Unexplained Bonus Episode: William, An Origin Story

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in your shoes. Get to know the wool runners, pipers and loungers at Alberts dot com. That's alll bi rds dot com. Welcome to a special bonus episode of Unexplained. Since I am currently away, rather than leave a large gap before the next episode, I thought I'd give you something else to fill the time. So, without further ado, I invite you to imagine we're deep in the forest, camped out around a roaring fire, telling each other stories.

This one is mine. The window began to rattle, and for the first time he became aware of the storm unfurling outside. Leaving him on the bed, She ran to the window and unclasped the lock. A huge gust of wind rips the pane from her hands. He watches as his mother leans into the night and speaks fast and soft under her breath. Something between her and the wind high above, a bright moon begins to dim as the clouds thicken and twist above the house. Moments later, a

large black bird swoops on to the window sill. She lets it hop on to her finger calmly strokes its feathers before bringing it over to the child. She holds the bird out for him to stroke. He laughs as it hops on to his shoulder. Yes, he is yours now, he will take care of you, she says. The sound of distant voices draws her back to the window. Staring into the thick of the woodland beyond, she saw again the three small orange lights bobbing around in the dark,

like hot coals floating on the wind. She turned back to the boy. It is time, William. As she lifts him from the bed, he sees the wetness run from her eyes, and when she presses him close, he can feel the damp warmth of it on his face. Promise me, you won't let them see you, no matter what, she says. He nods as she takes his hand and leads him to the back door. When she opens it, the voices are nearer, and there are two more lights approaching from the back. I will be right behind you, I promise.

Now go. She pushes him out, and for a moment he stops, expecting her to follow. But she does not run, she says, and then he has gone into the dark. Janet Horn comes a cry from the front of the cabin. Come out and faces. She wipes away her tears and readies herself. The men dragged her by her hair and threw her to the porch, before taking it in turns to kick and stamp on her body. The dogs whipped up by the frenzy barked manically, straining at their leashes

as their black fur bristled with unseen charge. The handler's feet slid in the dirt at the strength of them, trying for all their lives to stop them from ripping her apart. One of the dogs slipped free and tore down upon her with the startling orcity. Finally, Lockhart yelled for them to stop, and the errant dog was wrenched, snarling and snapping from the body, fresh blood dripping from

its jaws. The men, catching breath and wiping hands on shirts, looked anxiously into the darkness of the surrounding forest, and then back to the woman, lying crumpled and still at their feet. Light from their torches streaked across the porch, covering all in a soft orange glow. Lockhart jumped down from his horse. To his horror, she started to move, drawing herself round to face him. The men gasped at the sight of her, swollen and blackened, her skin yellow

and purpling underneath the reddening night dress. She fixes them all with her bloodied eyes, but mostly she fixes him back. For seconds, are we? She says you? He said, pointing to a man from the back. The man stepped forward with lantern in and his wiry body trembling as he neared the bloodied woman. His name was McConnell, a crofter from the Black Aisle. With me, said Lockhart. The rest of you get her tied up. She managed a few crawls towards the door before another of the men stopped her,

holding her down by the neck with his boot. She squirmed underneath, her body jarring and breath heaving as flecks of red splatter the ground. The man presses down harder as another of the men kneels beside her. He grabbed her hands and tied them fast with twine, staining red as he pulled it tight. Satisfied by the restraints, Lockhart took a lantern and proceeded to lead mcconnall into the house. The two men entered cautiously, tiptoeing slowly through the corridor.

The darkness seemed to recoil and slither into furthest corners at the moment of illumination. As the men continued forward, with the dark sealing up behind and the sound of the cabin creaking, it was as if the very walls were closing in around them. McConnell could feel his heart beating in his throat, and then Lockhart stopped listen. They had entered a small room to the back of the house. McConnell sniffed at the air and tried to hear above

the din of the blood thumping in his ears. Lockhart moved the lantern around, showing up little more than a tiny black stove and a small rug laid out on the ground. He kicked away the rug, exposing a door underneath. He dropped down and pressed his ear to the floor. It was as if the sound was vibrating through it. He set down the lantern and took hold of his side knife. With his eyes locked on McConnell, he pulled up the door. A strange heat wafted out, and something

sickly and sweet drew water from their eyes. McConnell wretched and held his hand out in front of him as if it might fend off the smell. Both pulled their shirts to their mouths and noses. Lockhart picked up the lantern and held it into the new darkness, revealing steps leading into the nothing below. The strange hum, now louder, pulsed through the air as slowly, the men descended far

up the hill. William, having finally scrambled through the last of the ferns, emerged into the open and collapsed at the foot of the great tree. Panting in the darkness, he gazed up at the gnarly twisting arms of brown stretching high into the night, the leaves rattling in the wind. The large blackbird cowed as it swooped down, taking shelter in the upper branches. High above, the clouds pulled apart in places, and peering into the space beyond made William's

head spin. He'd never been here alone, this familiar place where he would lie in her lap, listening to her stories as she picked out the constellations above. His mother had told him this was the place of his berth, above the pit of fire from which he had been forged and then become life. A crack of lightning had shot down, igniting the whole tree. It had burned all of that night, but not left one sign or scar, save for a twisted line coiled all around the trunk.

William rose on to old fours and wandered over to touch the bark, being careful not to trip on the fat roots that had burst through the ground, snaking their way through the undergrowth. Looking closer, he could just about make out the ancient ruins etched onto the surface by unknown hands. She told him it was a sacred tree, had always been so that the soul of an ancient king had been trapped inside, and if ever a tree was harmed in the forest, there would be a fatal

price to pay. The guilty bellies nailed to the bark and marched all way round until their innards would spill like the gutting of rabbits, replenishing the soil with the blood of man. Trace the line that twisted all around with his finger, following it down to the base, where a small cluster of mushrooms were sprouting out from below the roots, their slender bodies holding the caps aloft like

little bells. He slipped down between the two large roots and lay back against the trunk, Gazing up at the sky. He wandered at the infinite space, the distance into which he would forever fall, and the stars, so many stars. The hum was now a throbbing organic drone. Lockhart stepped forward with the light, causing a million flies to scatter, before settling down again in strange thick clumps on the ground. McConnell let out a cry and dropped his lantern to

the floor. Control yourself, shouted Lockhart. He handed the lantern back to McConnell, but stopped short when he too had seen the dirt floor was sticky with congealed blood, the filthy walls smeared with a black and red glistening in the light. Lockhart flicked again at the flies, causing them to disperse just long enough to reveal pieces of tiny limbs and matted hair covered in the syrupy mess. Oh God.

McConnell vomited violently into the corner, then fled up the stairs. Lockhart, no longer aware of himself, continued on stumbling through the room towards something moving in the darkness. The sound of a whimper brought him to a sudden halt. He lifted the lantern towards the corner of the room. Ada. Lockhart took a step closer. Oh Christ, he said, bringing his hand to his mouth. The child was sat facing the wall, still in the dress she was taken in, now just

a ratty, maroon stained rag. Lockhart moved ever closer, with the lantern held in front, shaking in his hand. The girl who was tied up remained still, but he was now close enough to see her little chest moving up and down. Ada, I'm here, he said, his voice beginning to break. He laid a trembling hand on her back and felt her warmth. As she drew a short breath and turned stiffly towards the wall. He held the torch

up to her face. Ada, it's me. Lockhart's tears were now steadily spilling on to the dirt floor as she slowly turned her head towards him. Outside, Hans reached for guns and calmed the horses as the last of the scream was ripped from the dark of the cabin and flung into the raging wind. Moments later, Lockhart staggered to the door, a large bundle in his hands. He stood motionless as the wind lashed out and sent his hat flying into the trees. There's no one else, said Lockhart.

They're all dead. McConnell, still wretching, was now leaned back against the wall of the house. He slid to the floor as a strange sound emanated from his lips. One of the men came forward, dressed smarter than the others, in a dark suit and thin framed glasses. He took the bundle from Lockhart, taking care as he unpeeled his arms from around the girl, and gasped at the sight of her face. Where he had expected to see the gentlest of soft, olive eyes, instead were two large chasms,

each a gaping red abyss. Hurriedly, he brought her over to a small leather briefcase and gently sat her down beside it. He opened the case and pulled out various ointments and dressings and got to work. What have you done, said Lockhart, looking at nothing in particular. Janet, who had been sitting tired and quiet on the porch, eased herself up. This is nought but your conscience, the world you create,

she said wearily. Lockhart tore down upon her, grabbing her throat and pinning her to the wall With the slow, steady hand. He pulled out his knife and held it under her chin. She spat blood to the ground and fixed him again. Get on with it, you cowered, Stop. We must take her to Dla ROSSI, shouted one of the men, stepping forward. It was the chaplain. This is the devil's work. We must dispose of her properly. He looked at the others for support, but found only the

turning away of faces. Lockhart, either ignoring the cry or most likely not hearing it at all, ran the knife into her belly. She grabbed him by the hand and bit hard into his wrist. He wrenched it from her mouth and slapped her to the ground. Flesh dangled from her teeth. String her up. She howled as they approached, thrusting her jaws at any who came near. Some would later say that she turned wolf. Some swore they'd seen her hover inches from the ground, but finally she succumbed

the butt of a rifle. Having done with it, they hitched the rope to the top of the porch and passed the bottom end of it around her neck. It took three of them to hoist her up to the tip of her toes, and then a click echoed around the trees. The chaplain stepped forward, holding out the gun. She must go to Dalarossie or this will never be over. Lockhart stared at the chaplain, then turned away. He grabbed Janet by the face, his eyes catching yellow under the

flickering torchlight. She roused herself one final time and spat blood in his face. The three men pulled hard on the rope, lifting her feet from the floor. There was a moment to struggle before her stomach fell from her and onto the porch. Lockhart spat onto the ground, burn everything. The chaplain dropped the gun and sank to his knees, marking the sign of the cross as he went. William turned his head at the sound of far off voices

and climbed out of the roots. Far below, a gentle orange light seemed to dance and weave amongst the trees. It swayed and flickered, lilting to a silent music within the wind, then brightened with the music of its own, snapping, crackling, and rising out of the darkness. Mumma at once. William tore down the hill towards the house, sprinting through the trees and bracken as it whipped and scratched at his arms and legs. Above the canopy, the black bird swooped

and cord as it desperately tried to keep up. As William neared, he began to feel the heat of it. He could see the trees burning now and the flaming cabin and something on the porch, A dark shape shrouded in flame, swinging on a rope, Mamma. Then a sudden movement underneath, the slip of palms and feet on wet rock. He went down with a sickening crack. The trees swelled above him, blending with the sky, and then all was black. Out of the dark came the faintest flickering of pale yellow.

It grew to a fine wisp, swaying softly in the black silence. More it grew, hissing and crackling as it gained in size, finally letting out a huge roar. As it erupted into a golden fireball, consuming all the blackness. Through the noise and heat, a knocking could be heard. The noise grew louder as something wet and red dripped from above. Then it was pouring, lashing down on the fire.

The knocking grew louder still, and inside the flames, something was moving, A body writhing in the fire, his mother's body. And then he was awake, sing for air and screaming into the stillness of dawn. William felt for the soreness on his head and touched the sticky redness with his fingers. The black bird ceased its knocking of a nearby tree and swooped down to the boy. It pushed at William to return him to the great Tree, but he would not be moved. William pushed the bird away and crawled

into the clearing. The house had been reduced to blackened beams and soft gray ash, but somehow the porch had remained intact. There still hanging was the blackened body of his mother. William crawled underneath and peered up at the shape of it. He held out his hands and took hold of the charred remains of her fingers. Mamma. William dived into the rubble, clawing through the blackened splinters of

wood until he had something sharp. He found the brittle remains of his mother's chair and dragged it over to the body. He climbed up and cut the rope. The body thumped to the ground, and slowly he drew down and examined the burnt remains Mamma. He held his fingers out to her face that seemed to him nothing more than a shadow. William grabbed her body and began to shake it. Mamma He looked around, confused, shaking harder as

his face contorted into alarm. Mamma. He gathered the stiff shape in his arms and squeezed as the wet spilled from his eyes. Mamma. He fell on to her body and buried his head under his arms as he sobbed. The core of the black bird startled him. Drawing away from her body, he noticed something was clinging to her leg. It was the root of a tree bursting up through the soil. Then he saw another attached to her arm.

He felt something shift moving underneath the ground. More roots appeared, stretching out from the edge of the clearing, unfurled like coiled bone, creaking and crackling as they neared her body. He watched as they reached out like talons, feeling for her, before wrapping themselves around and lifting her high above the ground. William leaped up, grabbing for any part of her, desperate to keep a hold, keep her in this world. Things

began to gather. They crawled, wriggling and pink from the earth, or stumbled, bursting through the soil in black carapis bodies of green iridescence. There was a rumble from deep and it seemed as if the whole earth was going to tear apart. Finally, the soil ripped open to reveal an unknowable dark, a truth beyond time itself, as if the world of trees and green and men was nothing but

an elaborate distraction. Something cold and damp came from above, splashing down in ever larger droplets, then a guttural growl. As the clouds ruptured and spewed down upon him. William reached out helplessly. Her body was delicately passed from root to root before being lowered under the soil and taken down into the abyss. William threw himself to the ground and sobbed. As the rain pumbled down, The earth readjusted

and smoothed, and the silence returned. At the base of the surrounding trees, red droplet shaped flowers had started to appear. They sprouted up the trunk and out to the branches, hanging like jewels. By the time he looked up again, she was gone. He jumped to his hands and feet and started clawing desperately at the mud. No matter how much he dug, the hole would not deepen. Finally, he broke off and lay exhausted, his thick clothes heavy with rain,

clinging to him like a blistering skin. He looked at the cabin, where the last of the fire had gone, but the warmth of it still lingered. He sniffed the air and crawled into the remains of his home and trawled for something to eat. Shuffling through the ash and blackened wood, he saw a small burst of light, something glinting in the rubble. He picked his way over to it and peered down at the strange thing. It was as though a small piece of the sky was lying

on the ground. He brushed at it, then staggered back in alarm. There was someone else there. Cautiously, he approached again and looked down again. Came the face. He pulled the thing from the rubble and stared at the face gazing back at him. He brought up his hand to touch the face, and the other face did the same. He barked at the face, and the other face did the same. The blackbird cord high up in a tree,

William sniffed. He helped the thing close and looked at himself fully for the first time, Where his mumma's face had been soft and pure. His was strange and misshapen. His ears seemed tied to the side of his head. He touched his eyes. That seemed not right for the face. William barked again at his reflection as the strange unease took hold. He scanned down to the neckline, where just above his shirt a red line ran all around. He traced it with his finger. As he became more and

more agitated. He wrenched off the soaking shirt and trousers and stood naked looking into the thing. He found the same raised red lines circling the top of his arms like a fine thread. Wrapped around on his legs, he found the same. William threw the thing to the ground and screamed into the air. He felt a sensation like wanting to run and run, run so fast that he might slip out of his skin. This strange jacket he

did not understand. Again, the blackbird cowed. William looked up as it flew down from the tree and landed by his side. It pecked three times at the ground and then flew back into the trees. William looked at the spot. There on the ground. He could see the tracks of three brayers leading back into the forest. He sniffed at the earth, a smell like Mumma, but somehow different. William walked slowly on hands and feet along the line of the horse prince, tracking them to the edge of the

clearing up above. The blackbird followed, hopping from branch to branch as William made his way along the trail and disappeared into the forest. All elements of Unexplained are produced by me Richard McClain Smith. Please subscribe and rate the show on night Tunes, and feel free to get in touch with any thoughts or ideas regarding the stories you've heard on the show. Perhaps you have an explanation of

your own you'd like to share. You can reach us online at Unexplained podcast dot com or on Twitter at Unexplained Pod. Now it's time to take care of yourself. To make time for you, teledoc gives you access to a licensed therapist to help you get back to feeling your best. Speak to a licensed therapist by phone or video any time between seven am to nine pm local time, seven days a week. Teledoc Therapy is available through most insurance or employers. Download the app or visit teledoc dot com.

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