Lunatics Radio Hour
Lunatics Library 33: Kaiju Horror Stories
Abby and Alan present the finale of our Kaiju series, with two Kaiju themed horror stories.
Prepare to witness the sheer power of nature in its raw, unforgiving form. Imagine a city teetering on the brink of annihilation by a gargantuan storm, a lone boy observing the growing tempest from his window, and a girl from the iconic Brooklyn Bridge, as she gazes into the heart of the storm. In this hair-raising finale of our Mega Series, we're pushing the boundaries, as I share a revised version of one of my own cherished tales, serving you a profound spectacle of chaos, fear, and survival. Read for us by Michael Crosa. And check out Chattanooga Podcast Studios here.
Get ready for a spine-chilling journey into the Yukon territory of 1908, as we explore a unique Kaiju tale penned by renowned writer, Georges Dupuy, and narrated by Jon C Cook: The Monster of "Partridge Creek." This episode will carry you to the heart of the wilderness, where Father Lavineux, Leymour, and I come face to face with the colossal Master of Partridge Creek. Be prepared for a pulse-pounding encounter with a thirty-ton dinosaurus, a magnificent beast that reminds us of nature's overwhelming power over humanity. Join us on this thrilling ride, whether you're a long-time Kaiju enthusiast or new to the genre, we guarantee a story that will keep you on the edge of your seat.
What's it like to be a Cattle Rancher? FBI Special Agent? Professional Santa? Find out!
Listen on: Apple Podcasts Spotify
Abby and Alan present the finale of our Kaiju series, with two Kaiju themed horror stories.
Prepare to witness the sheer power of nature in its raw, unforgiving form. Imagine a city teetering on the brink of annihilation by a gargantuan storm, a lone boy observing the growing tempest from his window, and a girl from the iconic Brooklyn Bridge, as she gazes into the heart of the storm. In this hair-raising finale of our Mega Series, we're pushing the boundaries, as I share a revised version of one of my own cherished tales, serving you a profound spectacle of chaos, fear, and survival. Read for us by Michael Crosa. And check out Chattanooga Podcast Studios here.
Get ready for a spine-chilling journey into the Yukon territory of 1908, as we explore a unique Kaiju tale penned by renowned writer, Georges Dupuy, and narrated by Jon C Cook: The Monster of "Partridge Creek." This episode will carry you to the heart of the wilderness, where Father Lavineux, Leymour, and I come face to face with the colossal Master of Partridge Creek. Be prepared for a pulse-pounding encounter with a thirty-ton dinosaurus, a magnificent beast that reminds us of nature's overwhelming power over humanity. Join us on this thrilling ride, whether you're a long-time Kaiju enthusiast or new to the genre, we guarantee a story that will keep you on the edge of your seat.
What's it like to be a Cattle Rancher? FBI Special Agent? Professional Santa? Find out!
Listen on: Apple Podcasts Spotify
Hello Kaiju fans, welcome to another episode, what feels like a momentous episode, of the Lunatics Radio Hour podcast. I'm Abby Rinker sitting here with Alan Kudan. Hello, finally, we have come to the last installment of our mega series on the history of Kaiju. Who knew? I didn't know that this was going to be four parts. I thought it was going to be two.
Speaker 2:I like that you're talking like William Shatner.
Speaker 1:Well, it's a special occasion, so we have two Kaiju themed stories for you guys today. I'm super excited about them. Transparenly, I did write one and we have some amazing narrators. It's just. It feels like a great way to sort of round out, cap off a lot of the themes that we've talked about and a lot of the history that's come up here.
Speaker 2:I'm going to put one little footnote here.
Speaker 1:Okay.
Speaker 2:In that, while I really like both of these stories, kaiju stories are very difficult to sell without the visual element. That's the hook, that's the meat. So without that you need something a little extra special.
Speaker 1:Yeah, so hopefully the story that I wrote is interesting, but also we have a historic story that we mentioned in the first episode, which feels like months and months ago now. So I'm very, very excited. I feel like these again really hit some of the notes that we discussed in the last three episodes.
Speaker 2:I think so.
Speaker 1:So okay, yeah, okay, cool what a tape, so I want to just caveat before I actually hit play here.
Speaker 2:Okay.
Speaker 1:The first story is one that I wrote and is being read for us today by a great and very talented friend. A very early version of this story has actually appeared on this podcast before a long, long time ago, and the story has evolved and changed since then. It's actually in the short story anthology that I published a few years ago called Horror Stories, so for that it was updated quite dramatically. So this version of the story is net new not to toot my own horn, but it is one of my favorite stories that I've ever written.
Speaker 2:Toot away.
Speaker 1:So I just felt like you know, it was an opportunity to showcase this new, shinier version of it. Cool, so without further ado, now we shall roll the tape.
Speaker 4:He looked out of his apartment window. His candle was almost spent, but he was too distracted by the scene below to notice the East River had been rising rapidly. The wind shook the window in its frame. He could feel the harsh weather in his bones. His mother was sobbing prayers from the living room. She was convinced that this was the end of the world. Maybe it was just a storm.
Speaker 4:He had told her their Manhattan building was one of the closest to the Brooklyn Bridge. He'd watched the bridge being built over the past 14 years since nursery school. It felt impossible that humans could create this immense structure with just their hands. It felt like one of the wonders of the world. Now the bridge felt small, as if it could easily wash away once the storm hit, a reminder that people weren't as powerful as nature. He was worried the storm might wipe out the whole city, that there was no safe place for them to go, no shelter in Lower Manhattan that was high enough to escape the water. He could see waves starting to build, to get higher and higher as they rolled down the river. He couldn't see her from his window, but there was a girl on the bridge. She was among hundreds, maybe thousands of people crammed into the passageway. The police had told everyone in Brooklyn to evacuate to Manhattan, convinced they could access higher ground and stay safe within the taller townhouses and businesses on the more developed side of the river.
Speaker 4:The girl on the bridge was clutching the steel beam, railing so tightly that her knuckles were white. She stood almost in the center of the massive structure. The wind blew salt and sea into her eyes and drenched her hair as it whipped around her. Her thick petticoat was damp and heavy. She needed to shed it in order to move quickly enough to survive the storm. People were screaming and shoving around her. The sea had risen in a matter of hours, forcing the rivers to flood. It had been so dark all day. The ominous sky was several shades darker than it should have been, but she was convinced it was nighttime now. She was worried she'd be trampled if stopped.
Speaker 4:The boy in the apartment could make out the mass exodus. That wasn't a good sign. The waves would be tall enough to wash over the edge of the bridge. It would trap everyone. He had to help Mom. I'm going out. For the first time in hours.
Speaker 4:She stopped praying. When he looked at her he could see the horror on her face. No, that's a sure death. She was panicking. She got up from her chair and threw herself at him. She clutched him with her feeble hands. But he was resolute. He needed to go. How can I sit here watching people suffer below? He gently guided his mother back to her chair. I won't be long. I'll come back if I feel unsafe, I promise. He kissed her on the forehead and grabbed his coat. As he pulled the apartment door closed, he could hear her crying again. He knew any moment the prayers would start back up.
Speaker 4:He continued down the steep staircase of their third floor walk up. Even in the stairwell, the buildings seemed to groan and shift with the wind. Everything felt darker than usual. He reached the bottom floor and stepped out onto the street. It was chaos. A woman was looking for her child, two shop owners were in an all-out brawl and dozens of other people were frantically running around, confused, lost or terrified. A woman pushed past him. What's going on? He demanded it's flooded, it's all under water. She said breathlessly what is? He asked Brooklyn, my home, it's all gone, everything is gone. It's coming. She ran on. He thought of his mother praying upstairs. He knew that her whispered prayers were really only helping her. He needed to do more. He moved towards the bridge. He still wasn't close enough to see the girl.
Speaker 4:She climbed off the main passageway and onto a tangle of cables. She used the thick wires to hold her in place and she started untying the layers of her dress. She needed to climb down to one of the bridges towers. She needed to be as light as possible. She tossed her heavy garments into the river below. No one noticed her in her underclothes. No one noticed anything. They were all too scared, too focused on their own fates. She knew it wasn't likely that she'd even survived the journey down, but she needed to try. There had been rumors. Secret rooms and tunnels were built into the towers of the bridge. The workers had added an escape system in case the bridge collapsed during construction some sort of safe room.
Speaker 4:She took a deep breath as she started to descend down a rope ladder. She was almost 300 feet above the water below. Hey, she looked up. There was a boy above her. What are you doing? He yelled. He had seen her go over the edge and rushed over. Worried that she jumped, she continued her descent silently. There was no use in explaining the rumors or secret tunnels to him. No use in talking to him at all, it was just slowing her down.
Speaker 4:The waves were getting bigger. Hey, you're gonna fall. He frantically persisted. Maybe? She shouted back. She was annoyed that he was still lingering. She wanted him to go away. Where are you going? He yelled again.
Speaker 4:Her annoyance turned to anger. She didn't want a mass of people to catch on and ruin her chances at survival. I'm looking for shelter, she shouted, overcompensating as the wind carried away her words. You're insane. You need to get off there now. The waves are getting higher. It was getting hard to see her through the rain that was pounding down between them.
Speaker 4:She continued to descend. He was distracting her. Suddenly, the rope ladder went taut. She looked up to see his heavy boots above her head. Get off. She screamed. You're going to kill yourself, he said, and she thought she could hear a genuine concern in his voice. She paused what does it matter to you? Her voice was shaking from anger. She didn't care about his charity. He wanted to be a hero, but she didn't need one.
Speaker 4:She kept climbing down, her fingers hurt from the wet, splintered rope. Her body shook from the freezing wind and rain. She was convinced that this was it. Either way, even if she did find some secret shelter in the bridge, would she be able to get in? Would she get there in time? Her foot found a stone beneath her.
Speaker 4:She looked down. She had made it to some sort of landing. She decided to give her hands a break and stumbled into the alcove. The boy followed her seconds later. Is this the shelter? He looked around underwhelmed. There was less wind here. They lowered their voices. No, absolutely not. She wanted to throw him over the edge. Well, where is it? I don't know. She shouted, raising her voice again, this time not because of the wind, oh good, we climbed all the way down here and you're not sure Now. He sounded frustrated too. I didn't ask you to follow me. In fact, I remember explicitly asking you not to.
Speaker 4:She looked out at the river. The chaos around them was truly beautiful. The water raged below. She knew there was a huge city to her left, but all was dark. Lights and sounds flickered on her right. She looked down. The water seemed to be receding. Look, she yelled at the boy. Do you think it's over? The boy followed her gaze. That doesn't make any sense. He was stunned. He thought of his mother up in their apartment. He hoped she was seeing the waterline fall. He wanted her to feel safe. The storm began to calm. A hush fell over the city. Everything was still and quiet for a moment.
Speaker 4:She saw something move over her head. Her eyes followed it up. It was a wave. It was taller than anything she'd ever seen before. The tsunami blocked out the sun. The boy took her hand, she gripped his. The wave continued to grow, continued to rise towards them. It was too dark to make out the waves exact form, but she felt it coming. The sensation of breeze hit their faces before the water crashed upon the bridge. It was almost a moment of joy, of delight, to be on this bridge with a stranger, to know you were about to die and look back fondly on your life and loved ones. The breeze felt playful and then the wave hit. It crunched and consumed and absorbed them all until there was nothing left but steel and brick. Everything else was resting peacefully below the water Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. The creature was starting to wake. It had slumbered for many, many years. As it lifted each foot, it sent shockwaves rippling through the water. That manifested on every coast, decimating every port town that lined the vast ocean.
Speaker 2:I love any story where the monster is just so big that it's unfathomable.
Speaker 1:Well, I really think that when I was writing this story, I had the same thought that you opened this episode with, which is that if you're gonna write about a kaiju in a short story, it's going to be quite difficult to convey, right? So I think that's also part of this too. But yeah, I do like the mystery of it and the subtlety of the actual monster.
Speaker 2:It seems you went less kaiju in more eldritch abomination.
Speaker 1:Maybe I mean, I don't think I've defined it either way Godzilla comes from the ocean, gamera comes from the ocean.
Speaker 2:Sure, but this is like something stirs and ends the world, basically.
Speaker 1:Basically it's like a bigger Godzilla.
Speaker 2:That's far more eldritch. You know Godzilla, he's big but he's quantifiable. This thing, just by stirring, destroys all the port towns along an ocean. Come on, that's big. That's real big. It's huge, bigger than your average Kaiju Kaiju Sure. Also, it's a good story. It's fun. Thanks, I like this. The I think this was one of my favorites from the book. Mine as well. If you want more of this, you too can get a copy of the book Horror Stories by Abby Branker. This is the only Kaiju one, though.
Speaker 1:It's the only Kaiju story. It's also the book is about to be updated to a second edition any day now, so a bunch of little tiny tweaks will be happening.
Speaker 2:I see what you did. This is just a promo for your new book.
Speaker 1:This whole Kaiju series you typical senator Is just a promo because I took out some incorrect grammar in the yes. So anyway, thank you so much to our friend, michael Croce. Of course, michael Croce is a long time friend of the podcast. You probably know him from his work on Jollyville Radio but he has some new projects that I want to briefly talk about, one being an excellent podcast called my Part of Town, chattanooga, which takes place in Chattanooga, tennessee, and Michael's doing a really awesome job driving community there and telling local stories on that podcast.
Speaker 1:So definitely check that out, even if you're not from Chattanooga. I find it to be really universal in some ways and fascinating. He's also started the Pod Nuga podcast network. I'll leave a link to all of Michael's awesome work, but he's doing really great things in Chattanooga, really starting the podcast scene, helping local businesses, local creators. He does a lot of work also teaching classes on podcasting and voice acting, and we love folks who are super involved in their community and are turning their passion into something that benefits everybody. So, as always, cheers to Michael.
Speaker 2:First off, I just keep encountering more and more stuff about Chattanooga. I'm not sure why it just keeps popping up into my life outside of Michael Croce.
Speaker 1:Interesting.
Speaker 2:But maybe that's just a sign. But secondly, I just love whenever Michael reads anything spooky which is just pretty off brand for the majority of his own podcast stuff.
Speaker 1:Sure.
Speaker 2:But he does a great job and he just adds this little spicy flair, it's always fun.
Speaker 1:Yeah yeah, Michael's the best. And we actually have another old friend of the podcast who is going to narrate our next story for you guys, our big finale story here. But first I want to tell you a little bit about the history of the story itself.
Speaker 2:OK.
Speaker 1:So this story dates back to 1908. And it's a story by a French writer, georges Dupois, and it was first published in a French magazine and also the Strand magazine I'm going to. We could debrief a little bit more about the content of the story after, but I will say this that it takes place in the Yukon territory of Canada. I think in many instances too and this is a very, very niche subgenre, but in many instances when I've kind of researched this story, it comes up as sort of a premier example of horror based in this Yukon northern territory of Canada.
Speaker 2:OK.
Speaker 1:So we love a specific subgenre of horror, I would say maybe even a sub-subgenre in this case.
Speaker 2:OK, wow.
Speaker 1:But let us play the tape here. This is our finale, our headlining story to top off our Kaiju series.
Speaker 2:That's a lot of pressure.
Speaker 1:I feel like you're going to have a lot of thoughts about, not the narration, of course, of the story, which is excellent, but of the story that I picked.
Speaker 2:I'm ready.
Speaker 1:So here we go, get ready for a debate.
Speaker 3:The Master of Patridge Creek, written by George's Du Bois, read by Charles C Cook.
Speaker 5:The story which follows is in no sense a romance. I wish in the first place to ask the readers of the following narrative to believe that I am in no way attempting to impose upon their credulity Concerning the amazing spectacle I am about to describe. I report nothing but plain facts, however astounding and apparently incredible they may seem at first glance, precisely as they appeared to my own eyes and I am possessed of excellent sight and to those of my three companions all three white men, without counting five Indians of the Claya Cook tribe who have their camps on the shores of the River Stewart. The following are the names of the three ocular witnesses who are ready to testify to the truth of my assertions. The first is my hunting companion for many years, mr James Lewis Butler, banker of San Francisco. The second is Mr Tom Leemore, miner from MacQuestin River in the Yukon Territory. And lastly, the Reverend Father Pierre Lavonneur, a Canadian, frenchman and missionary in the Indian village of Armstrong Creek, not far from MacQuestin.
Speaker 5:In the course of ten years rambling in the four quarters of the world, it has been my lot to witness a great number of amazing spectacles, and the strange experience of which I speak had become no more than a vivid recollection when a few days ago, on January 24, 1908, the following letter reached me at Paris. It came from Father Lavonneur, who passes his life with his savage flock six hundred miles northwest of the Klondike. I give it here word for word Armstrong Creek, january 1, 1908. My dear son, the traitor of MacQuestin, has just stopped here with his train of dogs and sledges. He has had a hard journey from Dawson by Barlow, flat Creek and Dominion. I expect to receive by him in another fortnight fresh provisions and news of the outside world. Today is the first day of the new year and I want this letter to express my affectionate wishes for your health and happiness. I hope it will give me the pleasure of receiving you under my humble roof here at the other end of the earth. I will not believe that you will let your old friend in the great north leave his old carcass to the Indians who will someday or other make his coffin out of branches without seeing him once more. I have received your book, the reading of which has given me the greatest pleasure. By the way, you are wrong in regard to that poor fellow John Spitz. Alas, he is no longer male carrier of the Duncan District. He died, poor fellow, at Eagle Camp, soon after you departed, not having survived the wound he received from the bald face which you will remember.
Speaker 5:Talking of ferocious animals, will you believe me when I tell you that ten of my Indians and myself saw again on Christmas Eve that horrible beast of Partridge Creek passing like a whirlwind over the frozen surface of the river, breaking off with his hind feet enormous blocks of ice from the rough surface? His fur was covered with whorefrost and his little eyes gleamed like fire in the twilight. The beast held in his jaws something which seemed to me to be a caribou. It was moving at the rate of more than ten miles an hour. The temperature that day was forty-five degrees below zero. At the comor of the cut-off it disappeared. It is undoubtedly the same animal that we saw before, accompanied by Chief Steinshain and two of his sons. I followed the traces, which were exactly like those which we all saw Lemur Butler, you and I in the mud of the mooslick. Six times on the snow we were able to measure the impression of its enormous body, the same size as we found it before, almost to the twentieth of an inch. We followed them to Stuart, fully two miles when the snow began to fall slightly and blotted out the traces.
Speaker 5:It was on receipt of this letter that I decided to write the story of my own experience, which it recalled so vividly to mind and of which it afforded a striking confirmation, the story of my friend Butler. The station of MacQuestern, that far off-corner of the strange country of the Yukon, where the eight months of winter are so terrible but the short summer so marvelously beautiful, was on four occasions my chosen retreat during the eight years that I have known the North. A friend of mine in San Francisco, Mr Butler, who had come to Dawson City in order to purchase gold mining concessions, had promised to join me in order that we should go hunting together. I was taking my coffee one afternoon in the veranda of Father Lavonneuse Cabin when all at once, I heard someone whistle from the farther bank of the river. A bark canoe paddled by two Indians was coming up the river in the shadow of the trees. Butler was with them. "'my dear fellow', he said, smiling as I met him and endeavouring to hide his visible agitation, "'i have something very strange to tell you. Do you know that prehistoric monsters still exist'. I broke out laughing and together we returned by the little path which led to the father's house. When Butler had taken off his muddy boots and was ensconced in a comfortable seat, he began to recount his story as follows "'Leaving Gravel Lake where I arrived on Tuesday evening, my last stage was the mouth of Clear Creek, where I knew that you would send someone to meet me.
Speaker 5:Traveling was frightfully bad forty miles of marshy country. But last, at nightfall, I descended a hill and had the pleasure of seeing Grant's cabin, which was lighted up. Grant was at home and a good supper was waiting for me. Early the next morning, yesterday, he came to tell me in his reserved and silent manner that three fine moose were feeding quietly behind the plateau of Partridge Creek. After swallowing a hasty mouthful, all four of us—Grant, your two men and I—started out from the hut. We made a wide detour At the top of a hill where we had hidden ourselves.
Speaker 5:All of us stretched full length on the ground. We perceived a short distance off in the valley, near a moose-lick, three enormous moose moving slowly forward and quietly browsing on the moss and lichens. All at once they gave three simultaneous bounds, and one of the males, giving vent to the striking bellow which these animals utter only when they are hunted or mortally wounded. The three went off at a mad gallop towards the south. What had happened? We decided to approach the spot where the animals had taken fright.
Speaker 5:So suddenly, arriving at the moose-lick, a spot about sixty feet long and fifteen wide, we saw in the mud and almost on a level with the water of the lich, the fresh imprint of a body of a monstrous animal. Its belly had made an impression in the slime more than two feet deep, thirty feet long and twelve feet wide, for a gigantic pause. Also deeply impressed, had left, at each end of the main imprint and a little to the side, footprints five feet long by two and a half feet wide, the claws being more than a foot long, the sharp points of which had buried themselves deeply in the mud. There was also the print, apparently, of a heavy tail, ten feet long and sixteen inches wide at the point. We followed the tracks of the monster in the valley for five or six miles and then, at the ravine of Partridge Creek, a place which the miners call a gulch, they ceased suddenly, as if by enchantment, how the monster appeared to us.
Speaker 5:The next day at five o'clock in the morning, father Lavonne Butler Leymour, a neighbouring miner, hastily summoned. Myself and five men of the tribe crossed the river Stuart in two canoes. Neither of the first two guides, who were overcome with terror, nor the sergeant of the mounted police, who received our story with scepticism, nor the letter carrier, would consent to accompany us All day long. We searched without result the valley of the little river MacQuestin, the flats of Partridge Creek, the country between Barlow and the lofty snow-covered mountains. At last, toward evening, tired out after having toiled for a long time through the great marsh, we lighted a fire at the top of a rocky ravine. The sun was setting.
Speaker 5:Lying by the fire, we let our eyes wander over the glittering expanse of marsh which we had just traversed. The tea was boiling and everyone was preparing to dip his tin cup into the pot when suddenly a noise of rolling stones and a strange, harsh, frightful roar made us all spring to our feet. The beast for which we had been looking, a black, gigantic form, the corners of his mouth filled with bloodstained slime, his jaws munching something, I know not what was slowly and heavily climbing the opposite side of the ravine, making the large boulders roll into the valley as he went. Struck with terror, father Lavineux, limor and myself tried to utter a cry of fright, but no sound issued from our parts throat. Unconsciously, we had seized each other's arms. The five Indians were crouching down with their faces against the ground, trembling like leaves shaken by the wind. Butler was already rushing down the hill.
Speaker 5:The dinosaurus it is the dinosaurus of the Arctic Circle, muttered Father Lavineux with chattering teeth. The monster had stopped scarcely twenty paces from us and, resting upon his huge belly, was staring motionless at the red sun which was bathing all the landscape in a weird light. For a full ten minutes, riveted to the spot by some strange force which we could not overcome, did we contemplate this terrible apparition. We were, however, in full possession of our senses. There was not, and never will be, in our minds the least doubt as to the reality of what we saw. It was indeed a living creature and not an illusion which we had before us.
Speaker 5:The dinosaurus then turned his immense neck but did not seem to see us. His withers were at least eighteen feet above the ground. His entire body, from the extremity of his yawning jaws, which were surmounted by a horn like that of a rhinoceros, to the end of the tail, must have measured at least fifty feet. His hide was like that of a wild boar, garnished with thick bristles, in color a grayish black. His belly was plastered with thick mud.
Speaker 5:At this moment, butler returned to us. He told us that he thought the animal weighed about thirty tons. Finally, the dinosaurus moved his jaws, visibly chewing some thick, viscid kind of food, and we heard a sound like that of a crunching of small bones. Then, with a sudden movement, he raised himself on his hind legs and giving utterance to a roar a hollow, indescribable, frightful sound and wheeling round with surprising agility, with movements resembling those of a kangaroo, he sprang with a prodigious bound into the ravine. On the twenty-fourth, butler and myself, having taken two days rest, started for Dawson City for the purpose of demanding from the governor fifty armed men and mules. Here my story ends. For a month we were the laughing stock of the Golden City and the Dawson Daily Nugget published an article about me which was at the same time flattering and satirical, entitled Arrival of Poe, that was a fun one.
Speaker 1:Tell me your thoughts.
Speaker 2:I've never heard a kaiju described as with the movements of a kangaroo.
Speaker 1:To be fair, a lot of the illustrations that come with this story-.
Speaker 2:There's illustrations.
Speaker 1:Make it very verbatim, right, the idea of a dinosaur. So it's. I think most folks believe that it's more of a dinosaur than that of a kaiju. But listen, it's very hard to find public domain. It's very hard to find public domain kaiju stories because they simply don't exist. So this is close and some people think of this as sort of a predecessor to the idea of a kaiju. You know, story, film, etc. Etc.
Speaker 2:What year was this from?
Speaker 1:1908.
Speaker 2:Oh, that's right. I mean, yeah, this is an old one, yet it still checked a lot of the boxes that you see with modern films.
Speaker 1:Yeah, one thought that went into my selecting of this story is that it has this tie-in to the frozen ice. You know, I can kind of see this idea of a dinosaur thawing out and I think we see that theme with a lot of kaiju that they wake up right, or they're very, very old in the same way that dinosaurs are, and then something happens where they come back to life, that sort of thing. Well, yeah they pre-day humanity.
Speaker 2:There's only. I was about to say there's only two and I'm like no, there's only three, I think there's only four. Kaiju origins there is. They came from outer space. There is. They wake up because they have been dormant for millennia. They are manufactured by humanity, or number four of toxic experiment gone wrong.
Speaker 1:Strangely similar to the origin theories of aliens.
Speaker 2:There's origin theories for aliens. Wait, wait, sorry. What do you mean by that?
Speaker 1:Well, obviously people believe aliens come from a different planet, right, that's like 101, but there's also a lot of theories about the fact that they've been here longer than us, or they live in the oceans, or they come from Earth, right, and they've just kind of decided to shape-shift or to fit in or whatever. There's a lot of different sort of conspiracy theories out there.
Speaker 2:Got it. It's actually a plot point in the kaiju manga I was reading of kaiju, number eight, of how kaiju have some like the super, super advanced ones have the ability to shape-shift into normal humans. So they're just like yeah, like walking among you, and then, oh, time to rampage ba-boom.
Speaker 1:Kaiju Like the reverse of Ultraman.
Speaker 2:It is the reverse of Ultraman.
Speaker 1:Very cool. Okay, I also want to say thank you so much to our friend, john Cook, who narrated that story for us. Of course, john Cook's podcast the Fado podcast is very near and dear to us. If you are into old-timey historic literature fairy tales, folklore, horror stories Fado is the podcast for you, and, as you now know, john's voice is just so soothing and he does such a great job researching pronunciations and giving every story a lot of care, and so Fado is an awesome place to kind of make some you know what can be dense historic literature feel very entertaining and fun for everybody.
Speaker 2:He's my go-to for everything non-chat nougat based.
Speaker 1:There you go, you have all your bases covered. You guys, we have made it to the end of our mega epic series on the history of Kaiju Again, we had no idea that it was going to turn into this. You know very in-depth series. You can still go to lunaticsprojectcom, click on Merch and get your Kaiju themed merch that was designed by our friend Olive Inc. Who are absolutely in love with it. It's the perfect end of summer design. You can get tote bags, t-shirts, sweatshirts for fall. The world is your oyster. And of course, if you go to lunaticsprojectcom and click on articles, we have tons of lists that we've put together with some of our favorite campy Kaiju films, serious Kaiju films. So if somehow you haven't gotten enough Kaiju yet, then check out those articles and you'll have tons of films to watch from that.
Speaker 2:I was just thinking we could. This series could go on forever. There's just so so much to talk about.
Speaker 1:There have been some calls on our Discord, Alan, for you to start a spin-off Kaiju themed podcast under the Lunatics umbrella.
Speaker 2:I refuse.
Speaker 1:Okay, I would support you if you did it.
Speaker 2:Maybe I'll do it.
Speaker 1:Thank you guys so much for being here. Stay spooky, and we will talk to you very soon. It's almost October, can't wait. Until then, be well, bye, bye.