The Stench (Part 2)

This episode is brought to you by Progressive Insurance. Most of you listening right now are probably multitasking. Yep, while you're listening to me talk, you're probably also driving, cleaning, exercising, maybe even grocery shopping. But... If you're not currently operating some kind of moving vehicle, there's something else you could be doing right now that's easy and could save you money right from your phone. Getting an auto quote from Progressive Insurance.

Drivers who save by switching to Progressive save nearly $750 on average. Plus, auto customers qualify for an average of 7 discounts. There are discounts for having multiple vehicles on your policy, being a homeowner, and more. And just like your favorite podcast, Progressive will be with you 24-7, 365 days a year. So you're protected no matter what. So multitask right now.

Quote your car insurance at Progressive.com to join over 28 million drivers who trust Progressive. Progressive Casualty Insurance Company & Affiliates. National average 12-month savings of $744 by new customers surveyed who saved with Progressive between June 2022 and May 2023. Potential savings will vary, discounts not available in all states and situations.

Shopping is hard. I can never find anything in my size. I don't even know my size. I buy my clothes the same place I buy my groceries. There's a better way. Make it easy with Stitch Fix. Just share your size, style, budget, and done! Your personal stylist sends pieces picked just for you. That was easy. Stitch Fix, online personal styling for everyone.

Free shipping and returns. No subscription required. Get started today at stitchfix.com. Welcome, friend. Follow me. We're going somewhere dark, somewhere dangerous. Most people would never dare enter the place we are going. There's no telling what horrors we'll find, what terrors we'll uncover. Don't say I didn't warn you. We might discover terrible monsters lurking there. Be careful.

They could follow you out, or maybe they're already inside you. Are you afraid? Good. Now you are ready to enter the Warning Woods.

Natalie has to work a shift at fairway the next morning while the boys are at school She wants to send Tyler to school despite what happened the previous night believing he made himself sick with the raw bacon besides She really doesn't have anything else to do with him while she's at work. After breakfast, Lane suggests she enroll Tyler in therapy, which she agrees would be a great idea if therapy was free. Maybe, she tells herself,

He thought bacon was like lunch meat. You don't have to cook lunch meat. But of course, this ignored his other behavior and the glaring likelihood he'd also eaten an entire package of raw, semi-frozen chicken thighs, too. If true, that disturbed her more than anything. Before they moved into the new house, Tyler had been a normal six-year-old boy. He liked Legos and Pixar movies and Ninja Turtles. He ate chicken nuggets and hot dogs.

If Natalie put a more authentic meat in front of him, he would eat some of it, but never had much of an appetite for it. Nothing about the way he's behaved for the past week or so really reflects the child she knew before. But at school, He'll be monitored in a controlled environment, and she can't miss her shift. So, to school he goes. Could it really just be the move or the divorce? She wonders while stocking shelves. But kids move all the time.

Their parents get divorced all the time, sometimes more than once. That was her experience. She glances at the scars on her wrists and wonders, is he self-harming by eating raw meat? She gets home before school is out. Tyler must be doing fine because she hasn't heard anything from the staff at school who seem to call her at the slightest disruption or alteration to the norm. The house reeks.

The stench has surpassed Intolerable. It's toxic. Natalie feels unsafe breathing the air. It's not just the puke. It's the raw bacon and probably chicken and whatever else her son regurgitated that's spoiled and begun to rot in the duct. It smells like everything they'd blamed the stench on before they knew the truth. Sewage, a dead animal, rotting fish.

She wishes she could hire someone to clean the duct for her. Who would do it? She has no idea. She assumes a normal duct cleaner would probably turn her down and can't blame this hypothetical person.

She needs to figure it out on her own, and her only options are to get started or sit around in the noxious cloud that won't go away until she gets the job done. She ties a scarf around her nose and mouth and, as an afterthought, sprays it with perfume. She carries a can of Lysol she stole from the fairway restroom upstairs and sprays a visible cloud into the bathroom that clings to her skin when she enters. She smoked a cigarette before coming into the house,

so her sinuses are slightly swollen, which also helps. She hopes to get through this without puking herself. It's a lofty goal. She pulls the grate off. It comes away without any effort. She sees the rusted screws still protruding uselessly from the wall. Something else to ask her dad to help with if he ever speaks to her again. He will, she's sure.

to tell her how she needs to be a role model for her boys and can't stoop to their level when they get under her skin. He'll have some story about how she had acted out when he got divorced and then tell her how her mother tried to murder him and joke about how

When you thought about it that way, Troy wasn't such a monster, really, and maybe she should try to forgive him and put their past behind her. He and Connie had always liked Troy. Troy always knew how to put on just the right kind of show for them. how to say the right things to make them warm to him. He also knew every way to push Natalie's buttons and expose her worst traits in front of her father and stepmother. Lane inherited this ability.

She's thinking through all of this while she procrastinates, but runs out of pity to indulge herself with. She's already become nose-blind to her perfumed scarf. She can no longer ignore the smell that rhymes with it either. What she can see from the poor angle the vent provides her is already more than she wants to, but not enough to assess the full mass. She can see less than a foot into the duct.

There's a yellow substance crusted to the metal and little bits of... well, there's little bits. But the bulk of what she imagines must be a festering, rancid coagulation of chewed meat is out of sight. She wonders if the shower water washed it deeper into the duct. She starts scrubbing what's in easy reach. She knows at some point soon her hand will run into the plat du jour.

The rubber glove she's wearing will protect her from the germs, but not the mushy sensation of what she has to scoop out of there. She wonders, if she just left it, how long it would take to stop stinking. It had to eventually, right? Once all the organic material was consumed by the lucky microorganisms that found it, she scrubs deeper. Her scrubbing hand makes a low, reverberating sound under the floor. She finds a rhythm.

And the sound reminds her of a dubstep kick drum. Another sound disrupts her rhythm. She pauses. Was it an echo? She hears something slide deeper in the duct than she can reach. You know what it is, she tells herself. She thinks her movements must have dislodged part of the main mass.

This convinces her she shouldn't be rooting around in their blind anymore. She could be making the problem worse. She takes out her hand, removes the glove, and opens her phone camera. Ensuring she has the flash on, She holds the phone in the vent and snaps two photos at slightly different angles, then sits back on her heels. She hears another sound under the floor. She hears something heavy and wet.

It squelches toward the vent. She tells herself the echoes in the ducts must be causing an auditory illusion, because why would the pile of vomit be moving at all? She looks at the first photo, but can't quite make out what she's seeing. Her phone keeps rotating the picture every time she turns it for a clearer view of what the camera caught in the dark just beyond the flash.

She has to play with her settings to make the photo stop turning. She swipes the menu away, revealing her photo once more. She sees a mass mostly hidden in the shadows. She tries the second photo. In this one, the flash captured what she's looking for. It's made of everything Tyler's regurgitated into the duct. It's pink and held together by something thick. And wet. But that's not what makes Natalie shriek. That's not what makes her gag.

What she sees most prominently reflecting the flash are two objects she hasn't thought about since lunch the previous day. Positioned in front of the slimy mass, pointed.

as if staring directly at her, are the dead eyes of Lane's fish. Natalie stumbles out of the bathroom, nearly losing her battle against her queasy stomach. Imagining her son in the garage biting out the cold fish's eyes brings tears to her eyes. What's wrong with him? How has it taken her so long to notice? She's sobbing now.

Her scarf makes it difficult to breathe. She tears it off, but the first gasp of unfiltered air she takes knocks her backward. She scrambles down the stairs and into her bedroom. The smell is no better here. She looks at the vent high on her wall, realizing she's right down the line from the upstairs bathroom. The heat is blowing air past the grotesque mass in the duct right into her bedroom.

She shuts the vent and sits on her bed to collect herself. She hears the sound again, that wet sliding. It's above her this time, most certainly coming from the duct. This time... It doesn't stop, either. It squelches its way along the wall, slow and purposeful. The duct groans under its weight. Natalie knows it must be heavy.

It's made of at least three pounds of chicken, a pound of bacon, likely another pound or so of assorted lunch meats, plus whatever else happened to be in Tyler's stomach. Like fish eyes, she thinks. almost laughing at the horrible ridiculousness of it. The movement becomes slightly clearer in tone. The mass has almost reached her vent. Natalie looks up.

sees the narrow slits between the vents' closed louvers, and imagines the gooey congealment dripping into her room, running down her wall and headboard, and pooling on her pillows. Ignoring how using it to solve this problem will likely ruin it for good, Natalie runs for the vacuum. She thinks this might be her best opportunity to clean the foul mass out of the duct with any ease. She can easily ask her dad for a new vacuum.

He's always hanging around thrift stores and garage sales looking for deals. He probably already has a spare vacuum or three that he picked up simply because he couldn't pass up the price. She returns to her bedroom, plugs the vacuum in, and pulls her shirt over her nose. The smell of her greasy sweat is barely more pleasant than the alternative, but she'll take what she can get. She starts the vacuum and pushes the vent's tiny lever up. The louvers rotate.

The mass starts pushing through. Coagulated yellow-gray tendrils reach out. For a moment, Natalie is fooled into thinking the vacuum hose is pulling them toward her. She swallows one with the hose, pressing its end flush against the vent, but the other tendrils keep reaching toward her without any suction to blame. Is this because the heat is on? Is it...

The pressure inside the duct? She turns the vacuum off and goes to the thermostat to shut the heat off, then returns to the bedroom. Sure enough, the tendrils are now tails running down the wall, oozing toward her bed. She's quick to power the vacuum back on and point the hose at the longest stream of coagulated vomit. The tendrils all rise from the wall in unison.

Now three feet long, they reach her easily. They wrap around her head, tangle themselves in her hair, and draw her toward the vent with impossible strength. Natalie puts her arms out. pressing her hands into the wall to stop herself. She's screaming. The vomit creature is tugging at her hair, starting to tear it out. Her arms give out, and she's forced to crawl onto her bed or be dragged there.

She tries to keep fighting, but it's still pulling. Inches away from the vent, she sees the fish's eyes staring down at her. The putrid... Sticky tendrils slide across her face and over her nose as they turn her head, pulling her backward, upward. More of her hair breaks off. Her knees lift off the mattress. She hears chalky splintering on either side of her head. Her head begins to scrape across the vent. She kicks against the headboard with one foot, causing the vent to break away completely.

She's able to move freely, but the five-pound mass comes with her. As she runs toward the door, she feels the louvers cutting into her scalp, slicing deeper with each step. The thing on her head is pressing it there. while it continues tugging at her hair, pressing itself to her as it pulls itself up. It hurts so much, she falls off the bed. Now that she's not actively moving toward an escape route,

The creature lets up. It's still present, still holding on, but is shifting its position. It slumps onto the top of her head. It oozes down her temples. She rises to standing again just as the vent clatters to the floor behind her. She reaches up, but too late. Two tendrils have found her ears and begun to tunnel. Inside. When Lane gets home from school, Tyler is already there. He's sitting on the front step.

Their house is one of the first stops on the bus route from the elementary school, one of the few benefits to their new location, but one lane does not share. You locked out? Lane asks Tyler, looking perplexedly at their mother's car parked in the driveway. Tyler shakes his head. I don't want to go in there. Something's wrong with mom.

Lane's legs appear to buckle, but they're just bending to spring him toward the door. What happened? He demands as he throws the frosted glass storm door aside and grabs the knob. I don't know, just look at her, Tyler cries. Lane pushes the door open and creeps inside. Mom? He calls into the dark house. All the curtains have been drawn. The stench nauseates him. It makes his eyes burn.

He sees a misshapen figure seated at the dining room table, back turned toward him. Mom? He asks again. Tyler said something's wrong. What's going on? He looks over his shoulder. Tyler won't come in the house. Lane won't admit it, but he doesn't want to take another step toward the seated figure alone. He hisses at his brother. Get in here. Stop being a baby.

He scrunches his face to clear his eyes and peers through the hazy light at the figure. It looks like his mother, but like she's wearing a puffy headband or something. Her hair is being pushed up and outward by something, but it's hanging long over the back of the chair, not rising like a fountain the way it normally does when she puts it up, and it looks sickly sparse.

It's like her head is inflated, her hair spread thin. Tyler joins him, remaining a few steps behind. Together, they creep forward until Lane can reach the dining room light switch. He flips it on and freezes. Their mother isn't wearing a headband. There's a drooping, discolored mass attached to her. Her hair is pouring out the back of it, stringy and greasy. It's like the back of her head has been pumped full of lumpy fat that's oozing out her pores.

When the light turns on, Natalie stands, pushing out her chair. Turning, she says, Welcome home. From her profile, The boys can see the distinction between her normal skin and the thing clinging to her head. It's grayer than she is and wetter. Her mouth and nose look normal. but everything above is disgustingly distorted. The yellowish-gray mass is covering her eyes, but they still feel her stare because exactly where her eyes should be are too shriveled.

fish eyes. Go, run, shouts Lane. He spins, pointing to the door behind them. Tyler's frozen, so Lane collides with him, causing them both to stumble. When he recovers, Lane looks back over his shoulder and sees his mother stalking toward them. The dead fish eyes flick to meet his. He screams, Tyler, run!

Tyler is close on his heels when Lane throws open the door and Lane lets him exit first. He reaches back to shut the door behind him, but Natalie is too close. She's in the door's path. Instead, he shoves Tyler away and slams the storm door. He leans against it to hold it shut as Natalie presses into it, the fish's eyes searching. Lane hands his phone to Tyler. Go call Dad. Tell him to get over here fast. Okay, Tyler says.

Then he whispers, I think my dreams did this. What? Asks Lane. Tyler says, I had dreams about something that made me do bad, gross things like eat your fish's eyes. And last night, when I had the dream, I saw the thing that made me do it, and it looked just like that thing on Mom's head. Lane looks to the sky, shaking his head. The lines on either side of his mouth spastically fade in and out.

He says, I don't know. I don't know why this is happening. Just call Dad, okay? There's a choked sound in his voice that makes Tyler cry for them both. However, he does as he's told. Within ten minutes,

The poorly secured toolbox in the back of Troy's truck rattles in the distance. His pickup appears a few seconds later, leaning as it turns hard into the driveway. Troy jumps out and runs around the front of the truck, shouting, Where is she? Seeing Natalie's hazy silhouette through the frosted glass, he says, Oh, what happened to her head? Something's attached to her, says Lane. We gotta like...

He thinks tie her up, but can't bring himself to say it. Get her to a doctor or something. Okay, okay, Troy mutters. He steps forward and taps on the glass. Natalie? Hey, it's me, Troy. Can I come in? Natalie presses her bulging forehead against the glass, the fish eyes with it. The creature's damp skin wets and smooths against the glass.

making the eyes crystal clear as they bore into Troy. Holy hell, her eyes, he shouts, leaping backward. Those ain't hers. Yeah, says Lane. Don't let her get out. She's not acting right. We gotta get her away from the door somehow. Yeah, yeah, says Troy, thinking. Damn it, okay. The garage unlocked? Lane nods. Troy sighs. Okay, okay.

I'll go in through there, see if I can't lure her away. She's got her room down here on the first floor, yeah? Yeah, says Tyler. Troy bobs his head. Okay, that's where we'll put her. When I get her away from the door, you gotta come in and give me a hand, Lane. I don't know what's going on. Hey, Tyler, you stay here, bud. I don't want you seeing your mom like this. He already has, Lane replies. Troy grabs his arm and says,

Now let's get one thing real clear, boy. This is an emergency situation. I can't take any back talk from you. What I say's gotta go from this point forward, got it? Lane's jaw stiffens, but he says, got it. Troy steps back. Okay then, here we go. A new year, colder days, this is the moment your winter wardrobe really has to deliver. If you're craving a winter reset, start with pieces truly made to last season after season.

Quince brings together premium materials, thoughtful design, and enduring quality so you stay warm, look sharp, and feel your best all season long. Quince has everything you need. Men's Mongolian cashmere sweaters, wool coats, leather and suede outerwear that actually hold up to daily wear and still look good. Their outerwear is especially impressive. Think down jackets, wool coats, and Italian leather outerwear that keeps you warm when it's actually cold.

I recently ordered some gifts from Quince. I got my daughter some cute cotton leggings, and she has really sensitive skin, so it's nice to see that they have been working well for her. and I got a freshwater cultured pearl bracelet with gold Vermeil that I probably could not have afforded anywhere else for my wife. Refresh your winter wardrobe with Quince.

Go to quince.com slash warning for free shipping on your order and 365-day returns. Now available in Canada, too. That's quince.com slash warning. What if I told you that 2026 is the year you launch your business? Maybe you've got an idea you just can't shake or that hobby that everyone in your life is telling you to sell. Taking that first step and finally taking action can feel impossible. But with Shopify, all you need to turn your dreams into your new future is at your fingertips.

Make 2026 the year you transform into the entrepreneur, founder, and boss you were meant to be. And the one powerful move to make it all happen is starting your business with Shopify. Shopify gives you everything you need to sell online and in person giving you all the tools to easily build your dream store. Choose from hundreds of beautiful templates that you can customize to match your brand.

and you can set up quickly with shopify's built-in ai tools that will help you write product descriptions and headlines as well as edit product photos Millions of entrepreneurs have already made this leap, from household names like Gymshark and Mattel to first-time business owners just getting started. Marketing is built in too. You can create email and social campaigns within Shopify.

to reach customers wherever they are. And as you grow, Shopify grows with you. The same dashboard that you start with will evolve as your business does to handle more orders and expand to new markets. In 2026, stop waiting and start selling with Shopify. Sign up for your $1 per month trial and start selling today at shopify.com slash realm. Go to shopify.com slash realm. That's shopify.com slash realm. Hear your first this new year with Shopify by your side.

The boys wait in silence as Troy makes his move. Seconds pass slowly after he enters the garage. Natalie remains still, pressing those searching eyes against the glass. Tyler notices a shift in the faint light behind Natalie. He tugs at Lane's arm to warn him it's almost time. Natalie slams full against the door, then is pulled back from it. Lane jumps back in surprise.

then gets a foggy view of Troy wrestling Natalie away from the door. Lane opens it and dives into the fray. The door closes behind him, and the two men wrestle Natalie deeper into the house, shouting to each other over her ragged screams. Tyler is left standing in the lawn, shivering. Now that he's alone, he realizes how cold he is. He listens to the struggle until it's too deep in the house to hear above the low wind outside.

Lane's phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down and sees the screen filled with a photo of Pops from last year's Christmas. He slides the button across the screen to answer. Flint's voice bellows through the speaker. Lane just wanted to have a quick chat about some things that were said yesterday at- Tyler interrupts him. Pops, there's something wrong with mom. Oh, hi Ty- What do you mean something wrong? She's sick now too?

Tyler stares at the empty frosted glass, particularly where his mother left a slimy smear near the top. He says, I think an alien from my dreams got her. Flint laughs. He says, It might seem like that sometimes, huh? Your mom's been through a tough spot in life, Tyler. She's probably acting- No, Pops. It's stuck on her head and making her act weird. Tyler hears something fall and break on the other end of the line.

Flint, his tone much closer and heavier, groans. I should have known. I should have said something. Where's your brother? Are you two still in the house with her? Tyler explains the current scenario. Flint tells him not to move. not to go in the house, and if he sees his mother again, to run. He assures him he's on his way. Inside, Lane is helping Troy corner Natalie behind the dining room table. How do we get her to the bedroom?

He shouts over her growls. Troy shouts, Hell if I know, son. Just don't let her out of there. Yeah. Lane studies the pattern of the darting fish eyes. Right. Left. Centered on him. Centered on his dad. Left. Right. Centered on him. Right. Left. Centered on his dad. Left. They're moving so spastically he can't predict Natalie's next move. His hands are on the back of the chair in front of him. He's trying to decide if he could bring himself to perform a chair shot on his mother.

his own mother. But that's not what she is anymore. She's being driven by the hideous thing on her head. Is the woman who raised him still under there? He has no way to know. He just hopes they can find out without hurting her. Oh, Troy shouts as Natalie jukes toward Lane. His hands come off the chair. He raises them to push her back, but she stops before reaching him and returns to her corner.

Her mouth curls in a mimicry of her usual pursed-lip smile. She laughs in deep machine-gun bursts. Troy says, Talk to us, Nat. Can you hear us in there? Lane looks for her ears through the wispy curtain of greasy hair hanging off the lumpy mass. He can't find them. He says, I don't think she can, Dad. You know how that got on her? Troy asks.

He leans in response to another fakeout, including a zombie-ish snarl. Lane says, No, but I think it's got something to do with Tyler. He's been really sick and ate a bunch of raw meat and threw it up in the- Oh, God. Troy gags. beginning to recognize sinews of chicken meat and ribboned bacon fat amidst the lumps on his ex's face. Dad! Lane screams as Natalie makes a real charge toward him. Troy trips on a chair leg, diving to help.

Natalie slams into Lane, whose planted back leg is all that prevents her from escaping. The fish eyes are locked on him, not letting go. He turns his head, more due to the putrid stench than the chilling stare. but Natalie's head leans to keep the eyes in contact. He closes his own eyes, and Natalie makes a lightspeed dive under his shoulder. She knocks him into Troy, who's a second too late to intercept her. He shouts, Grab her!

Lane snatches at Natalie's shirt, catching the back of her left sleeve. She drags him forward a couple of steps before he regains his balance and straightens. With his other hand, he grabs her upper right arm. She jerks toward the stairs, throwing him against the wall next to her bedroom door as he struggles to hold on. Troy gets in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She lashes out and tries to bite him.

Lane drops to throw his arm around her waist. Now, now, he shouts to his father. Troy shoves Natalie back and Lane hoists her into the air. She nearly falls backward over his shoulder, but Troy dives behind Lane just in time to put his hands under her back. His hands clutch her shirt. Go, he shouts.

Lane lets Troy guide them backward toward Natalie's bedroom door until Troy says, That's far enough. Let go. Lane drops Natalie's lower half, but Troy maintains his grip on the upper. He tilts his head, ordering Lane out of the room. Once Lane is out, Troy gives Natalie a hard shove toward the bed and darts out of the room, slamming the door behind himself. He grips the doorknob tightly in both hands and says to Lane, Get a chair and some rope.

Lane spins a chair away from the dining room table and drags it over. He turns to run to the garage, then slows and says, I don't think we have any rope. Troy shouts, well think of something else then. Natalie nearly rips the door out of his hands. It claps shut loud enough to sting his ear. He yells, get your stringer from your tackle box. Lane shouts, oh yeah, and runs to the garage. Troy presses his shoulder against the wall and braces as Natalie pulls at the door.

She kicks it, rams it, and tries again to open it. Natalie, you gotta get control of this, he shouts through the door. We don't want to hurt you, Nat. Lane comes back with his blood-stained yellow fish stringer, its anchor loop clattering against the spike on its other end. Troy says, Loop the end through the ring and cinch it around the doorknob, then tie it around the back of the chair so there's no slack.

Carrying out these orders, Lane says, Dad, the door opens inward. There's no way this chair can hold it shut. Would you just trust me? Troy shoots back. Lane ties his knot, tests the firm stretch of rope for slack, and says, Done. Thank God, Troy says. He lets go of the doorknob and collapses into the chair. He shakes his splayed hands out at his side, scruffily whispering, I think I just gave myself arthritis. Lane says, What now?

You can't just sit there forever. Just let me think, Troy replies. He lets his head rest a moment, then says, I don't think we should call the cops, all right? She rushes them like that, she's gonna get shot. We probably need a doctor, though, yeah? I guess so, says Lane. Troy nods. Yeah. How are we going to get her to the hospital, though? Sedatives? Lane asks. Oh, you got those just laying around somewhere?

Troy asks, surprisingly playful. Lane shrugs, just trying to come up with something. Troy shakes his head. He looks up at Lane, smirks, then looks down again before saying, it's kind of crazy. Flint said something really weird back when Natalie and I got engaged. It stuck with me for some reason. He told me to let him know if Natalie ever started changing. I always thought he just meant changing how people do when they're, you know...

Growing up or whatever. You think Pops knew this was going to happen? Lane asks. Maybe. Maybe we should call him. Tyler's got my phone, says Lane. Troy touches his pockets and says, Damn it, mine's in the truck. Tyler, Lane yells toward the front door. Bring me my phone. He's got to go back outside right away though, says Troy. I don't want him seeing his mom like this. God, is this really what Flint meant?

Lane stays quiet, noting the reflective haze in his father's eyes. When Troy next speaks, it's as if he's speaking to himself, but he still wants Lane to hear. I told Flint when I started noticing her change. She started getting pissy with me all the time no matter what I did. She started getting snippy with you two all the time. He breathes out, looking down.

He shakes his head slowly. Man, did I do this? I guess deep down I always knew I could be turning her into something bad. Lane says, no dad, that's crazy. The way mom is, is her fault.

You're always telling us to be responsible for our actions, right? That's what I'm doing right now, son. Trying to practice what I preach. Right now? Lane asks as the door claps again, jerking the chair. He yells, Tyler! toward the front door again. Yes, right now, Troy says, stony and serious. Lane, I don't know which way this is going to go. I'm clearing my conscience before I… in case I have to… don't think that way.

says Lane. You're right, says Troy. We ain't there yet. Man, I just wish I'd made some different choices, you know? Before me and your mom got so bad, then maybe we'd all have stayed together and it'd have been me who got globbed by that thing. He chuckles. Then y'all could have just shot me and had it done with. Dad, stop, says Lane. A third time he yells, Tyler, my phone!

Troy pulls the chair forward until the stringer is completely taut again, then says, You'll find a whole lot of uncertainty in your life, son, but one thing you'll always know for sure is when you're being selfish. Don't ignore that feeling. I think that's where I went. The front door opens. Ah, the Regency era. You might know it as the time when Bridgerton takes place, or as the time when Jane Austen wrote her books.

The Regency era was also an explosive time of social change, sex scandals, and maybe the worst king in British history. Folker history's new season is all about the Regency era, the balls, the gowns, and all the scandal. Listen to Vulgar History Regency Era wherever you get podcasts. From the darkest corners of our imagination comes a game show that's more... Ridiculous than terrifying. Welcome to Tickled to Death.

I'm your host, Roz Hernandez, and I'll be guiding guests through the creepy questions and chaotic games, all to win the ultimate title of horror movie champion! Listen to Tickled to Death wherever you get your podcasts and hit follow unless you want the show to follow you. Lane, it's Flint's voice booming from the entryway.

Well, speak of the damn devil, says Troy. Lane yells, In here, Pops. Make Tyler stay outside. Oh no, says Flint, stepping into the dining room with Tyler in tow. He says, This is gonna take all of us. Troy, you remember when I told you to tell me, is this that change you warned me about? Troy cuts in. Flint nods. He says, something similar happened to Brenda too.

Not exactly the same, or I probably would have caught the signs yesterday. What's going on is obvious in retrospect. God, I hoped it wasn't something that could be passed down. I hoped by splitting with you, she'd... Well, what the hell is it? asks Lane. The corners of Flint's jaw flinch. He says, It's an accumulation of all the hurt in this family. What we've caused her, what she's caused us. It's a foul thing, innit? Flint, are you being serious right now?

Troy snaps. Flint says, I know I sound like a new age idiot, but it's just what it is, Troy. I don't like it any more than you do. What do we even do with that? Troy demands. I don't get it, Lane shouts. He's red. Just shut up and let him explain, Dad. Pops, what are you talking about? The door claps, nearly toppling Troy. Flint says, let me switch you there. I got an extra 60 pounds might come in handy in that spot.

They wordlessly coordinate a quick changing of the guard, then Flint looks up at Tyler from the chair and says, Go call your Grammy Carol. Tell her I said to come as soon as she can. He looks up at Troy. We're gonna need her here too to fix this. I still don't get it, says Lane. Right, says Flint. You two just bear with me, all right? I know how this is going to sound. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't already seen it happen myself. It killed my wife.

Troy says, I thought you slammed her head into the countertop when she attacked me with a knife. I did. But the thing that took over her and made her attack me is what really killed her. I was just an unwilling accomplice. Seeing a look of horror wash away Lane's color, Flint added, It didn't have to end that way. Natalie could have saved her just like Tyler can save her now. I don't want Tyler anywhere near her. She's out of control, says Troy. Flint replies,

then you're gonna be sore disappointed. Tyler brought that thing into the world, and he's gotta send it. Flint stops to adjust after another strong tug at the door, then continues. I found out all about this stuff after we buried Brenda. I learned it all in case this very moment came. Natalie, like her mother, bears the brunt of everyone's expectations, our disappointment, our judgment. It comes at her from below, he looks at Lane.

Across, he looks at Troy. And above, he looks down at his own interlaced fingers. She keeps all that sour rot bottled up inside. It explodes back out from time to time, but she never fully empties it out. It's all stuck in there, clogging up her veins and clouding up her head. Now Tyler out there, he's young. He's innocent. He's not.

caught up in the nitty-gritty of family dynamics. All he sees is his mother getting shouted down and screamed at and ignored. He feels it too, but can't process it quite right. It also grows into something foul in him. It clouds his mind, too. His pliable, young mind. And it takes over him, makes him do things he wouldn't ordinarily do.

And through those actions, he brought the foulness and its stench into the world where it can finally do what it's been trying so hard to. Take over Natalie completely. Lane pushes his fists into his temples and groans, I still don't get it. Grammy's coming, announces Tyler, returning and handing Lane his phone. All right, Flint says resolutely.

He looks at each of them in turn and says, I know she probably looks scary. I know she's not acting right. But she can't really hurt you. Not yet. It's still early. If we all gang up on her. We can hold her down. And then what? Troy demands, clearly not buying a word Flint has said so far. Flint gently grabs Lane's arm and squeezes it as he looks up at his grandson. He says,

We have to take it all back. We all put this hurt on her. Carol too, in her own way that we men probably don't understand. That's why we're gonna wait until she gets here. Lane jerks his arm away and says, But it's not like she's just a victim. She's just as mean as any of us. Meaner, probably. Flint's eyes drop to Tyler, who slides one of his feet backwards. Flint says, No, your mother is not the main victim here.

The true victim is the one who's helpless to change any of this on his own. Me? Tyler asks. Flint nods the sage nod of a grandfather. He says, And you, Tyler, must forgive your mother. That's the final step. We can all apologize for what we've done, but you're the only one that can release her from it all. You gotta forgive us all too. And you also gotta forgive your mother for how she's treated you. Can you do that?

I think so, Tyler barely whispers. So what, is there like a magic spell we should all recite or something? Troy asks. Flint says, It's simpler than that. This isn't a fairy tale, Troy. All you gotta do is put your arms around her, apologize, and maybe for good measure, vow to do better. And Tyler, you just gotta accept your mother for who she is and tell her you know she's trying her best. You do know that, don't you?

Tyler says, I guess so. Flint replies, even if it's hard to imagine now, do you think your mother can change? Can you remember when she was kind and loving? A slight. Momentary smile moves Tyler's lips as he says, Yeah. Hold that in your heart, says Flint. And when it's time, remember it.

Lane answers the door for Carol when she arrives ten minutes later. Tell me it's not true, she whispers to him. Tell me what happened to Brenda isn't happening to her too. I don't know, Grandma, says Lane. He stopped calling her Grammy years ago. Pops definitely thinks so, but it all sounds insane to me. You should listen to him, says Carol. He put his heart, mind, and soul into learning about that curse. He's the best chance your mother has right now if it's the same thing come again.

Lane nods and leads her inside to where the others are still huddled around Natalie's door. She's not trying as hard to get out anymore. It's gone nearly silent inside the bedroom. Flint turns his chair to slip the fish stringer off the doorknob. then picks the chair up to silently move it out of the way. He grabs the doorknob and, looking over his shoulder, says, Everyone follow my lead. He cracks open the door. Careful, Flint, whispers Carol.

He gives her a nod. Natalie is standing in front of her bed. She quivers at the sight of Flint, but remains in place. The fish eyes dart across his face. Her mouth... betrays nothing. Just stay right there, Natalie, Flint's calm voice drones. She lunges forward, but stops when Flint pushes the door all the way open to reveal her entire family in the doorway.

She takes a step back, the fish's eyes darting between the corners of the room. Natalie, says Flint, we aren't here to hurt you. You don't need to be afraid. We'd just like to give you some help. Over his shoulder, he whispers, ready. Then he charges. Behind him rushes Lane, then Troy, then Carol and Tyler. She's holding his hand as he holds back tears.

Natalie howls, channeling the fear and rage in her gut. She holds her hands up like claws, and when Flint reaches her, she digs her long blue nails into his cheeks and temples. He utters an anguished gasp, but says, It's okay, Natalie. I know I've hurt you too. He throws his arms around her and yanks her to his chest, causing her nails to twist on his skin, drawing blood. Come on, he shouts at everyone behind him. Lane, despite his doubts, moves first.

He grabs his mother's hands and pulls them away from Flynn's face. She scratches at Lane, but only catches his earlobe before he pivots behind her, wrapping his arms around her and his pops to pin her arms to her sides.

Troy struggles to find an opening as Flint and Lane begin to wrestle with Natalie. She lets her legs go limp in an attempt to drop underneath them, but the men react quickly and fall with her. Troy moves in over the top. His shoulder and neck press against the sticky, grey mass, and his nose and mouth fill with its stench. The smell connects with something in the back of his mind,

a vague, subconscious memory of how he felt during the final weeks of his marriage. Almost involuntarily, he shouts, I'm sorry, Nat, for whatever I did to do this to you, I'm sorry. Carol, get in here, grunts Flint. Natalie is immobilized but fighting hard. She's screaming, rubbing the grotesque mass on everyone's faces and arms. It sticks to them, breaking apart in wet clumps.

Troy feels one of the fish eyes moving at the corner of his mouth and pulls his head away, but the eye comes with it. He has to close his mouth to keep it from wriggling in. Carol steps hesitantly toward the mass of bodies, finally getting on her knees to put her arms around Troy and Flint's backs. She says, You can fight this, Natalie. I know it's hard, but you have to fight it.

Flint squeezes his arms in and slides his hands up Natalie's neck, pushing his fingers under the vile slime connecting the mass to her head. He keeps pushing when his fingertips find the ragged clumps of hair still clinging to her scalp. persisting until the putrid, digested flesh pulls away from her real eyes. They open, wild and full of emotional bile. She starts bucking harder than ever. Tyler, Flint bellows. Forgive her, son.

Tell your mother you love her no matter what. Tyler steps forward. Natalie's eyes lock onto him, softening slightly. Her writhing body weakens. Mom, says Tyler. Natalie doesn't stop fighting, but her movements become less frequent and even less forceful. Tyler says, I just want you back. I want you to be my mom again. Lane shouts, Hurry up, keep going. Carol.

Hosht says, let him get there. He has to mean it, Flint adds. Tyler says, I'm scared of you. I don't want to be scared of you, mommy. I'll be good if you come back, I promise. We can just pretend this didn't happen. Natalie stiffens, her eyes locked on her younger son. All the arms around her squeeze tighter. Flint finds he can push his fingers a little further, and more of the mass sloughs onto those locked in the embrace.

Carol coughs and sputters. It's okay, Mommy. I forgive you, Tyler finally says. Tears fall from both eyes as he says, I love you. The last of the putrid gray drops to the floor, revealing Natalie's patchy, scabbed scalp. Its tendrils slide out of her ears, shriveled and dry. She takes a number of deep breaths as her consciousness returns. Finally, still staring up at Tyler's face, she says, I love you too. The rest of you. She takes a few more breaths.

shallower because she's beginning to detect the stench again, then finishes. Help me clean this up.

Flint burns the coagulated chunks of regurgitation in the rusty fire pit out back. The odor is none too pleasant. But as the flames die, so does the stench. Carol and Tyler are cleaning Natalie up in her bedroom while Troy and Lane take care of the vent and duct upstairs. Soon the house is filled with the aroma of their labors, the sweet and pleasantly sour odors of a deep clean.

When the bathroom is ready, they let Natalie take herself, her head shaven clean, upstairs to wash herself in the shower. She's gone for almost an hour. Troy leaves for a few minutes and comes back with a brand new baseball cap he leaves outside the bathroom door. He doesn't expect her to wear it. It's just an offering, a show of support.

But to his surprise, when she comes down the stairs and finds them all playfully arguing over the rules of Uno, she smiles at him from under its brim. She slides into a chair, swipes seven cards from the stack in the center of the table, and says, This is my house, so we're going to be playing by my rules. She looks at each of their faces, enjoying the subtle nervousness on each one. It's Lane who finally breaks the silence. He says, I think we can live with that.

As long as they're fair, says Flint, an eyebrow raised. Its inverted curve is nearly as round as his grin. Fair, says Natalie. She slaps a draw four card down in the middle and side-eyes Troy on her left. He glowers back, playfully of course. She says, We'll work on that. You made it out. Congratulations. If you enjoyed the story, please rate, like, review, or subscribe.

For early, ad-free episodes and behind-the-scenes episodes I call Into the Woods, become a patron at patreon.com slash thewarningwoods. You can also support the show by purchasing merch. The merch store and Patreon links are in this episode's description. To stay up to date, follow me on Instagram and TikTok at The Warning Woods. And when you feel ready, meet me here for another journey into...

The Warning Woods. Thank you for listening. Right now on the Infamous America podcast. The disappearances started with a mother and daughter. They were followed by two sisters from Texas. and then three children from the same family. And in between, according to the lore, there were dozens more. During a sensational murder trial, the legend of H.H. Holmes grew from sleazy conman...

to one of America's most notorious and prolific killers. But how much was true? The story of H.H. Holmes is happening now on the Infamous America podcast. When they were young, the five members of an elite commando group nicknamed the Stone Wolves raged against the oppressive rule of the Kratorakian Empire, which occupies and dominates most of the galaxy's inhabited planets.

The wolves fought for freedom, but they failed, leaving countless corpses in their wake. Defeated and disillusioned, they hung up their guns and went their separate ways, all hoping to find some small bit of peace. amidst a universe thick with violence and oppression. Four decades after their heyday, they each try to stay alive and eke out a living. But a friend from the past won't let them move on, and neither will their bitterest enemy.

The Stone Wolves is season 11 of the Galactic Football League science fiction series by author Scott Sigler. Enjoy it as a standalone story or listen to the entire GFL series beginning with season one, The Rookie. Search for Scott Sigler, S-I-G-L-E-R, wherever you get your podcasts.