Thirteen days of Halloween is a production of I heart radio, Blumhouse television and grim and mild from Aaron mankey headphones recommended. Listener discretion advised. Ah, good evening, dear friend. Welcome to Hawthorne Manners Grand Ball Room. There are two rather curious things you may notice about this place. The first of course, the ghostly music which seems to emanate from every wall.
This is, in one sense, merely a trick of the masterful acoustics so magnificently trapping the sounds of celebrations past the way a kerchief might capture one's perfume. It is, in another more tragic sense, a sort of haunting, but let us not speak in metaphors. The second thing takes a bit longer to fully realize, though not readily apparent to the human eye. The ball room floor is suddenly warped and twisted and at certain points rises and drops.
The Deep Auburn staining of the majestic hardwood renders these hazards effectively invisible. One wishes to believe that this was an accidental flaw in the architects otherwise flawless desire. But the architect was a solitary sort of man, and I believe that, despite his genius, or perhaps because of it, he disdained humanity. His daughter, however, had no such problem. In fact, she pined for human contact outside of her father and servants, and so begged him to throw a
ball in her honor. I have a ballroom, if not to host dances, she asked him. He relented with the caveat. It was not to be a mere dance, but competition. Whatever couple made it through the long night should win a glamorous prize. On the appointed evening, a large crowd gathered at Hawthorne Manor and with a grand gesture, our architect signaled for the music to begin. Dozens of calls to flooded to the dance floor. Almost immediately there was a cry. A young woman had sprained her ankle then
had to be carried off. Dances and witnesses alike shook their heads and pity, but before they could refocus their attentions, another had twisted her ankle, this time break it by the third injury. Mere moments later, those on the dance floor began to realize that something was amiss. The floor itself was a hazard to the dances it was built to injure, it is rumored at the architect watch from
the balcony with Glee. Many continued to dance upon the twisted ballroom floor and by dawn one couple remained, their ankles bruised and bloodied. His daughter never forgave him this transgression. And what apparition do we find here? This delicate creature in white is known through Hawthorne manner as the bride. You two already have your unspoken names in common. I'll leave you to catch up on what else you may share. It's important to me that you know that I was
in love, and love and young and stupid. It was a whirlwind Romance, Bradley and I. Twenty One century coffee shop meet cute, complete with spilled pour overs, the both of us apologizing in a scramble for Napkins. And our eyes met and he was the handsomest thing. I had ever seen, such kind eyes and a Hollywood jaw at the Sistine Chapel face. He was a work of art, just a beautiful, beautiful man. Bradley. He caught me there
and I never let him let me go. Then we were married and it was like it happened the next day. We just wanted one another and could not slow down. A wedding reception was a blur of dancing and hubs from old friends and Champagne. God, the Champagne. I must have finished an entire bottle. And you know, if you're the bride, you don't get a lot of time to eat or sit still or stop to take it all in. So we toasted with friends and family late into the
night and then we stumbled to our honeymoon suite. The alcohol made my cheeks feel rosy and gave the room some motion. Oh my God, Bradley's face. He was the only thing I could see, the only thing I wanted, and his chestnut eyes and strong shoulders and his body on mine. I was deliriously happy. We collapsed on the bed. He said something funny I don't remember. I wish I could remember every stupid joke he ever told me, but
he said it and I laughed so loudly flinch. I jumped on him and took his movie star cheekbones in my hands. I pressed my face to his, but we were still laughing too hard to kiss. I wish I could remember him that way. I wish his face lived in me forever in that moment, but I fell back to my pillow and I don't remember sleep coming on, but it came. It felt like dreams came quickly, like I stepped out of the real world and into somewhere else. I was on the ocean floor, holding my breath, in
the hull of a sunken ship. I felt pressure crushing in on me and it was very dim. The entire world was gray and heavy and I could barely move. I walked through the door of something that looked like a vault and there was a flash of light and I was staring at rows of long, sharp teeth, all
curving in different directions. It was one of those anglerfish, those awful looking Zombie ie fish with the dangling light and the teeth like spears, and it caught me in its light and it unhinged its jaw and I couldn't scream. I couldn't scream, I couldn't move or look away, and it was just teeth in that terrible face. I woke up soaking wet and feeling panicked. Bradley was still on, asleep, and I reached out to touch his face, but my pillow was sticky. Oh my God, I'd thrown up. It
was everywhere. I slid out of the bed. My head was throbbing and my eyes wouldn't adjust to the dark. I turned on the lamp and there was a flash of light that made me loozy again. When I could open my eyes see what I'd done, it was a mess. The sheets were ruined and Bradley was peacefully lying in the middle of it. It was awful. It looked like he was the one who had thrown up, there was so much pooled around his face. I went to Bradley's side and squeezed his shoulder. He rolled over his face,
his face, it was eaten or melting. It was awful. where he'd been lying, his cheek, his jaw, his eye, half of his face, it was gone. It was red and modeled, it was bleeding, it was white, it was foaming, it was gone. Oh my God, his beautiful face. And I screamed and he woke up. I could see it hurt. He was confused and hurt and I wanted to hold him but I couldn't. I couldn't go near him and he stood by the bed and I backed against the other wall and he asked me what happened. He said,
are you okay? Can you believe that? He was an agony and he was asking me if I was okay and I couldn't do anything. There was this pressure crushing me and I couldn't move and I had to fight my own body to be able to speak, like I had to ball up my fists and stop, and then I could yell I'm sorry. And he touched up part of his face and his eyes went wide and I reached an arm out from my side of the room and said no, so he don't touch it, don't look
at it. He flexed his jaw and I saw his tongue poking its way through where his cheek had been. Oh my God, I couldn't look at him. He ran passed me to the bathroom and this sound he made, he was shouting and his voice was gurgling and I don't know. I said, I don't know when I threw up and I don't know. Vomit doesn't do this. Vomit doesn't melt skin. His eyes were wild. What was in that champagne? I don't know, I told him. I said
it was the bottle his mother gave us. He came close he had to shut my eyes, the one my mother gave you. He started to pace. My mom gave you a bottle and you drink it. Oh my God, Oh my God. Bradley had always insisted that I shouldn't trust his mother. I don't believe a word from her treacherous mouth, he said, but she'd always presented herself as kind into me, nurturing even I didn't understand. He moved back to the bed and looked into the awful mess. there.
A few gentle wisps of smoke rose from the slowly disintegrating sheets Bradley's side. Oh mother, not again. Then this Gurgo came from inside him and he fell to the floor. I looked down and he was coughing up blood. I could see his teeth working inside his mouth and it was all spilling out of all of the holes in
his face. I don't know if he knew he was doing it, but he hugged my legs and wretched and I thought of his mother laughing and dancing and pressing a bottle of champagne into my hands with a sweet smile. Bradley heaved into my knees and I could hear he was trying to say, help me, help me. There was a painting Hotel Room, art that you're not really meant to look at. There was a lighthouse. It was kind of blurry, like the artist worked too fast with too
much paint. But there was a little ship off in the distance, just a gray shape headed towards the rocky shore. I took a deep breath. Honey, honey, listen to me, you're going to be all right. I'm going to take care of you. And then I meant it. I mean I wanted to with my whole heart. I loved him. I knew what I needed to do and I saw him so hard that I was starting to hyperventilate. My shoulders and neck shook in the words were coming out
and stutters and yelps. I reached down and I ran my fingers through his hair and he looked up and I touched his good cheek. I turned his half beautiful face up to mine. His eyes were worried wide and his teeth chattered and I could see his tongue thrashing, feeling around for a mouth. It just wasn't there anymore. I tried to see the man I loved, but all that I saw was awful Zombie eyes and teeth like spears and an unhinging jaw. I couldn't scream. It was
just teeth and that terrible face. I told him that I loved him then. Nothing would change that. And then I stuck my fingers down by throat. Shuddered, I gagged, I had a fount of vile word out of me to his ruin face. It down his throat. I picked up the phone and dialed my mother in Law's room. She was on the same floor. It would only take a few minutes for her to arrive to see what she had done to her to my Bradley, as the phone at tempted to could I to down the last
bit of champagne from the nearly empty bottle? Hopefully there was enough left for her. I went to the corner of the bed and sat down. He was hunched over on the floor, regurgling and convulsing, drowning really. He looked up to see, and it was both to see, going on directions, his jaw coming loose. He looked like up eached fish gasping for life, and then he was gone. My Guy had released him back into the deep, set him free. It saved him. So he could always be
beautiful and good. I wish his face lived in me forever. When I try to think of my Bradley, I only see those final moments and in my memories melt away. Mike's a picture you're not meant to look at like I'm working too fast with too much paint. A tragic love story. Now there are many of those here at Hawthorne. Broken hearts tend towards this place. It must be something in the air. Tomorrow, a change of pace perhaps. Beat me outside the east wing in the morning. I have
something titillating to show you. For now, watch your step and when you dream tonight, dream of doorways. Yes, do you, until the morning. 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 by Mike John's, performed by Jessica Losa and directed by Matt Frederick, with editing and sound designed by Ben
Kybrick additional writing and script supervision from Nicholas Takowski. Only six days remain. Tomorrow another story. It was just a dream at first. She stood there looking beautiful sweet, batting those lashes at me like reaching out. Don't let me go, I can be here with you. Don't let me go, hold on. I didn't want to let her go. I also couldn't be keeping a whole damn body around the apartment.
You know I'm not a serial killer. Thirteen days of Halloween is a production of I heart radio, Blumhouse television and Grimm and mild from Aaron Mankey. For more podcasts from my heart radio, visit the I heart radio APP, apple podcasts or wherever you listen to your favorite shows. And learn more about thirteen days of Halloween at Grimm and mild dot com.