Barnes, for all his spawning over not being afraid of ghosts, is clearly afraid, right, and Megal is heating it up like a puppy on a straw steak. All right, here we go with Barnes, and then you're taking over. Good yep, Suppose we draw this game and go back, said Barnes. Suddenly. I don't believe in spirits, but nerves are outside anybody's command. You may laugh as you like, but it really seems to me that I heard a door open below and steps on the stairs. His voice was drowned in a roar of laughter. He's coming around, said Megel with a smirk. By the time I've done with him, he will be a confirmed believer. Well, who will go and get some water? Will you barns now, was the reply. If there is any it might not be safe to drink after all these years, said Blister, we must do without it. Meagle nodded, and, taking a seat on the floor, held out his hand for the cup. Pipes were lit and the clean, wholesome smell of tobacco filled the room. White produced a pack of cards. Talk and laughter rang through the room and died away reluctantly. In distant corners, cypercill played on the high fi Uh Marlon Wayne showed up empty rooms. Always delude me into the belief that I possess a deep voice, said Megel. Tomorrow. He started with a smothered exclamation eck as the light went out suddenly and something struck him on the head. The others sprang to their feet. Then Migel laughed. It's the candle, he exclaimed. I didn't stick it enough. Barnes struck a match and, relighting the candle, stuck it on the mantelpiece, and sitting down, took up his cards again. What was I going to say? Said Megel? Oh, I know tomorrow, I listen, said White, laying his hand on the other sleep upon my word. I really thought I heard a laugh. Look here, said Barnes. What do you say to go him back? I've had enough of this. I keep fancying that I hear things too, sounds of something moving about in the passage outside. I know it's only fancy, but it's uncomfortable. Oh you go if you want to, said Meagle, and we will play dummy. Or you might ask the tramp to take your hand as you go downstairs. Barnes shivered and exclaimed angrily. He got up, and, walking to the half closed door, listened. Go outside, said Megel, winking at the other two. I'll dare you to go down to the hall door and back by yourself. Co co co co cock. Barnes came back. Oh sorry, Barnes came back, and, bending forward, lit his pipe at the candle. I am nervous, but rational, he said, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke. Me nerves tell me that there is something prowling up and down the long passage outside. My reason tells me that it is all nonsense. Where are my cards? He sat down again, and taking up his hand through it carefully and led your play, white, he said. After a pause. White made no sign. Why he is asleep, said Meagle, wake up, old man, wake up and play. Lester, who was sitting next to him, took the sleeping man by the arm and shook him gently at first, and then with some roughness. But White, with his back against the wall and his head bowed, made no sign. Meagle bawled in his ear and then turned a puzzled face to the others. He sleeps like the dead, he said, grimacing. Well there are still three of us to keep each other company. Yes, said Lester, nodding, unless, good Lord, suppose he broke off and eyed them trembling. Suppose what inquired Megel. Nothing, stammered Lester. Let's wake him, try him again, White, White, it's no good, said Meagle. Seriously, there's something wrong about that sleep, That's what I meant, said Lester. And if he goes to sleep like that, well, why shouldn't Meagles sprang to his feet. Nonsense, he said roughly. He's tired out, that's all. Still. Let's take him up and clear out. You take his legs, and bonds will lead the way with the candle. Yes, who's that? He looked up quickly towards the door. I thought I heard somebody tap, he said, with a shame faced. Laugh now Lester up with him. One, two, Lester, Lester. He sprang forward too late. Lester, with his face buried in his arms, had rolled over under the floor, fast asleep, and his utmost efforts failed to awaken him. He is asleep, he stammered, asleep. Barnes, who had taken the candle from the mantelpiece, stood peering at the sleepers in silence and dropping tallow over the floor. We must get out of this, said Megal. Quick Barnes hesitated. We can't leave him here, he began. We must, said Meagles, in strident tones. If you go to sleep, I shall go quick come. He seized the other by the arm and strove to drag him to the door. Barnes shook him off, and, putting the candle back on the mantelpiece, tried again to arouse the sleepers. It's no good, he said at last, and turning from them, watched Megal. Don't you go to sleep? He said anxiously. Meagle shook his head, and they stood for some time in uneasy silence. May as well shut the door, said Barnes at last, I think this is a good good time to transition over to you. All right, I gotta say, uh, Megal, this chap has a flair for the dramatic. He's very easily excitable. It turns out very much. I really like this guy. Yeah. It so, just to just to recap, Lester and White have inexplicably fallen asleep and cannot be roused. Yeah, they're not dead, because it seems like they're definitely asleep and breathing right, And so Megel and Barnes are freaked out, and it's sufficiently freaky that even Meagles like, yeah, let's let's get out of here. But Barnes, there was credit, is like, no, we're not leaving these guys. We gotta wake him up. Yeah, but I also get the feeling Barnes is like, now I'm stuck with with Megel. Everybody, No one likes that. All right, here we go. He crossed over and closed it gently. Then, at a scuffling noise behind him, he turned and saw Megel in a heap on the hearthstone. With a sharp catch in his breath, he stood motionless inside the room. The candle fluttering in the draft show dimly the grotesque attitudes of the sleepers. That's a great line. Beyond the door there seemed to be his overwrought imagination, a strange and stealthy unrest. He tried to whistle, but his lips were parched, And then a mechanical fashion, he stooped and began to pick up the cards which littered the floor. He stopped once or twice and stood with bent head listening. The unrest outside seemed to increase a loud creaking sound from the stairs. Who's there, he cried loudly. The creaking ceased. He crossed to the door, and, flinging it open, strode out into the corridor. As he walked, his fears left him. Suddenly, come on, he cried, with a low laugh. All of you, all of you, show your faces, your infernal, ugly faces. Don't skulk. He laughed again, and walked on, and the heap in the fireplace put out his head toward us fashion and listened in horror to the retreating footsteps. That's creepy. Not until they had become inaudible in the distance did the listeners features relax. Good Lord Lester, we've driven him bad, he said, in a frightened whisper. We must go after him. There was no reply. Migel sprung to his feet. Do you hear? He cried, Stop your fooling, Now, this is serious. What Lester, do you hear? He bent and surveyed them in angry bewilderment. All right, he said, in a trembling voice. You won't front me, you know. His croutch wet with urine w w Jacobs set up his grave and applauded. He turned away and walked with exaggerated carelessness into the direction of the door. He even went outside and peeped through the crack, but the sleepers did not stir. He glanced into the blackness behind, and then came hastily into the room again. So he's all alone at this point, right, yeah, and freaked out. He stood for a few seconds regarding them. The stillness in the house was horrible. He could not even hear them breathe. With a sudden resolution, he snatched the candle from the mantelpiece and held the flame him to White's finger. Then, as he reeled back, stupefied, the footsteps again became audible. He stood with a candle in his shaking hand, listening. He heard them ascending the farther staircase, but they stopped suddenly as he went to the door. He walked a little way along the passage, and they went scurrying down the stairs, and then at a jog trot along the corridor below. He went back to the main staircase and they ceased again. All right, so this is getting really creepy at this point. Yeah, so you can't see anything. All of his buddies are all in some weird mystical sleep, and now there's phantom footsteps chasing him around the house. All right, I think you should take it over for a time. He hung over the ballusters, listening and trying to pierce the blackness belowe. Then, slowly, step by step, he made his downstairs, and, holding the candle above his head, peered about him barns, he called out, where are you? Shaking with fright, he made his way along the passage, and, summoning up all his courage, pushed open doors and gazed fearfully into empty rooms. Then quite suddenly he heard the footsteps in front of him. He followed slowly for fear of extinguishing the candle, until they led him at last into a vast, bare kitchen with damp walls and a broken floor. In front of him, A door leading into an inside room had just closed. He ran toward it and flung it open, and a cold air blew out the candle. He stood aghast barns. He cried again, don't be afraid, it is I me go to save the day right. There was no answer. He stood gazing into the darkness, and all the time the idea of something close at hand watching was upon him. Then suddenly the steps broke out overhead again. He drew back hastily, and, passing through the kitchen, groped his way along the narrow passages. He could now see better in the darkness, and, finding himself at last at the foot of the staircase, began to ascend it noiselessly. He reached the landing just in time to see a figure disappear around the angle of the wall. Still careful to make no noise, he followed the sound of the steps until they led him to the top floor, and he cornered the chase. At the end of a short passage palns, He whispered, but something stirred in the darkness. A small circular window at the end of the passage just softened the blackness and revealed the dim outlines of a motionless figure. Nagel, in place of advancing, stood almost as still as a sudden horrible doubt took possession of him. With his eyes fixed on the shape in front, he all back slowly, and as it advanced upon him, burst into a terrible crod barns for god, sick is it you? I think you take over now, okay, and then you can take it home? How about that? Yeah? Also, I just want to w W. Jacobs doesn't really play this up as much. He kind of touched on it with like the creepy vast bear kitchen with damp walls and broken floor, but he hasn't really included the this empty, abandoned, scary, haunted house as much of a character. So you just have to remind yourself like, this is going on in an empty house where this man is alone in the dark and scared sless, scared less. The echoes of his voice left the air quivering, but the figure before him paid no heed. For a moment, he tried to brace his courage up to endure its approach. Then with a smothered cry, he turned and fled. The passages wound like a maze and he threaded them blindly in a vain search for the stairs if he could get down and open the hall door. He caught his breath in a sob. The steps had begun again, at a lumbering trot. They clattered up and down the bare passages, in and out, up and down, as though in search of him. He stood appalled, and as they drew near, entered a small room and stood behind the door. As they rushed by. He came out and ran swiftly and noiselessly in the other direction, and in a moment the steps were after him. He found the long corridor and raced along it at top speed. The stair he knew where at the end, and with the steps close behind, he descended them in a blind haste. The steps gained on him, and he shrank to the side to let them pass, still continuing his headlong flight. Then suddenly he seemed to slip off of the Earth into space. Why don't you take it home? Okay? WHOA lester awoke in the morning to find the sunshine streaming into the room and white, sitting up and regarding with some perplexity a badly blistered finger. Where are the others? Inquired Lester. Gone, I suppose, said White. We must have been asleep. Lester arose, and White could have used a better a little more development, but I'm gonna just stick with it, since that was the last quote of his. That's right, he's he's the least interesting guy here, I think. Lester arose, and, stretching his stiffened limbs, dusted his clothes with his hands, and went out into the corridor. White followed. At the noise of their approach, a figure which had been lying asleep at the other end, sat up and revealed the face of Barnes. Why I've been asleep, he said, in surprise. I don't remember coming here. How did I get here? Nice place to come? Were a nap, said Lester severely, as he pointed to the gap and the balusters. Look there another yard, and where would you have been? He walked carelessly to the edge and looked over. In response to his startled cry, the others drew near, and all three to gazing at the dead man. Bill and W W. Jacobs doesn't say it, but the dead man was Megal Megal and looks you know, I think, Lester there was exclaiming, how like that could have been you. It could have been any of us, yeah, for sure, but thank god it was a Megal. It was Megal, the Central European cousin. Good stuff. That's a really good story. That was a good story. We should do the Monkey's Pause sometime too. Yeah. For some reason, I've been avoiding that because it's so well known. But yeah, we should totally do that. I honestly I've never read it, but yeah, I just know about it from like the Simpsons Treehouse of Horror. It's good, good story. Well that's it, everybody, right, Chuck. I mean it's time to say Happy Halloween and all that. Right, That's right. Do you guys be safe out there, have fun trick or treating or going to your parties, or if you choose to not participate, then that's fine too. But Halloween's the best. So get out there and don't forget to take every piece of your candy to your local e R and weight around while they X ray it for you. That's right, Happy Halloween, everybody from us and Jerry h. Stuff you should Know is a production of I Heart Radio. 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