Welcome to Endo the night. I'm Narri your guide on today's excursion down a twisted path. Be careful not to get lost. Be it dark or light, It's easy to lose your way. Are you ready, then let's begin. The winter's deep. The mountains could be brutal any time of year, but the oppression of a heavy snow felt overwhelming. While some areas experienced inches of snow, the alpine area near Wolf Creek Pass dealt with feet at a time. Arnaud Richter knew this when he built his off the grid life in
the rugged Colorado high Country. He wasn't much for socializing anyway, and he'd had his fill of the outside world. A meat grinder. Divorce was the last straw for Arnaut, so he sold what he had left and made the move to self sufficiency. All the times people at work made fun of me and called me Grizzly Adams or Jeremiah Johnson, Well here I am living a life none of them could ever survive. Arnaud took pride in the fact that since he'd been a boy, he'd take an interest in survival skills. He
was no boy scout looking to earn badgers. For one Arnault's family was too poor to pay for the uniforms and other trappings that came along with club membership. His interest was innate and natural. He'd rather fish, hunt, or trap than sit around a campfire with boys he wasn't necessarily friends with in the first place. Arnaut was always good with being alone. He guessed that's why the divorce hit him so hard. I thought Amy was the one person I
could count on. I thought that's what she thought of me, too. Never a lady's man, her interest in him surprised Arnaut. He'd remembered how beautiful she was, and how she'd had a way of making him feel special for the rest of his life, even if the memories broke him on the inside. Arnaut's breathing became jagged, and he squinted hard to keep the tears from falling. He looked out his window and tried to focus on the present.
Looks like this one's going to be a doozy. The snow laden clouds hung heavily in the sky, and Arnaut didn't need a weather report to tell him a major storm was imminent. He'd seen a few winters up here already, and he knew that preparation was crucial. His cabin, while not large, was designed with an abundance of storage. He spent the summer months working hard to be ready for the harsh winters, and he had enough food put away for years. His wood pile was kept out of the elements and filled
what would be the equivalent of a two car garage. A winter storm was easily endured given all the plans he'd made. Still, he knew he needed to check on the place before the storm hit. He didn't like surprises, and he didn't like the unknown. Even though he knew his preparations were adequate, it gave his nervous energy a release to check everything inside and out. What began as light flurries quickly transitioned into heavy, thick snow blanketing the mountains.
By the time Arnoult came inside, he was covered with snow. Yep, this is going to be a real dandy. The views up here would sell a million Christmas cards. Heck, if I ever wanted to start a business, I bet I could paint some pretty cards of this place to sell. Besides being an outdoorsy type, Arnaud also possessed an artistic streak As a young boy. While other children socialized. He spent hours drawing and painting.
His high school art teacher encouraged him to pursue an art degree in college, but Arnaut didn't think he'd fit in with the artsy types of a university. Heck, I didn't fit in with anyone. I wasn't going to spend a bunch of money to be around people who wouldn't like me when I could go out and get a job. Arnaud instead took up and made a good living. It was, for the most part, solitary work, which he liked. Around the yard of his cabin, he welded metal statues, a project
that allowed him to explore his artistic side while using a marketable skill. These were good too. Art museums would appreciate the techniques Arnaut employed. No one would see these statues, however, they were for his enjoyment. Only few could find Arnau's mountain retreat, and he liked it that way, so no
other eyes would gaze upon his masterpieces. Arnaut stoked the fire in the wood stove and adjusted the chimney flu The fire heated the cabin easily, and the glow from the embers cast a hue of reddish gold from the tempered glass on the door, combined with the majestic white of the heavy snow over the dark green of the pines. The glow made Arnout feel as though he himself lived inside a work of art. He reveled in the idea, knowing no one
else was there to accuse his thoughts of being folly. Folly is good for a person. Life would be dull without a bit of whimsy. The roof creaked as the wind picked up outside. The sunset would happen any minute now. The clouds and snow blocked out any sign of the horizon. The world already nestled under the shroud of the storm. Arnault read for a while, then fixed himself dinner. While not a chef, his meals weren't bad. After eating, he watched the snow fall for a while, then caught himself
yawning. Looks like I should put some more wood on the fire and head to bed. He shoved two sizeable logs into the stove, shut the door to it, and climbed the stairs to his room. There is nothing more peaceful than when a blanket of snow covers the ground. I should sleep well tonight, he crawled into bed and settled into a comfortable position under the heavy, warm quilts. He quickly drifted off to sleep. At some point in
the night, a sound caught his attention. Subtle at first, in the stowe of the snowy evening, his ears picked up on the slightest stirring inside the house. At first, his groggy mind explained it away as a window rattling in the wind, or the weight of the snow causing a shift in the house. As he cleared his head, however, he knew the strange sound seemed out of the ordinary. Arnaud rose and leaned back on his elbows to listen more closely, but he heard nothing more. Still drowsy, he
plumped his pillow and went back to sleep. In the morning, the snow that still fell heavily muted. The daybreak, Arnaud peered out the window of his bedroom to assess the snowfall. There had been a few feet out there already, no sign of it letting up either. He made his way downstairs, stoked the coals in the stove, and added more wood. Soon the fire blazed, and the crackle and pop of the wood as it burned accumulated in the staccato bursts. Arnaut made coffee, put some toasts on a plate,
and took both to his seat near the stove. The aroma of smoke mingled with the coffee to create a scent Arnaut could only describe as authentic. Yes, authentic is the right word. There's something manly and hearty in this smell, Almost primitive it is. As he took a sip of coffee, however, his eyes caught sight of something that grabbed his attention. The papers he'd neatly stacked were scattered on the floor, as though blown off by a
gust of wind. That's weird. Maybe that's the sound I heard in the night. But what would have knocked those off? If I had old Sylvester cat still, i'd say it was him. But I'm out here by myself. Arnau rubbed his chin, trying to think of what could have happened. He walked to the strewn papers and picked them up, neatly, stacking them back on the table. Once again, he looked out the window at the falling snow. It sure is piling up out there. He settled back down
in his easy chair to read. Books were the one outside luxury he allowed himself. He ordered them in town. On the rare occasion he went there on one of the computers in the library. He used his post office box as his address, and James of the post office was kind enough to let his boxes stack up until he made it back in to pick them up. His tastes ranged from science fiction and paranormal to crime thrillers, biographies, true
crime, and science. Pretty much anything that had a good storyline captured his interest. Deep in thought as he read his latest book, he almost didn't hear the gentle knocking at his back door. No one would be out in this weather. Still, he checked to make sure no lost hiker had stumbled to his door. Lost hikers happened on occasion, especially novice ones who didn't
know enough to watch the weather conditions. When he opened the door, however, he only found a build up of pristine snow drifting against the cabin. He shrugged his shoulders and closed the door. Settling back onto his chair, he went back to reading. A chapter later, however, he was jolted back to his surroundings by a crash in the kitchen. One of the pans he'd hung on the wall now was on the floor. Arnaud checked the nail the pan hung from, but it remained firmly in the wall. Shaking his
head, he put the pan back in its place. His day continued with a quiet routine of adding wood to the fire, watching the snowfall, admiring the beauty of the countryside, reading and dabbling in some artwork. On warmer days, he took walks through the woods and busied himself keeping the yard tidy. He sometimes worked in his outdoor shop, welding or doing woodwork. He enjoyed the peace and quiet, no one to judge him and no one to mock him as he did the things that brought him joy to day, though
he had to focus on indoor activities. The snow grew deeper, and going out into a snowfall like this could he proved foolhardy. As time passed, he made homemade stew for an early dinner. After he ate, he added more fuel to the generator, put another few logs on the fire, and climbed the second floor to retire to bed. While he loved the stillness of a heavy snow, it limited how much he could occupy himself with, and sleep seemed like a good way to kill time. When he stepped into his
bedroom. However, he stopped. Now, I know I made my bed this morning, why are the covers turned back? Chalking it up to forgetfulness, he changed into his thermal sleeping clothes and went to bed. Lulled to sleep by the gentle wind blowing outside his window, he soon fell into a deep slumber. In the middle of the night, he awoke uncertain. At first, he had the sensation that someone sat on the bed next to him. What's going on, he said, into the darkness. It was then
he felt some one something caress his cheek. Startled, he bounded out of bed. Knocking began on the walls here, then there, and he turned in all directions to find the source of the sound. Go away, whatever you are. I don't want any trouble. The knocking intensified. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the sounds dissipated, and Arnaut no longer
felt he was being taunted by something in the darkness. At times like this, the fleeting thought that civilization maybe wasn't such a bad place to be crossed his mind. That thought never lasted long, though, No damned spirit's gonna run me off from my place. I'm staying here, and that's that. The next morning, the snow stopped falling. The world was blanketed and feet of snow. Going outside was a fruitless effort, and Arnaut knew he'd have
to hunker down until the weather shifted gears and the snow melted. In the days that followed, the strange visitor continued to taunt Arnaut. Go away. I tell you I came here to be alone, and you need to leave. The encounters became more serious, however, Items were hurled across the room, sometimes barely missing Arnault. While climbing the stairs, something tugged at his leg A few times. The sensation caused him to stumble, I don't want
to tangle with you. Just leave me bee. Arnault's please brought no change. The taunting turned to torment, and soon the entity hounded Arnout on a nearly constant basis. Looking out the window, Arnaud pleaded for warmth to melt the snow so he could step outside. One night, after knives whizzed past his head and lodged in the wall beside him, Arnaud Richter had had enough. If you want to go around, let's do it. I'm sick of you, and this is gonna end now. The force threw him to the
floor, and a battle raged. First it had the vantage, then Arnau would free himself and gain the upper hand. The force bloodied and beat Arno, and the world went black. The cabin became still once more. The next week, a warm breeze whispered through the trees, and the melting snow brought a raging torrent to Wolf Creek. The sound of metal clanging disturbed the
Placid Mountain air. A metal sculpture took shape as Arnold Richter created another masterpiece in his yard, melting metal with unwonted spirit, as he had done many times in the past. A craftsman, he figured, must use the materials he had on hand, and as long as spirits tried to disturb his peace, they would find themselves twisted into new realities of his choice. Thank you for joining me for this episode of the Into the Night Anthology podcast. Written
by Caroline Giamanco, narrated by Nari Quak. Theme music by Nico Rodriguez. All other original music, sound design and editing by Omenhawk Studios. You can find our links in the show notes. Into the Night is on your favorite podcatcher, so make sure to like, subscribe, and leave a five star review to help other excursionists to join us. I'll see you next time, and remember, whether in the shadows or in the daylight, all twisted paths
lead you into the night. Into the Night Anthology is a creative typo entertainment production