S1/E1 | The Entrance

hope that your journey wasn't too arduous. The weather here can be rather unforgiving this time of year, though, truth be told, I was never worried about you finding your way. As they say here, all roads lead to the manner. No matter where you roam, you will find this to be true. This, my friend, is Hawthorn manner. I am a scaretaker, the caretaker if you wish impressive, is it not? Ah? I know that. Look well, my friend, you cannot fully

understand what it is that you are beholding. It's quite natural. Hawthorn manner is something of an architectural anomaly, though austere, even savagely so. At first glance, you cannot help but notice the quiet. It's whimsy that seems to permeate the structure by the coupola there at the apex of the main wind, the dome thing on the roof with all

the windows. Who you see it. It was said to have been constructed specifically for the daughter of the architect, at first as a play room and then later as her own infirmary. Some have reported seeing a shade past the windows late at night, back and forth. Patient solitude at any rate. Because of the strange blend of architectural styles that this massive house possesses, it has the quality of feeling both timeless and a standing outside of time.

Many say that the architect was a madman, but there was method to it, all of it. Shall we abandoned? Hope yee who enter here? Just kidding? Welcome home, my friend. This place was built to last beyond its architect and so it has. It may seem disorienting in first, glass filled with strange twists and turns, Ceilings too high here, too low there. Some rooms canadists, some claustrophobic, this is

my design. Some prefer grand halls, others quiet nooks. The architect manifested this place as a refuge for all This has been way station for countless Wario souls, a home for those without destination. In time you two fight it familiar. You will notice that this elevator is not part of the original structure, but yet still oh so vintage. Now, before we continue, and if I may be so bold, I'd like for you to meet one of our other guests. Any objections, I shall take your enigmatic silence as an

affirmative before your arrival. Soren was our resident neophite. He's proven reluctant to indulge in the hotel's more extravagant offerings. I don't know if it is inherent shyness or well, perhaps your attentive demeanor is just what he needs to come out of his shell. Oh yes, you two will become fast friends. I can feel it before we enter. I must warn you Soren is rather guarded trust issues. It's honestly no wonder after what he's being through, but

I do imagine that he'll explain it all. I can't wait for you two to meet Sorred, My dear, I present you to our latest guest. Oh dear, all this chattering and I haven't caught your name. Oh you don't have one, no matter, my friend, meet sorn. I shall return after you two have become acquainted albionto he said. They harvest at night. He said he'd figured it out.

We could go about our business in the day, could still walk in the sun, could keep on and besides, the authorities had at coverage to be on the safe side. He said he'd been preparing. I wasn't surprising. Dad was always kind of a prepper. He and Mom had this massive garden in the back, and I kept it for years. The shelves and the pantry were a rainbow of summer colors, caught and sealed in glass jars in case of a race, war, or pandemic or whatever else the TV warned them off.

They had a freezer filled with meat chickens they raised, plucked half a cow they bought from some service online, and a generator to keep it all frozen solid should the power grid fail. I asked Mom one time how long they could hold out in case of the apocalypse, and without pause, said, I could feed twelve people for eight months before we had to start eating the freeze

dried stuff. She'd done them that. I think she told me the freeze dried stuff would last another four months, so here, I said, what happens at the end of a year, She shrubbed, Well, let's hope it doesn't ever come to that. Dad had guns, lots of guns, all kinds and calibers. I mean, that's why I was there, after all, I didn't have one of my own, and my roommates had headed back to their own parents to deal with the disturbance on their own terms. I wanted

to stay on at the apartment. The only thing worse and dealing with global emergencies alone would be dealing with him, with Dad knowingly glancing over at me every time a news story told me that I was wrong and he was right. They hated that I didn't want to come home, but quit bugging me about it. When I finally agreed to stop buying pick up a gun. He looked terrible.

The front yard was overgrown, the grass was long, and the holly bushes were shaggy, and Dad matched unshaven, heron kempt stinged sweatpants, an old undershirt and say it was clear. He head and showered, but his eyes were still sharp. They darted around outside before he pulled me in. Inside was a wreck. We never let the house be a

wreck before. But I looked around at the kitchen, the opened jars and cans that flies over, the dirty dishes in the sink, and litter and grit everywhere, and I just said Jesus, Jesus quietly, over and over, as Dad stood nearby, looking at me up and down. Where's Mom? I asked, and he said she's sleeping. All she seems to do these days asleep, And when I asked if her depression was back, he just sort of shrugged. I promised myself that before I left, I could make sure

that she was still taking her medication. I didn't want her to get as bad as she'd gotten when I was in the eighth grade and couldn't get out of bed for weeks at a time. But I wanted to deal with the business in hand first, so I said, can we look at the guns? And he just looked back at me, confused, as if he'd never heard the word before. The guns, I said, and he snapped, two, oh, yes, yes, the guns. The guns, he said, almost wistfully, and then

he said, I want to show you something first. Growing up, there's this grape backyard. You used to have kids from all over the neighborhood. We played touch football or these huge games of freeze tag barbecues in the summer. And after nine eleven when they started watching the network, which told them all of the damn time that people were coming to get them. They want to convert your kids, and they want to steal our money and wreck our culture. Whoever the hell the enemy of the week was. That's

when they started planting the garden. The first summer, it was small only really, it took up a corner of the yard. But every year it grew larger and larger. Tomatoes and oak ground and squash, cucumbers and greens and green beans and onions and peppers, all of them diligently pulled from the earth and canned and jarred and jellied. By the time I graduated, there was nothing left of the lawn, just vegetables and space to store vegetables. It

was their obsession be prepped when they came. Whoever they were, I mean, I guess in a sense they were right. Anyway, Dad wanted me to see a thing, so we walked through the messy house towards the back door. That's when he said they harvest at night. When I didn't say anything. He went on, we can go about our business during the day, but at night they harvest, so that's when you want to stay safe indoors. All your know at all friends think that they're immortal, think that they can

go wherever they want, whenever they want. But I'm telling you, they harvest at night, so don't go out. Then I said, okay, we'd stopped by the back door, and he turned and looked me in the eye and got real close to my face and said good. His breath was rancid, and I told him so, but he just smiled and turned and opened the back door. The garden was destroyed. What hadn't been ripped up or rotted was going to seed. Jesus Dad, I said again, what the hell happened with

you two? But he didn't answer, and just sort of plodded forward and his dirty sweats right through the patch where the grains used to be. Followed him. You didn't turn around, but he said, just loudly enough for me to hear. You can't trust anyone. They'll come knocking, and they'll make their voices sweet and warm, and they'll sound like the girl you liked when you were a kid. Or your dead grandmother, and you'll be tempted to open

the door. But that's how they get you, begging and pleaded and saying the sweetest things you can imagine to get you out into the night. I hadn't really heard any of this. I certainly hadn't experienced it myself, and none of my friends had had a run in yet. So I asked where he'd heard it, and had it been on his program, because they weren't always on Trustworthy.

But he didn't answer me. He just stopped and placed toward the back of the garden, where there was a massive pile of fresh dirt and next to it a massive hole in the ground with earthen steps leading down into the darkness. I was gobsmacked. That's the word I thought of at the time, and I think it's the best one to use even now. I said, Jesus again a habit by now, and then asked if he'd been

building a bunker. He turned and smiled and nodded so proud of himself, and then like he just remembered, he said, that's where the guns are, and then he started down the earth and stares into the hole, and I followed him down It was damp down there, and even though the walls had been tamped so tightly that they looked as smooth as concrete, I could feel the moisture they seemed to breathe. It smelled like dirt and worms and decay, and it went so far back the sun didn't seem

to reach. Dad just walked on in no flashlight, and when I paused to let my eyes adjust, he chuckled at me. It's fine, he said, They only harvest at night. They lure you in with their sweet song and with promises, and then they prick you and their venom freezes you, and then they harvest. But they only harvest at night. My eyes had started to adjust to the dark, and I could see his figure there, next to the smaller indentations in the wall, like little cubby holes filled with

jar after jar after jar from Mom's pantry. How long did it take you to do this, I asked, and I could see a shrug in response, and beckoned me further in, And as I followed, I glanced at the dark shape swirling in the jars. The guns are right over there, he said, and he pointed to a freshly dug cubby in the very back and said, take your pick.

So I walked past him and leaned in toward the cubby, which was just a couple of feet wide, but I couldn't see anything, and when I was turning to say so, I felt the prick on the back of my neck. So he yelped in surprise and turned. But before I could get my bearings, my legs collapsed behind me, numb, and Dad was standing over me, a silhouette, seeming huge

in the dim light. All of a sudden, they sound like someone you trust, he said, leaning down, and his breath smelt of earths and worms and decayed too, and his eyes I could see them flash in the dark, like a cat's eyes as he lifted a finger with a long nail on it. When they came for your mother, they sounded like her sister. I couldn't feel my arms now, and the warmth and numbness was spreading up into my jaw and scalp, and I wanted to close my eyes,

but I couldn't. Had just kept staring at his figure as it seemed to slowly shift in the dim light. When they came for your father, they sounded like you, and he turned out toward the dim light of the entrance far behind him. As I fought the arch to sleep, my gaze drifted, and for a moment I looked into my mother's eyes as they floated in a jar on a nearby shelf. He said, m h, you should relax. The evening is still a few hours away, and we only harvested in night. Oh look at all the fun

we're having in here. I just knew you two would get along swimmingly. Oh no, come with me, sare in. We'll catch up with you later, dear heart. He is a truly sweet young man. I've been attempting to persuade him to see the good doctor about his cough, but he'll have none of it. Maybe you could be of service in that department. He really seemed to like you. Now. There are hundreds of rooms here of the Hawthorne, but this is perhaps the very finest, and it just so

happens to be your waters. Was it luck or fate that placed you here? We'll never know. I trust that you'll find everything to your liking, and if you don't, notify me and I will make sure it is rectified. It's all part of my role here as the caretaker. You know your lack of verbal supplication is really breaking down my sense of boundaries. I can trust you, right of course I can. In these coming days, you may notice that Hawthorne Manner has no shortage of oddities. I've

witnessed things myself that strain the belief. But there is one strange legend that has truly become something of an obsession. Supposedly that somewhere within these halls there is a hidden doorway. If the tale of what looks on the other side is to be believed, then gaining access would mean a sort of ascenction beyond human imagination, true immortality. I have come to understand that one of our guests knows how

to locate and open this door. Perhaps what they can not saying to me, they will happily divulge to you. I have a feeling your quiet fortitude will lure them into a sense of intimacy. It has certainly worked on me. Please make yourself at home. After all, this is it, there are so many others. I cannot wait for you to meet very well until tomorrow on behalf of Hawthorn

Manner at you, my friend. Thirteen Days of Halloween was created by Matt Frederick and Alex Williams and executive produced by Aaron Manky, starring Keegan Michael Key as the caretaker. Today's story was written and performed by Nicholas Dakowski and directed by Matt Frederick, with editing and sound designed by

Alex Williams. Only twelve days remain Tomorrow another story. He started sleeping with that thing on, lighting up our bedroom and didn't bother me at first, But after about a week I woke up in the middle of the night to go pee and I found him there, curls up on the floor, nestles up against the wall and nikelahotha nightlight. It just got worse from there. He insisted on sleeping with all the overhead lights on too, keet the closet doors up, and all the time tape the windows up

to get the night time out. I thought he was crazy, I really did. The problem was he wasn't crazy enough. Thirteen Days of Halloween is a production of iHeartRadio, Blumhouse Television, and Grimm and Mild from Aaron Manke. For more podcasts from iHeartRadio, visit the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows and learn more about Thirteen Days of Halloween at grimm dmild dot com