PHILLIP PSUTKA
Thank you for joining me in this strange small town in northern Ontario. My name is Phillip Psutka. If this is your first time visiting, I’ll be your guide; if you’re a familiar face, it’s good to have you back. The town embraces newcomers and old friends alike, but be warned: it doesn’t easily let you go. And stay close, for you never know what might be waiting for you around the bend.

So dim the lamps, settle in; welcome to Dark River.

Out on Snakeback Lane – a long dirt road that meanders along the countryside surrounding Dark River – there is a willow tree. Its branches dangle, like limbs, until a breeze picks them up and dances with them. And it is in front of this willow that Sarah and Jolene meet every morning.

They had been best friends for as long as they could remember. On her way to school, Sarah would walk the long dirt road to the tree and stop, waiting for Jolene to join her for the rest of the walk together. They sat next to one another in class and even developed a rudimentary sign language that only they could understand so that they could pass information back and forth under their desks without Ms. Arnold noticing. It involved lightly scratching the other’s palm to communicate – one scratch meant “yes;” two meant “no.” On weekends, they were always over at one another’s houses, playing with dolls hand-made by their mothers. Sarah’s doll would ask Jolene’s to dance, and her friend would bob her doll’s head side-to-side and they would laugh and laugh. Rarely was there a time when they weren’t seen together.

They never let anything come between them. Even when Patrick – a boy that Sarah was secretly in love with – took an interest in Jolene, teasing her and showing off in front of her with the other boys, Jolene would fluff him off, for she knew how Sarah felt about him. Sarah was beginning to experience the sharp pangs of jealousy that come with being a teenage girl, but their friendship was so strong that even something as volatile as puberty couldn’t separate them.

One day while walking home from school, Jolene suddenly stopped and grabbed Sarah’s arm.

“What?” asked Sarah.

“Did you not see that?”

“See what?”

“The … it was black,” replied Jolene.

“What did it look like?” asked Sarah, but Jolene just gave her head a shake and didn’t say anything further. By the time they reached the willow tree, both of them had completely forgotten about it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Sarah.

“Tomorrow,” said Jolene.

“Best best,” they said together as was their customary farewell, and then Sarah continued over the crest of the hill to follow the long road home.

Had she looked back, she would have noticed Jolene stop and stare at the ground with a perplexed look on her face. She would have noticed that look change to delight as Jolene knelt down and reached out her hand as if to pet some small invisible animal.

The only thing that she noticed was the Sawyer family passing in their carriage, waving to her as they did so. She waved back. Had she not continued on home, she may have heard the whinnying of the horses, the sudden stop of the carriage, and the alarmed voices after it disappeared over the crest of the hill.

The willow danced on.

The next morning, Sarah set off on her walk to school once again. She came over the hill and stopped to wait for Jolene. She turned and saw her friend coming down the path towards the road and she waved to her, but Jolene didn’t wave back. There was something off about the whole situation: as Jolene got closer, she seemed to become harder to see. Sarah squinted and rubbed her eyes, but Jolene was still a blur. It was if someone had painted her and was smearing her across the canvas with every step she took.

All at once, Sarah understood that whatever this thing was that was coming towards her wasn’t her friend. She wanted to run, but she was frozen to the spot – try as she might, she couldn’t get her legs to move. The dark blotch got closer and closer, picking up speed until it was rushing at her with such ferocity that she was terrified that it would swallow her whole. Sarah screamed as it descended upon her and then …

She snapped awake. She was sitting up in her bed and it was dark outside. Her sheets were soaked with sweat, but her scream must have been contained to her dream because her sister lay in bed a few feet away sound asleep.

In all the time that they had been friends, Sarah had never had a dream about Jolene before – at least not like that. Not one where the presence of her friend threatened her.

At that moment, there came a scratching sound from the window, causing Sarah to jump. Then: silence. She waiting to see if it would happen again, but there was nothing. “Racoons,” she thought.

Living in northern Ontario, there was always the awareness that bears and moose were your neighbours, but they kept mainly out of the township. Besides, the scratching had sounded like it came from something much smaller …

There it was again! She squinted to try and see through the window, but all was black. It would be impossible to see any features unless the thing — whatever it was — was pressed against the glass, a thought that sent chills down her spine. The scratching continued. It was steady, as if trying to get her attention. Slowly she rose and crossed the room towards the window. As she got closer to it, she thought she saw movement, but still couldn’t make out what it was. Then, the scratching stopped.

She was nearly at the window now, peering through to see if she could spot any movement at all. Nothing: darkness. It was as if the wind had grown claws and was playing tricks on her. Her hands touched the window sill, and that’s when two large bright slits appeared in the window, staring at her.

She recoiled and tried to scream, but no sound came out. The slits watched her intently and then … meowed.

It was just a cat. As she began to recover, she realized why she hadn’t been able to make out any of its features originally. It was pitch black from head to tail, its fur blending into the darkness so perfectly that it was almost like trying to watch air move.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, returning to the window. There were no cats that she knew of nearby and she certainly hadn’t seen any black ones. For a brief moment, she thought of the cat as a traveler scratching to be let into lodgings for the night, picturing it with a pack on its back and a tiny hat. She almost burst out laughing, but caught herself.

“Where are you from?” she asked again.

And then the cat did an odd thing: it turned its head to look back towards the road, and then looked back at her again. It seemed a deliberate movement, as if it had understood her.

“That’s ridiculous,” she thought. “It must have heard something.” Aloud, she said: “Are you hungry? I don’t have anything for you.” The cat stared at her for a moment and then, with that same deliberate action as before, rapped on the window, once.

“Once means yes,” Sarah thought, her mind jumping to the hand signals with Jolene. Before she could banish the thought, the cat gave a sharp meow. Despite the absurdity of it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had heard what she was thinking.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Can you understand what I’m saying?” One rap. Her stomach lurched. There was no use denying, but she needed proof. “Do you belong to a neighbour?” she asked, knowing that the neighbours didn’t have any cats. Two raps.

“What do you want?” It stared at her. Then, slowly it raised a paw and touched it to the glass as if to point at her.

This was too far. A violent shiver shot through Sarah’s body and drops of sweat ran down her back.

“Go away,” she said, backing away from the window. Two raps, the eyes on her, unwavering. “Please go.” Two more raps. “I said, go!” The next two were almost full swipes at the glass.

“Who are you?” She had no idea where the question came from, it just popped out. The cat cocked its head in response, as if to say, “Don’t you know?”

Thank you for listening thus far. In a moment, I’ll tell you what happened between Sarah and her night visitor. But first, I’d like to let you know that we have new original spooky stories coming every 2 weeks, so please subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen to your shows. You can also follow us on Instagram @DarkRiverPodcast. And if you know someone else who might like to experience this haunting small town, tell them about Dark River and where they can find it. It’s always welcoming new travelers. Finally, don’t forget to tune in for the Halloween episode on October 30th – I have an especially spooky story that I am excited to share with you. But now, let’s step back into the dark room with Sarah.

“Who are you?” She had no idea where the question came from, it just popped out. The cat cocked its head in response, as if to say, “Don’t you know?”

Her bare heels hit the bed and she nearly tripped over it. She grabbed her doll for comfort and hugged it close to her chest. The cat looked at the doll, looked back at her, and began to bob its head side-to-side.

Certainty gripped Sarah. “Go away,” she hissed and the cat hissed back, attacking the window with sudden ferocity.

“I said go away!” It scraped its claws down the glass; the sound pierced Sarah’s ears. “Leave!” she screamed and threw the doll at the window.

Her sister woke up with a start. “What are you doing?” Sarah couldn’t answer; she could only gesture with a shaking hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

“N-nothing,” Sarah stammered. “Bad dream.” She glanced back at the window, but it was black and empty. All was still. The glass was clear, save for a small spot of fog on it. As Sarah watched, the circle of fog slowly evaporated.

The next morning she ran down to the willow, sat under it, and cried and cried for a very long time. It wrapped her in its boughs and let her cry. Every now and then for years after, when she would feel a prickle in her eye, Sarah would return to that same willow tree and step into its embrace. “Best best,” she would whisper.

And every so often, it too would return; she would notice the flash of black just on the edge of her vision. But when she’d turn her head trying to catch a glimpse of it, there would be nothing but the wind dancing over the road.

This has been a tale from Dark River, with stories and music written and performed by Phillip Psutka. Podcast artwork by Chris Psutka. Co-editor is Lindsay Bellaire. Thank you for stopping by, and see you soon.