DC High Volume, Batman. The Dark Knight's definitive DC comic stories. Adapted directly for audio for the very first time. Fear. I have to make them afraid. He's got a motorcycle. Get after him or I'll have you shot. You mean blow up the building. From this moment on, none of you are safe. New episodes every Wednesday, wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Amy Nicholson, the film critic for the LA Times. And I'm Paul Scheer, an actor, writer, and director.
You might know me from The League, Veep, or my non-eligible for Academy Award role in Twisters. We come together to host Unspooled, a podcast where we talk about good movies, critical hits, Fan favorites, must-sees, and in case you missed them. We're talking Parasite the Home Alone. From Grease to the Dark Knight. So if you love movies like we do, come along on our cinematic adventure. Listen to Unspooled wherever you get your podcasts. And don't forget to...
Hey everybody, this is Miles, your author and narrator. First off, I want to apologize for my voice on this episode. I am battling seasonal allergies right now, as I'm sure many of you are as well. I also wanted to point out that the main character in this story is Gabby Pons, who we've met before a few times. And this story is a part of this main storyline that keeps popping up here and there throughout the episodes of this podcast.
If you have not yet listened to a story called Banishing Shadows, that came out at the end of 2023. I would highly recommend that you go back and listen to that one at least before you listen to this one. This story will make a lot more sense if you have that background. If you want a more complete picture of Gabby Pons, you could go as far back as a story called Unnatural Dark, which was followed by a story called The Intruder.
And you could get caught up with another one called the Hotel Moss as well as Banishing Shadows. And you'll kind of get the full idea of who Gabby Pons is. is a fan favorite character i was very excited to bring her back for this story so without further ado please enjoy the appointment Myra Louth's leg bounced under her desk as she anticipated a knock on her office door at any second. She looked from the door to her computer screen and re-read the brief she'd put together earlier that week.
Gabriella Pons. Goes by Gabby. Age 52. Reason for appointment. Patient wants to address depression potentially stemming from past trauma. Concerns about mental health in general affecting motivation. Occupation. Former professor of psychology. Former paranormal investigator? Current occupation unknown. Family unknown. Myra googled this Gabby Pons and found her website, but discovered the site had not been updated since 2023.
The phone number provided to contact Ms. Pons did not match the number she'd submitted to the clinic when applying for therapy, and when Myra clicked on the email address, Microsoft Outlook gave her an alert that the recipient is using automatic replies. It displayed the first few words of Ms. Pons' auto-response. Thank you for your email. I regret to inform you I am on indefinite hiatus from all paranormal...
Never in Myra's four-year career had she treated someone working in such an unusual field. It prompted her to check in with herself. She went so far as to sit down with a trusted colleague to explore her personal belief in the paranormal. Of course, she knew her personal feelings should not and would not affect her treatment of Miss Pons, but she thought it would be smart to sort out her own beliefs before sitting down across from someone who either believed or faked belief to make money.
What she discovered disturbed the oceanic depths of her soul. She found it nearly, no, completely impossible to believe in anything people might consider the positive side of supernatural. Angels and heaven, or even the ghosts of lost loved ones. However, she couldn't deny a heavy feeling that the evil side was all too real.
Perhaps she found it easier to blame the wickedness of humankind on something inhuman than to accept such darkness could exist within humanity itself. A knock at Myra's door yanked her mind back into the present. Come in, she invited. The doorknob turned, and Ian the receptionist's arm followed it into Myra's office with a swooping motion. Myra's right in here, he said.
Thank you, Myra heard a woman say quietly, just out of sight. After a pause, the woman entered the doorway wearing a tired face framed by brushed but unwashed graying hair. Hello, Myra said, standing behind her desk. She gestured to the couch, asking, Can I call you Gabby, or do you prefer Gabriela? Gabby, please, Gabby replied.
Well, Gabby, call me Myra, and make yourself at home. I'll come over there in just a second. Myra shut off her computer screen, picked up her notepad, and clicked open her pen before relocating to the plush leather chair across from the couch. A low coffee table sat between them, on which a vase of fake flowers was surrounded by a variety of fidget toys. Cheap, gimmicky things made of brightly colored plastic.
You treat children? Gabby asked, motioning toward the toys. Oh, sorry, can I get you anything to drink? Myra asked, halfway into her seat. Gabby replied, No, thank you. Myra sat. I don't see children, no. Those are fidget toys and they're meant for all ages, actually. Lots of people like to keep their hands occupied while their minds work. It's sort of like dropping the kids off at daycare while the parents go to work. The kids being the hands and the... Yes, I understand. Gabby interrupted.
Okay, maybe not off to the best start, Myra thought. She's serious. I mean, she used to be a professor, right? Regroup, Myra. Meet her where she's at. So Gabby, I looked over your paperwork, so I sort of know what brings you here. But before we really dig into any of that, why don't you tell me about you? Tell me about your life. Help me know who I'm talking to. Gabby leaned back and said, Yes, I suppose that makes the most sense. Could you... I'm not sure how far back you want me to go.
As far back as you'd like, Myra said. You left my old website up on your screen when I came in, so I suppose you know what I used to do for a living. I guess we could start with what got me interested in the field of paranormal exploration. I'm sure it seems strange to you, especially that a professor of psychology would shift into paranormal work. It's also deeply connected to why I'm here.
Myra, blushing from embarrassment from leaving Gabby's website pulled up, said, I don't judge. Wouldn't be much of a therapist if I did. I suppose not, said Gabby. But surely it must be somewhat curious to you. Sure, of course, Myra replied. Gabby said, it may interest you to know that I once wanted to be a therapist. I know this is what everyone probably says, but I genuinely wanted to help people. I know the feeling, said Myra.
Acknowledging her with a curt nod, Gabby continued, I achieved my bachelor's degree, but while pursuing my master's, I suffered acute burnout, although I didn't know what that was back then. My friends all encouraged me to loosen up, and I guess I took that encouragement a bit too far. To make a long story short, I was seven months pregnant when I received my master's, and just over a month later gave birth to my daughter.
Gabby's attention suddenly shifted to the toys on the table in front of her. She found it rather unprofessional to keep the messy array out in the open. She didn't feel like she could take the session seriously with the colorful rubber and plastic items laying there. One in particular caught her eye. A white cube with buttons, switches, and gears of various color. She realized she'd become distracted and looked up, observing Myra writing on her notepad.
So you have a daughter? Myra asked, glancing up and flashing a forced smile as if to say, don't worry, I'm listening. I'll get to that soon, Gabby replied. Patient wants to address depression potentially stemming from past trauma. The words scrolled by in her mind. She thought she might have an idea where Gabby's story was going and made a mental note not to ask any further prompting questions. Gabby continued. I named her Sylvia before she was even born, and she was… she meant everything to me.
Her father refused to return my calls after I told him I was pregnant and he transferred to another school. I decided I didn't want a so-called man like that in Sylvia's life, so I didn't pursue him. Early on, I'm sure he felt like Houdini. But now that we're both so much older, if there's any sliver of humanity inside him, I'm sure it gnaws at his soul that he never met his daughter. She was so insightful and cute.
and funny, too. She could tell a joke that would make you snort with laughter. And I don't mean that canned laughter we grown-ups usually feed children, either. Anyway, I looked up her father after Sylvia. passed away just to let him know. I didn't do it out of courtesy or obligation. I-
I think I wanted to hurt him. I see that look in your eyes. You want to tell me hurting others doesn't help us feel better. But Myra, if you do that, I'll walk straight out this door. Because when I heard his voice break on the phone, he'd answer. my call so nonchalantly, and a few minutes later I hung up and left him devastated. Sure, the satisfaction didn't last, but for a brief moment, the pain rested on someone else's shoulders instead of mine.
I needed that moment. Myra saw her opening. I'm not going to tell you how to feel about anything, but that pain, it came back, didn't it? Gabby looked down at the toys on the table. Then, cursing herself out loud, she picked up the cube with all the buttons and switches. It felt stupid in her hand. Her thumb brushed over a pattern of half-exposed ball bearings protruding from one of the cube's sides and rubbed over them back and forth.
They don't even do anything. What a frivolous waste of materials, she thought. But her thumb kept rubbing, and she didn't put the cube down. Without looking up, Gabby said, I think we both know that pain will never leave. Myra made an intentionally opaque expression and wrote something down, then said, I don't mean to lead you along, but I have a feeling we're closing in on the reason you got into the paranormal... investigating? Is that what it's called?
In a tone Myra interpreted as gentle, Gabby replied, If you don't mean to lead me along, then please don't. We'll get there. Keep in mind, I'm in my fifties. We haven't even gotten to a point where you were alive yet. I'm 33, Myra replied, trying on Gabby's serious but playful tone. It didn't suit her. Gabby flashed her a look that portrayed the dominant personality she once possessed, but it was gone in an instant, shrouded behind the broken expression she now wore everywhere she went.
Breaking the fresh ice, Gabby said, let's go back a bit to when my daughter was still alive. Not to brag, but I was cherished by my professors and well-liked by my advisor, and they helped me find grants and scholarships to pursue my PhD. The university offered an on-campus daycare so I could still spend the majority of my time with or near Sylvia.
By her fourth birthday, I had her calling me Dr. Mama, which was cute for about a week before I and everyone around me thought it sounded pretentious. Gabby laughed and looked down, suddenly realizing her fingers had moved to a fat switch on the cube that clicked faintly as it rocked back and forth. She shook her head at herself and looked up. Myra noticed.
They're sort of addictive, aren't they? She said. Gabby stopped fiddling with the switch and asked, Should I continue? I'm guessing you'd still like me to get to the paranormal stuff. Caught off guard, Myra practically stammered. Whatever you think is relevant. Gabby nodded. Right. Well, we're almost there anyway. I would have gone into practice after school, but that's when Sylvia was diagnosed with leukemia. If I haven't said so already, I'm so sorry, Myra inserted.
Gabby nodded in silent thanks, then said, She was gone five months later, and I wasn't sure I could go on without her. But then I started experiencing these... sensations. Sometimes when I would think about her, I thought I could feel her near me, often floating above or standing beside me. Now, I've always been scientifically minded, and I knew there must be some neurochemical explanation for these sensations, so I began pursuing research in that direction.
I couldn't find an explanation, though. That is, until I began to stumble upon some less modern ideas. I changed the direction of my study once again to involve what most people would consider paranormal possibilities. Of course, I couldn't make a living doing such research, but... Fortunately, a position teaching at the university opened up around the same time. allowing me to continue my work on the down-low. And what did you find? Myra asked, leaning in.
Gabby felt frustrated by how eager Myra seemed to dive into the paranormal subjects when she was really trying to distance herself from them for a little while. Her experience at the Hotel Moss in New York City roughly one year prior had upset something inside her.
There, she had been shown a vision of her daughter hooked up to machines in the hospital room, an image which she had long tried to forget, and which made her question, if only for a moment, whether Sylvia had moved on to a beautiful afterlife. or was trapped in purgatory, eternally experiencing the worst months of her short life.
Gabby knew the spirits in the Hotel Moss were disturbing her on purpose and using Sylvia against her, but never before had a spirit she'd encountered been able to see so deep into her and utilize her most intimate torments against her. The experience left her deeply unsettled and unwilling to delve back into that world, at least for the time being. If you don't mind, Gabby said, setting the fidget cube back on the table and resuming her stoic pose. I'd rather not discuss that sort of thing here.
I'm here to get my mind straight, and I believe we can do that without exploring the details of my research. Unless you disagree? Myra's face betrayed her true feelings as she verbally answered, No, of course not. We're here to talk about you. As Gabby pulled out of the clinic's parking lot 20 minutes later, she questioned whether she would want to see Myra again.
If she hadn't already spent months on the waiting list to see someone, she thought she would switch to another practitioner immediately. So didn't that mean she should bite the bullet and switch now? As much as she despised the thought of waiting for another opening, if Myra couldn't help her, what did it matter? She decided to give Myra one more chance.
To clear her mind, she stopped at a park with a circular walking path and spent half an hour on her feet, listening to birds and watching clouds floating overhead. It had been easier than she expected, talking about Sylvia, but now she found it difficult to shake the old feelings it dredged up.
She sat on a bench next to the path for a time but sitting still allowed her darkest thoughts to catch up and she quickly kept walking. As she looped back toward the parking lot, which was almost entirely empty, She saw someone parked directly beside her white Honda Accord in a blue Jeep Wrangler. The Jeep's driver was still inside, and, though it was difficult to tell from a distance, Gabby thought the driver was staring at her.
The jeep looked familiar, and Gabby realized she had also seen it in the parking lot of the clinic. She pretended to be distracted by a vulture circling overhead, sparing only sporadic side glances toward the jeep. The driver appeared to be a woman, and the closer Gabby got, the more certain she felt she was watching her. She didn't appear to be getting out. Was she waiting?
Eventually, Gabby recognized the driver. Her memory had served her well. She had seen the Jeep at the clinic. It belonged to Myra. And it was Myra now staring at her from the driver's seat. You've got to be joking. Gabby mumbled to herself. Holding an irritated expression, she waved to her therapist as she neared the end of the path. Myra waved back, then started her jeep, backed out of the space, and drove off.
Only her eyebrows moved, pinching together at the bridge of her nose. Her instinct was to call the clinic immediately and report this odd behavior, or at the very least request to be transferred to another therapist. but her fear of being waitlisted again won out once more. She reasoned that Myra may have simply come to the park by coincidence, and when she saw Gabby, opted to give her space.
Gabby told herself to stop immediately assuming the worst in people as she climbed into her car and left the park. Sometimes assuming the worst is not a bad habit. Get started with the commerce platform made for entrepreneurs. Shopify is specially designed to help you start, run,
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These are just a few of the topics we've recently covered on my podcast Something You Should Know. Each episode covers multiple topics that are likely relevant to you. I'm the host, Mike Carruthers, and listen, we've got over 1,000 episodes, over 4,000 mostly five-star reviews. I invite you to check out Something You Should Know, wherever you listen. Three days later, the first time Gabby left her house after her appointment, she went to Walgreens to pick up her Zoloft prescription.
She hoped going to therapy might be a step toward getting off the anti-depression drug prescribed by her general practitioner, but for now it was the only thing keeping her functioning well enough to eat once or twice a day and shower a couple of times per week. While waiting in line at the pharmacy, her eyes wandered to the anti-theft mirrors angled down above the makeup department.
She accidentally made eye contact with another woman looking up at the same mirror and glanced away. A vague afterimage of the woman's face lingered as if burned into her retinas for a few moments, and Gabby thought she looked familiar enough to warrant a second look. The line moved up. Gabby stepped forward to maintain her place, then looked back up, but the woman was gone. Of course, why would she still be staring up at the mirror five seconds later?
Gabby scanned for any familiar faces among the reflected shoppers. Most were looking down at shelves, so she could not see their faces, which made Gabby notice immediately when one of their faces turned up toward the mirror again. This time, Gabby didn't look away when their eyes met. She looked into the eyes of Myra, standing in the candy aisle, holding an empty red basket. Myra's face held no expression. Her mouth hung slightly open.
Gabby abandoned her place in line and headed straight for the candy aisle. By the time she reached it, Myra's empty basket lay alone on the floor. Gabby looked up at the mirrors but didn't see her therapist anywhere. She approached the front and stopped near the cashier. She was about to ask if the cashier had noticed a woman leave empty-handed a few seconds ago, but through the electronic door she watched a blue Jeep Wrangler pass by on its way out of the parking lot.
It was too difficult to make out the driver through multiple panes of glass, but Gabby knew right away it had to be Myra. Right there, she pulled out her phone and looked up the number for the clinic. As she waited for someone to pick up the phone, she wished for somewhere to sit. She thought about returning to the pharmacy line, but she wanted to be away from other people. No one was shopping for candy, so she ducked back into that aisle just as the phone stopped ringing.
Thank you for calling. Yes, is Myra Louth in right now? Gabby interrupted Ian, the receptionist. Sounding irked, Ian replied, Are you one of her patients? Gabby hissed. Yes, is she in at the moment? What did she think? That the person she saw at Walgreens was some kind of doppelganger? A creature or spirit imitating her therapist out in the wild? It sounded insane, but Gabby figured she was one of the few people on Earth who'd earned the honest right to wonder such a thing.
Ian said, I'm sorry, but she's out right now. Is this an emergency? Gabby thought about saying yes, but guest Ian would likely tell her to hang up and dial 911, or worse, ask more questions. She answered, no. After a lingering pause, Ian said, It doesn't look like she has any cancellations today if you're wanting an appointment. Want me to check tomorrow?
Gabby's knuckles turned white around her phone. She said, No, that's all right. I just needed to ask her about something. We have our next weekly appointment in a few days. I just hoped to speak with her briefly. I could see if it's possible to move your appointment up, Ian offered. After taking a second to think, Gabby said, If you wouldn't mind, actually, that might be helpful. She thought a face-to-face confrontation might be the best way to handle the situation.
Sure, said Ian. A few dozen key taps later, he said, I do actually show an opening tomorrow at 10.30. Does that work for you? Yes, please. Make it for Gabby Pons. And that's to see Myra, right? Not someone else? Yep, it's for Myra, Ian replied. Gabby said, Tomorrow, 10.30. Thank you. Your... She hung up before he could finish.
Gabby arrived five minutes early for her appointment the following morning. While she sat in the waiting room, her thumb rubbed over the buttons on a device in her jacket pocket, much like it had when playing with the fidget cube in Myra's office earlier that week. She'd brought the device as an afterthought, just in case.
She's ready, Gabby, Ian said over the counter. Gabby nodded curtly and rose from the chair. She sucked on the back of her teeth as she steeled herself for the uncomfortable confrontation ahead. At Myra's open door, Gabby stopped. She looked in at the therapist, hunched over her computer and too focused on whatever the screen displayed to notice the woman standing outside her office. Gabby studied her, searching for signs of anything abnormal or unnatural.
Although she no longer thought the Myra she'd seen at Walgreens the previous day was a doppelganger, or at least she didn't have enough evidence to support her being a doppelganger, looking into her eyes in that mirror had stirred a terribly familiar feeling in Gabby's gut. Most people would identify that feeling as paranoia, but Gabby knew well enough that sometimes paranoia is misdiagnosed, even by those experiencing it.
Are you following me? Gabby asked before she was noticed. Myra jumped in her chair. One of her knees thunked against the inside of her desk, rattling the small basket of pens next to her monitor. Gabby, you surprised me, she said, forcing a fake laugh. Please, come in and sit down. What brings you in so soon? Gabby stood firm. Please answer my question. I don't want to come in until I know you'll be honest with me.
About what? Following you? Gabby, that would be, well, illegal for starters. But you could also say unethical, unprofessional, creepy. No, I'm not following you. Why? Gabby thumbed the device in her pocket and stepped into the doorway. Myra pushed her chair back and clasped her hands together in her lap.
Have you? It's a small town, I suppose. I guess I didn't notice you. You've been looking right at me, staring at me, Gabby said, keeping her tone neutral, conversational, despite making a direct accusation. Myra looked uncomfortable. Her thumbs played with each other in her lap. Right. Would you please come have a seat? Let's talk through what you've been seeing.
You wanted to hear more about my paranormal research the other day, Gabby said, remaining in the doorway. Myra's face fell into patient resignation. Despite my emotional introduction to the field, I've always kept a scientific mind when exploring the supernatural and paranormal. My goal has always been to understand these phenomena in a way which can be recorded, measured, and shared.
I want to spread real knowledge, testable truth. I am sensing a butt coming, said Myra, gesturing again to the couch. Gabby again resisted her invitation. I've never lost that intention, but I've since observed something unmeasurable rising in myself. It's a sort of sixth sense, as they say. A gut instinct. And I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't something we all have that's grown dormant in modern society.
I believe it's why so many people enjoy things like horror movies and dark music, because those things tickle the dormant sense like when someone unexpectedly scratches your back. Myra casually slid her clipboard toward herself, but Gabby held a hand up to stop her. I don't have much more to say, so don't bother. I just want to tell you I've accidentally lured that sixth sense out of dormancy.
It's not as prevalent in me as, say, my sense of smell, but when someone or something exudes enough of whatever the sense detects, I can pick it up like smelling smoke from a distant blaze. And you, Myra, I must say, you smell like a forest fire. Gabby removed the device from her pocket. An EMF reader Darian and Reese Whitney had showed her how to use. It detected electromagnetic frequencies, which proved useful again and again in helping them locate paranormal hotspots.
Gabby had flipped the power switch before the device even left her side, so when she pointed it at Myra, the lights were already activated. The two green lights that were almost always on glowed brightest. followed by the slightly more rare yellow, as well as the warning sign orange. The final, undeniable red light flickered slightly but remained off. Gabby stepped forward. Myra pushed back until her rolling chair hit the wall behind her.
The pointed EMF reader seemed to hold her in place like a magic wand. She recoiled until Gabby reached her desk. Then she lunged out of her chair. She caught the wrist of Gabby's hand holding the EMF reader and aggressively pressed the device to her own forehead. The red light instantly glowed, and the device began to crackle.
Gabby tried to pry the reader out of Myra's grip with her free hand, but the therapist's fingers felt like steel claws. Gabby cried out in agony as Myra's grip closed even tighter on her wrist. You found me out, Professor. said, projecting a different voice. Whatever controlled Myra let go of Gabby's hand, and the EMF reader clattered onto the desk, smoking. All of its lights shut off at once. Now I insist you have-
seat, said Myra's possessor. The door behind Gabby slammed shut. Gabby clenched her fists and remained on her feet. She demanded, why use Myra? I barely know her. Come take me if I'm who you are. So valiant, chided the possessor. I chose her because I wanted to watch you make yourself vulnerable. I wanted you to show me your weaknesses so I can make you suffer that.
What is your grievance with me? Gabby asked, conveying calm to mask her rising fear. The possessor replied, I've been with you, waiting for such a moment as this. You're strong, Gabriella Pons. Even in your weakest state, your mind is built to resist. But I know how to break you. I know your greatest weakness. Wanting to keep the entity talking so she could plot her next move, Gabby said,
still don't understand. How long have you been with me? Myra leaned forward as her possessor stood. It grabbed the top of her computer monitor, leaning further over the desk until its face hovered just beneath Gabby's. Gabby held firm, not giving in to the intimidation and staring down into Myra's slightly parted eyes. The possessor said, I've been with you since you destroyed me.
destroyed my home and sanctuary. I followed you from the Hotel Moss. Gabby nodded slowly as if to say she expected as much. Are you one of the Mosses? Are you Orville or Andrew or maybe a relative we failed to discover? The possessor chuckled and shook Myra's head. It retracted her neck and returned to an upright position, then began walking around the desk, which finally forced Gabby toward the couch.
Orville and Andrew Moss were far from the only entities dwelling in that hotel. What you and those young brothers did... You banished us all. You cast us away. We dwelt there for decades before you came along. Do you think I wanted to attach myself to you? While I find great pleasure in degrading your thoughts and dragging you through this muddled depression,
I would much prefer the endless buffet of souls the hotel offered me. You stole that from me. You left me with no choice but to wander the earth or return to hell. So here I am, Gabby, a tormentor of your own making. If you want an apology from me, you won't get it, Gabby said. She now stood next to the couch, but did not sit.
She did, however, spot the fidget cube she'd played with at her first appointment, which she discreetly plucked from the table and slid into her jacket pocket for a reason unknown to her. You have no hold over me, demon. You can talk about my vulnerabilities and my weaknesses all day. You can keep my therapist hostage in her own body. But we both know what evils I've faced down, and you can't possibly believe you pose a threat to me.
knowing what I've already overcome. Oh, Gabby, the possessor crooned in a voice that admittedly gave Gabby a chill. We both know you dodged your personal battle that night at the hotel. You were threatened. You were grazed. But the real targets were Darian and Reese Whitney. They faced the demons of their past and confronted the burden of their ancestry. You fled.
I ran, yes, but I went back. I faced my own demons and returned to see the fight through, Gabby retorted. Her confidence faltered, though, as her words were received with an expansive, crooked grin on Myra's face. She knew she was missing something, some crucial piece of this puzzle, and she almost feared the lingering suspense more than the inevitable reveal. You aided the Whitney's and won the day, yes, but don't pretend you found personal resolution that night.
You knew when you left there was more pain in store for you. What you did not realize is that knowing sense came from me. The Whitney brothers belonged to Orville and Andrew. Your involvement with them was only incidental. You belong solely to me. I too fled that morning. I ran away with you. I've eaten at you and weakened you until now. Now that you've opened yourself up, made yourself vulnerable, I am here to finish what I started at the Hotel Moss. Gabby tipped her head forward.
forward, looking down at Myra's parted eyes and bared teeth with oblique disdain, and said, You are nothing. I do not belong to you, nor will I allow you any power over me. Myra's head lulled forward as if she'd fallen unconscious. Her hair fell down to her chest, curtaining her face. The voice which came out of her afterwards did not belong to her or the malicious possessor. Why would you say that, Mama? seized. She balled her fists until her knuckles turned white. You are not my daughter.
Myra's head slowly lifted. Her hair remained partially in front of her face, but Gabby could see enough to recognize the soft features of her young daughter hidden behind the twisted black strands. Sylvia's voice whispered, Mama, how could you say that? Gabby bit her upper lip and darted for the door. Running away again, the possessor scoffed. Gabby did not look back or respond. She opened the door and slipped into the hallway, shutting the door firmly behind her.
She held onto the doorknob for a few seconds, expecting to feel it forcefully turn against her grasp. She sensed someone nearby and glanced down the hallway. She saw Ian standing with a fresh cup of coffee, staring at her with concern. Call the police, Gabby ordered. Concern for everyone in the building. She wasn't sure who else to call. What's going on? Ian asked, bewildered. Gabby yelled, Just get help!
The doorknob remained still in her hand. Perhaps the possessor knew better than to openly pursue her where others would see. Ian disappeared around the corner. Gabby followed. Is Myra all right? Ian asked as he slid into his chair while simultaneously dialing 911 on his desk phone. I'm not sure, whispered Gabby. An answer on the other end of the line kept Ian from replying to Gabby with more than a concerned eyebrow raise. Into the phone, he said, Yes, I met. But he trailed off.
His eyes dropping and scrunching, then rising to meet Gabby's again as he said, It's for you. Gabby took the phone as he passed it over the counter to her. She hesitantly placed it against her ear. Ian's anxious guise melted into a snarling grin. Mama, where'd you go? Sylvia's voice asked through the phone. Again biting her upper lip, Gabby turned toward the lobby, where an elderly woman, a teenage boy, and a middle-aged man all sat waiting for their appointments.
You all need to leave, Gabby told them. The teenager shoved his iPhone in his pocket and stood immediately, as if Gabby's command were more an opportunity than a warning. The elderly woman was about to ask why, but the middle-aged man spoke first, demanding, Who are you? Please, there's a dangerous situation going on back there, Gabby pleaded. The middle-aged man looked to Ian for confirmation, saw the menacing look in his eyes, and asked, Ma'am, are you okay?
Everything will be fine, she replied as the teenager brushed past and exited the building. The elderly woman followed shortly. The middle-aged man lingered for a moment, clearly deciding whether to hang around in case he needed to intervene in something, but Gabby gave him a confident nod that sent him out the door. Then she turned back to the snarling receptionist.
Are any other clinicians in the building? Of course, he jeered. Gabby grabbed the far edge of the counter and leaned toward the snarling face to show she felt no fear, a lie she told with her body. She tried to recall how she used to feel facing down these evil spirits back when she'd been strong and assured. She felt so shaky and brittle now, but she could not let this demon see that.
Finding her commanding tone, she said, Pick either Ian or Myra to keep here, but you'd better not harm them. You need to let everyone else go. I won't run anymore, but those are my terms. The Possessor scoffed but said, Fine. I choose Myra. This one squirms. Ian's eyes rolled back and his head knocked against the back of his chair. The possessor's voice echoed inside his open mouth. It said, Send the rest away.
Suddenly, Ian's eyes snapped back to the front, clearer than before. Without a word, he shot to his feet and ran down the hallway. Gabby obediently returned to Myra's office. The fleeing clinicians led by Ian passed her on her way down the hall. One of them warned her of danger he knew nothing about. She told him to call for help and wait outside the building. I don't have much time.
I am being transported by the ecclesiast vessel Markava to stand trial for heresy of the highest order. But I will not renounce my work. And to my last breath, I will speak the truth of this plague-ridden world. That ours is not a loving God, and we are not its favored children. The Heresies of Red Ulf Bundwein. Chapter 2. Coming May 1st. In humanity's search for other worlds, we found something unexpected. It's a massive
And each one is a story. But when we explored those stories, things didn't go as planned. And I bid you welcome. Subscribe and listen to Muse, the latest audio drama from Dayton Writers Movement and Realm. Myra's door was still closed. Gabby opened it. It opened not to her therapist's office, but to her daughter's long-ago hospital room.
Gabby slipped her hand into her pocket where the stolen fidget cube awaited her anxious thumb. She rubbed the half-exposed ball bearings that did nothing but provide the slightest amount of calm. She gave the cube one last squeeze and let go as she entered the room. This is a cheap trick, she said, still feigning confidence. You're predictable. Sylvia lay in her hospital bed, an oxygen mask over her mouth, her eyes closed. She lifted one yellowish, frail hand to pull the mask away from her face.
It separated with a hiss. Even the sterile, slightly medicinal smell of the room was accurate to her memory of Sylvia's final days, but Gabby remained grounded. The thing playing Sylvia set the oxygen mask aside and… In her young voice said, Why don't you think this is real, Mama? It's real to me. You'll stop this now, Gabby replied. I can see through your illusions.
Might as well give them up. Sylvia's body sat up and she turned to hang her feet over the side of the bed. Long tubes connected to an IV cart twisted around her right arm. She frustratedly ripped them away as she stood. Gabby remained steady as the thing costumed as her daughter stepped toward her, stopping mere inches away. No, Gabby. now using its own voice but still speaking through Sylvia. It's too late for your overconfidence to save you.
This time you are not in control. You remain conscious only to serve as a witness. I've waited so long to be certain you stand no chance of escape. Voices and visions, Gabby sneered to herself. Yes, it agonized her to see her daughter again in the worst state of her brief life, but she'd prepared her mind for the worst. She was out of practice for certain. She found herself avoiding looking directly at Sylvia because she feared becoming convinced the illusion was real.
However, this demon had presented the same vision to her back at the Hotel Moss. It distracted her then, but she decided it would not now. She closed her eyes. Instead of going black, Gabby's vision shifted perspectives. She was now lying in the hospital bed, only she could see herself standing by the door, too. Instead of looking down at the mirage of her daughter, she was looking at her back. Sylvia stood in front of her frozen, vacant mother, staring up at her.
Instinctively, Gabby tried to cover her eyes with her hand to block out the vision, but she was no longer seeing through her eyes. She watched herself raise her hands in front of her face. Sylvia, as if copying her, lifted her own hands and began to shake with violent sobs. This image, Gabby standing haughtily and covering her eyes as her daughter sobbed in front of her, disturbed Gabby enough to make her open her eyes to stop it.
Now that she could see Sylvia from the front again, she saw she was not sobbing, but giggling. Want to try anything else, Professor? the demon asked. I don't know what else to tell you, Gabby replied, still defiant. You're going to have to try your absolute worst because these illusions won't work on me anymore.
I've studied your kind and I've experienced your type of torment enough to know it won't work on... The possessor raised Sylvia's hands and clapped them together in Gabby's face, making her blink. In the fraction of a second during which her eyes were closed, the room changed yet again. It became darker due to one corner being shrouded in animated shadow. The opaque blackness swallowed all of the light around the empty bed, through the darkness.
Gabby could only just make out the thin figure of a humanoid creature with pale eyes of the faintest green. hovering inches above the floor. Sylvia remained in front of Gabby, now wearing an expression of confusion and fear. She looked from side to side as if having just woken up from a nightmare. Sylvia's eyes found the blackness in the corner, and as naturally as she had in life, she lunged into Gabby's embrace.
Mama, what is that? She cried into Gabby's stomach. Gone was the false innocence, the forced sweetness of the possessor. He existed outside of her now. This can't be real, can it? Gabby wondered. She had to know for certain. If it was another of the demon's tricks, it was the most convincing yet. The thought that she might actually be contacting her daughter's soul terrified her more than anything she'd experienced thus far at the Hotel Moss or anywhere else.
Her gut told her this was more illusion, but what if she accidentally abandoned her child to this creature, left her with it for eternity? Ever the scientist, Gabby attempted an experiment. She shut her eyes again, squeezing them tight as she squeezed her daughter closer. Her perspective shifted like before. She saw through the demon's eyes in the corner.
She gazed upon herself, embracing her sweet child, and wanted that embrace to last forever. Is this what the demon was trying to offer in return for her body and soul? An eternity with Sylvia? No, a disembodied thought echoed in her mind. I am only offering to spare her. Gabby opened her eyes to separate from the demon. Back behind her own eyes, she looked into its pale green ones. No more vague insinuations. No more torment.
You have me cornered, demon. What do you want from me? Gabby demanded. She tried to resist her brimming tears, but one tumbled down her cheek. Sylvia's little hands clutched the back of her shirt beneath her jacket and pulled her closer. May I confess something to you, Professor? the demon asked. When Gabby did not answer immediately, it continued. Though I regret to admit it, you pose a danger to my kind.
Many of us have escaped the bounds of hell we come from, but you would send us all back, as you have already done to so many unfortunate souls. All I ask from you is a promise. You must swear upon your daughter's soul that you will no longer interfere with we spirits beyond the physical realm. You will no longer pursue us or prevent us from carrying out our will. As long as you maintain a peace between us, your daughter's soul will exist in peace as well.
I... Gabby started, but realized she hadn't the faintest idea what she was going to say. She ran her fingers through Sylvia's hair. It felt so real. But it couldn't be, could it? she wished she could know. She hoped no, prayed for a sign, something she had not ever done before. She was no stranger to gambling with the supernatural, but never had the stakes been so dire, nor had her trust in herself been lower.
She bought time with an honest question. How do I know this is her? Will you prove to me that you can actually access her? Sylvia squeezed her arms around Gabby's waist even tighter. Gabby could feel the warmth of her daughter's skin through her shirt, the pulse of her loving embrace. She thought it would be impossible for a demon to fake such an authentic feeling of pure love. Okay.
She conceded. The demon asked, Do I have your word? You must swear upon your daughter's soul. Gabby said, Just let me do this first, please. and knelt in front of Sylvia. They wrapped their arms around each other and pulled one another in for a tight embrace, the kind Gabby still remembered so well. I'll be brave, Mama, Sylvia whispered.
You won't have to, Gabby replied. This mean spirit will leave you alone now, okay? I'm going to make sure of it. But if you ever do feel worried, there's something I can give you. It's going to seem silly, but I've just learned myself that it's more helpful than I expected. Gabby separated only slightly to reach into her jacket pocket for the fidget cube. I want you to have...
She knew the cube had been in her pocket before she entered the room. So when had it vanished? During the transformation? The demon must not have seen her slip it into her pocket. But that could only mean this reality contained nothing more than what the demon was aware of, which meant it was as she had originally believed. A total illusion. A projection. A farce.
Where is it? Gabby calmly demanded, turning to face the demon but remaining on her knees in front of her daughter. Where is what? The demon sneered. The thing that was in my pocket. Why is it missing? Assuming Gabby meant the EMF reader, the demon replied, You left it on the therapist's desk, remember? You put it down after using it to test me. Gabby feigned confusion, then muttered,
The demon's response confirmed it did not know about the Fidget Cube and thus did not bother to recreate it in this fictional world, this sandbox it created for her. It now seemed unlikely that anything she could currently see smell, or feel was real, but she was not quite ready to gamble the soul of her daughter on her hunch just yet. May I ask for one small thing before I make this agreement with you? She asked. You may.
The demon replied, greedy in tone. Could I just have a moment to say a proper goodbye to my daughter? I've had so long to think about all the things I wish I would have told her. Not alone. replied the demon. I wouldn't have assumed you'd allow that much, said Gabby.
She placed her hands on Sylvia's shoulders. If this wasn't her daughter, what was it? Simply a projection? If so, this demon haunting her was more clever than she had ever given one credit for. It managed to synthesize her daughter perfectly. and fakes such authentic affection. She wondered if it might have stolen the required nuances from her memories, and she carefully avoided any more thoughts of the fidget cube as she led Sylvia to her hospital bed.
The dark shadow moved aside to allow them room. Gabby helped Sylvia slide under the bristly white sheet and placed the oxygen mask back over her face. She leaned in close so she could whisper into her daughter's ear at a barely audible volume. Sylvia, if there's any chance you really can hear me, I love you. Someday I will come find you. Until then, stay strong, be brave, and never let these monsters control you.
They seem big and strong and scary, but they're weak beneath the surface. Don't fall for their tricks. I have to go for now, but I promise I will see you soon. When she rose back to standing, she felt the demon's presence creep over her. Have you said your piece? It asked. I need your word that you won't hurt her if I agree to your terms, Gabby replied. My word, the demon echoed. Well, of course you have it.
Gabby raised a finger and said, Ah, but see, even that could be a lie. If I've learned anything in all these years, it's that demons are notorious liars. In this case, I am telling you the truth, said the demon. Gabby shook her head. Could still be a lie. Her diminished confidence began to swell. She felt the old Gabby pumping her up like a flat tire. Then we have reached a stalemate, said the demon. If you will not accept my word, I do not what, if any, assurance I can give you.
Are you willing to risk your daughter's eternal soul due to your own mistrust? I would like to renegotiate the deal, Gabby replied. She kissed Sylvia on the forehead and turned away from the bed to face the looming shadow, to look into those pale green eyes, which bore into her like lasers. She stared back defiantly, stating, I think we've underestimated each other, demon. I'll acknowledge that if you will.
Let's now be honest with each other. I know you do not have access to my daughter's soul. If you did, you would not have created this illusion to attempt to fool me. Gabby paused turned back to the hospital bed and said, Sylvia disappeared. Her oxygen mask fell onto her indented pillow, then lay still. The demon spoke. I may have underestimated you, woman, but... I'm not finished, Gabby casually interrupted, her confidence firming up.
Before you spirited my mind to this place, I had something which I had not yet shown you in my pocket, something I can use to defeat you for good. If you give me your word, weak as it is, that you will leave me in... Myra, Sylvia, and anyone else connected to me. Essentially, if you swear not to attempt any more torment upon me, directly or indirectly, I will spare you.
I'll let you vanish into the ether to go search for your new home or whatever it is you seek. I do not offer peace to your kind, but I will extend it to you. Would you agree to these terms? She regretted adding the exaggeration of the Fidget Cube's power. She supposed its help in grounding her had played a role in bringing back her confidence, but would the demon still see through this lie? What was in your pocket? The demon demanded.
Gabby sensed tendrils probing through her thoughts and memories. She flooded them with images of crucifixes, silver talismans, salt, vials of holy water, any anti-demonic materials she could recall. She aimed not to convince the demon of what she had, but to confuse it and leave it guessing. If it was at the Hotel Moss that night when she and the Whitney brothers banished that building's powerful namesakes, it knew what she might be capable of.
She did not need to convince it of anything specific, only to undermine its confidence. The tendrils receded. Gabby asked, Do we have an agreement? Insolent woman, you believe you will be protected by... Do we have an agreement? Gabby repeated, colder. Its pale green eyes retreated into the shadows until they could no longer be seen. Then the shadows expanded, growing to consume the entire room. Gabby closed her eyes, seeing only blackness as it surrounded her.
Gabby, are you alright? Myra's voice prompted Gabby to open her eyes again. She found herself once more in the therapist's office. She stared blankly at Myra, who was pressing the fingers of both hands into her temples as if battling a headache. Before answering, Gabby slipped her own fingers into her jacket pocket.
There it was. Her fingers found the fidget cube with its useless switches and half-exposed ball bearings, and she imagined it had never brought anyone so much comfort as it did in that moment. Gabby smiled at Myra and finally said, yes, yes, I'm all right. Are you? Um, Myra looked around the room like she was making sure everything was in its correct place.
Could you... were we... You know, I think I might have a fever or something. I honestly can't remember what we were just talking about. My head hurts a little too. Gabby said, I was just telling you that you've given me plenty to think about and that I think I'm ready to overcome this, this personal demon that's been holding me back.
She'd forgotten how it felt to make the big, scary spirits retreat, to expose them for the weak monsters they really were. Now that she remembered, she felt almost angry with herself for excusing herself from the battle with them for over a year. She said, thank you for your help, Myra. Now, maybe you should take the rest of the day to rest. Yeah, Myra absently replied. I mean, I'm so glad to hear you say that, but I think...
need some rest. I think I might be sick or something. On cue, she vomited in her wastebasket. Gabby floated to her side like an angel. Once Myra finished, Gabby opened her office door and walked her out. Myra winced with each step, holding her head as she walked. Behind her back, Gabby switched on the EMF reader and held it near her neck as they made their way through the empty lobby. The lights stayed green.
They exited the building together, met by the anxious receptionist and a couple of recently arrived police officers. Gabby passed Myra off to Ian and quickly concocted answers to the inevitable questions coming her way. She hoped the police would not hold her up too long. She needed to get back to work. If you enjoyed the story, please rate, like, review, or subscribe. For ad-free episodes and bonus Into the Woods episodes, become a patron with the link in the description.
You can also support the show by buying merch. That link is also in the description below. To stay up to date, follow me on Instagram at TheWarningWoods. And if you feel ready, meet me here next week for another journey into The Warning Woods. Thank you for listening. Alright girls, this is the place. We'll get everything loaded over to the boat and we'll lock up the truck. Don't leave anything behind. Wait, is that it? That's where we're going? Yeah, that's it. Seal skin rock. Whoa.
Return to the Mysteries. Subscribe now to catch the premiere. Enjoy the world and all its terrors? Interested to learn more about unexplained entities and dark legends from across the globe? Join myself and Dr. Sophie Yang as we share horrors, fears, and taboos from her home in Taiwan and discuss the similarities and differences between what scares souls in the East and West.
Learn about what haunts the Taiwanese mountains, what comes for you in death, and much more. Check out That Scares Me Too, available now. That's too like boo.