Frozen Frights #20- The Monster in the Ashes

Mm-hmm.

It's time for Tales of Terror only on the Mutual. Audio network.

The following audio drama is rated PG for parental guidance.

Hey, this is Jeff from the Icebox Radio Theater and we'll get on with the show in just a second, but I wanted to come on first and very briefly let you know about our brand new Patreon page. Now Patreon is a relatively new crowdfunding source.

Mom took to calling me Andrew. I took to telling people that really was my name. Especially after Dad left when I was seven. He told us he was going into the woods again, but He'd packed two suitcases instead of one camera bag, and he left a hundred dollars in cash on the kitchen table. No note, just the cash. I remember when he went out to start his old pickup. three times to get it going, but this time it fired up on the first try.

Yeah.

But no one would do much of anything about it. The man was probably a nice guy, a charmer. They were always charmers. And besides, if the guy was doing anything wrong, the kids would say something, wouldn't they? Now remember this.

This is our little secret.

Would kids turn in an adult? An adult they liked, maybe the only adult who helped them with their schoolwork, listened to them, gave them things.

Just as much trouble as me. And we couldn't be friends anymore.

Sure they would.

But one nice thing about childhood horrors is that you outgrow them. The three foot you becomes six feet tall and learns how to drive and throw a punch and hold his liquor. Are there scars? Oh hell yes. But you're not quite so weak ever again. And that's important when you have the kind of history I have. Growing up fixes some things, or at least So you can function.

Andy?

Function somewhat.

Andy. Oh, you're here. You you came.

Hello, Pastor Bob. How are you?

Oh, y you know, uh it's gonna be a difficult week.

I can imagine.

I just thank God there's no press. I don't think I could have stood that.

I imagine the press is only interested when pedophiles are caught, not when they die. Sorry, did that word embarrass you?

What o oh no no no. It's it's not that. I'm I'm sorry, I I just uh

I don't blame you, you know. I wasn't even part of those lawsuits.

Oh, I almost wish you had been.

What do you mean?

Well Robbie Parker, uh Trevor Mack and the the rest uh The ones that did sue they they haven't recovered like you have, Andy. Still living at home, most of them? I I know what happened to them to to you.

No, no.

It was, let's not quibble. But if they could have seen how you uh recovered. You have a good job, you have a life.

I have two divorces.

Well I guess I'm just an old man speaking out a turn. But if Robbie and Trevor and the rest could have seen how you moved on, maybe

Maybe the denomination could have saved ten million dollars.

I didn't used to be this selfish, you know. I I wish uh I wish I could find a way to put it in a positive light. You were my best chance.

Is your office in the same place? Let's meet there after the funeral. I have something I need to talk to you about.

That's right. A funeral for a man who had abused me sexually when I was ten years old. He volunteered with the church for three years until they found out about his special trips to the cabin. Then they asked him to leave and swept the whole thing under the rug for a couple of decades. Eventually, of course, this kind of thing became big news and a handful of Timmy's victims came forward. There wasn't a trial.

You always keep a bottle of whiskey in your office? What?

Oh oh I I guess I do. I should have asked if you wanted a drink.

Keep pouring.

Oh thank God that's over.

Yes.

Yeah.

You mean the man who officiated?

Yes, yes, he's he's from Badet. Came in especially. I thought it would be better if we had someone who didn't know him personally.

Relax, Bob, you look like you're gonna have a stroke.

Oh I'm sorry. I suppose I could try and pretend that wasn't what I was thinking. I won't. I'm relieved. But

Yes.

You do want something.

Timmy took us to a cabin on a little peninsula. It was Elk's Bay, I think.

Yes. I believe so.

And she died years ago, no family.

I don't know.

So the cabin's still there.

I really don't know for sure. I I'd have to look. It's

It's okay. I checked. She willed it to the church and the church never sold it.

Uh

I always meant to do something about it. Ah, they they've changed the building codes, you know. You couldn't build on that spot now, too close to the shoreline. Structure itself is a grandfathered inn, but who would actually want to

No one.

W what do you want with it?

If that cabin isn't doing any good where it is, I want to burn it down. What? I wanna go up there and burn it down.

Oh no, Andy.

I don't think your permission. I just need the keys. I'll give them back before anyone knows they're gone.

It's arson.

It's been a wet spring, and there's no other structures nearby. Not even that many trees, if I remember correctly. And it's probably a tinder box if it's been sitting out in the open all this time. I'll make sure the whole thing falls down on itself.

I can't condone this. It's against the law.

A lot of things are against the law, but they happen. The keys, please.

You won't need them. The door's been hanging off its hinges for years.

Fine.

Oh Andy, before you go, why did you come tell me this? Why didn't you just go do it?

Because I wanted you to know.

No what?

That it was all finally over. I like you, Pastor, I always have. And he got a strange look on his face then, as if he really was having a stroke, eyes glistening, his face tinged a pale yellow. He started to rock side to side, and I had the idea he was being torn in half by the need to say something, and the fear of what that something would do.

Go home.

What?

Stay away from that infernal place. Just go home.

and didn't say a word.

The cabin was at the end of a dirt road right out of finger of water called Elk's Bay. It was, let's call it, a respectful distance from the neighbors. Most of them were summer people, who might only live in these houses three months a year, if that. As I drove down the narrow cart,

It was late.

actually made scene more difficult than usual. I parked on the road, nose pointed toward a concrete block about twenty feet ahead. That block marked land's end. Beyond it I knew there was a steep little grade, then the edge of the lake. I could just hear the water lapping against the rocks on shore. To my right a thicket of forest, to my left a narrow mud drive through the trees, where I could just make out the side of a cloud.

It's hard to really describe what I was feeling. It had been pretty nice once, rough hewn sides and a porch supported by logs still covered with a coat of bark, very much in the Minnesota Northwoods style. But the porch sagged now, as did the roof. The front window was broken out, and the door, just as Pastor Bob had promised, hung crooked on a single hinge.

Thank you.

The rain was picking up, so I took shelter inside the car again. This rain it seemed out of place somehow. This was an August thunderstorm, not a March drizzle. This far north March is usually a snowy month. In another few minutes it was completely dark, and I was a long way from dry. The house would be soaked. The cabin would be soaked, maybe inside as well as out if the roof was in bad shape. So I decided to stay put. I had my car for shelter. I had an iPod loaded up with podcast.

I woke. The rain had stopped. I had a vague memory of a nightmare, but it was gone now. Mist coated the inside of my car windows, and I felt a little close and sweaty for my own good. The clock on my cell phone said it was three AM. The fresh air just rushed in. I took a big gulp of the smells of soggy earth and wet pine. The fresh oxygen knocked the cobwebs right out of my head, And it was at that moment that I glanced at the cabin and saw it.

The Icebox Radio Theater will be back right after this.

But as I looked through the woods towards the cabin, I had come to the

I saw a light burning in the cabin window.

First, I just felt curious. I wondered who might be inside. It was only as I thought about things.

Yeah.

Concerned would be a good word, I suppose. There were no

But I didn't know.

All the way to the cabin. I remembered a Coleman lantern from all those years ago. Those lanterns give off a hot white glow, however. The light from the cabin

Oh, yeah, wow.

Couple of squatters?

And I ticked through the operation.

Started to feel a little silly.

What if there was someone here?

That was it. I c I could just go into town, find a motel and get some sleep, then maybe

What exactly was I afraid of? I got out and stood by the car. I didn't want to admit how frightened. Camping in the woods doesn't want to admit the campfire stories are getting to him. But while I stood next to my car, my heart still risked. Yeah. I kept thinking about how Pastor Bob had warned me about coming here. Stay away, he'd said, What were the exact words?

Stay away from that infernal place just.

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That's right. Infernal.

What what did he meant? I took a couple of steps closer to the cabin. I leaned against a tree in a spot where I could see the window clearly.

Thank you.

I didn't remember a light bulb. I didn't remember electricity for that time. Had someone come along and added it later, or was my memory?

Answers point to no. I turned and started back to my car and it was just a little

God, you scared me.

Peace be with you, brother. I come in search of the mighty Hazar. You have to choose between a a pink of beer and a pint of ladies. I choose the f former. It's gonna be a long night.

What are you who are you?

used to lost one like you.

Who are you?

The hatchet man of Trestle Glen. What? The chainsaw man, the ape man of Lake Despair, the old crazy lumberjack with a a garden that grew grew hand hands and feet.

What are you talking about?

He told them all, didn't he, Andy?

What?

Oh, every last campfire story Gotcha good and scared, so you'll want to stay close to him. Got ya good and scared. And then it was diver l lights out.

I don't know who you are.

You be a m member Don't you, Andy? Do you remember what that meant?

Yeah.

Be king. Do you want some money? Just stay away from my car. I'll get you some money. How about that? Whoa whoa. No reason to get upset.

No peaking then's the rules. Bad little boys beak and bad little boys MUST BE BINASED!

What are you- what are you doing? That's my car! Look at- Hey! Right into the barrier. He ploughed right into the concrete barrier at the end of the road. I ran up to the car, the the hobo or mountain man or whatever he was was flopped back in the seat. The airbag had deployed and knocked him a good wallop. Hey, y you gonna be okay? Jeez, you're damn lucky you didn't have time to get going fast. What what is wrong with you? Okay.

Boys you pick must be... must be part of...

Wait, stop, stop, you don't don't don't And before I could stop him, he drew the knife. across his own throat. I backed away slowly until I was about fifteen feet away. Just for I could still hear him for a little while. Where had I read that if you cut the carotid artery, a large one just below the left ear you cut. Yeah. and in a matter of seconds, all sounds coming from my car.

Stopped.

An escaped mental patient? It was dark so I hadn't seen his clothes cleared. I remember seeing a stalk of beard and a head of wild hair suggesting he'd been out here for a while. I should go back and search him for ID. I knew that I should do this. Instead I I turned and started walking back down the road, away from my car.

I d I didn't need law.

The next house in line was only about twenty feet away, and the same security service sign flapped in a breeze alongside their mailbox. All the houses would have a Of course they would. What I needed was shelter, and I knew there was only one place on the road I could get it. My fear was so thick.

Wading into ice water. Every little step I'd feel my heart beat.

Oh and I wanted to hear. I wanted all my

Eventually I got to the porch.

Inside

Wow.

That explained where he came from. And finally.

The cabin had one main room, a little kitchen with a sink and a hole where the stove once was. And then another room set off in the corner. I stared at the doorway of the room.

Yeah.

It's funny how the layout of rooms looked wrong. To my eyes. I couldn't rectify what I was looking at with what I remembered. I remembered a red cooler on the kitchen counter in lieu of a refrigerator. I remember a table being right about where the bum sleeping bag was now. Board games. I remember there were always board games. Not ones we'd liked, but ones that were just a little too young for us.

For just what I needed.

Can't be tonight. I'd glanced about the floor.

You're my face. My favorite one to bring to the

Yeah. And a boy needed role models.

Bedroom doorway was staring.

And with them. Feelings. It's the guilt that gets you most. Guilt is what you feel when you're abused. That's why the monsters can get away with it for so long. They know that children will feel guilty and keep their mouths shut. Children who know that something's wrong, but that nice people are good, and good people don't do wrong things, so if you know something terrible's happening, and the only other person in the room is nice, well that just leaves you, doesn't it?

Thank you.

And the wild man was gone. There was blood everywhere inside the car. It actually dripped from the edge of the seat to the floor match. There's there's no way, I thought. No way he could have gotten up and walked away. Then I stepped back. The sound of the rain began to go. Yes, the answer to all of it was yes. I took a quick minute to look around the car for any sign of bloody footprints, but it was raining too hard and it was too dark. If there had been anything it was probably washed away.

And I knew I wasn't.

I was trotting, then I was running and then. And then I hit something dead center of the road. At first I thought it was a tree. Then I saw that silhouette of wild hair against a cloudy sky. It was him. He was alive, but

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The voice. The voice wasn't that's impossible. I couldn't see the wild man's face for the darkness, but that voice I knew that voice.

Yeah.

And he was on me like an animal, flailing, punching, scratching, biting even but but I pressed my hands against his His face was cold, his throat.

I kept and rolled him. I got out from under him and I ran to the car. I couldn't tell. Blew out of the And then he was on top of me. ZANG EN MUZIEK Death and his hands cold and moist and somehow unstable.

Pressed around my neck.

I thrashed, but I was suffocating. spilled and he was soaked with it. And in another second I was in my pocket. And in a second after that I had the matches.

Yeah! AHHHHHHH

And I pushed him off He staggered over, batting at his clothes as they burned. He was screaming and yelling and burning, and he began to run. Whether by instinct or something else, he ran right into the cabin. The whole thing. went up like the tinderbox it was. I backed away from the cabin. Maybe I was afraid.

Yeah.

Maybe I just wanted to see the moment when it finally collapsed on itself. I done it. I'd done what I came for. There would be a body inside. Who knows whether they would be able to identify him? My car was totaled against a concrete barrier, but I could probably explain that. Probably. How could I explain the blood, though? And most of all I didn't know what I'd set on fire. what that thing was that had attacked me. and ran burning back into the cabin. Was it a bum with superhuman strength?

Then I slipped into the lake, fully clothed.

From shore I could feel the terror fading away. Above my head, ashes from the fire were floating like Gray snowflakes on the wind. And I hoped that the monster in the ashes was gone. Forever.

The Monster in the Ashes, a production of the Icebox Radio Theater, featured Tom Bement as Pastor Bob. James Yunt portrayed the wild man. And Jeffrey Adams was Andy. The script was written, directed, and post produced by Jeffrey Adams. Sound effects created and edited. Dave Irwin. This program copyright twenty twelve All Rights Reserved by the Icebox Radio Theater. which is solely responsible for its content.