Lunatics Radio Hour
The history of horror and the horror of history.
Lunatics Radio Hour
Episode 147 - Campfire Tales #3
Abby and Alan are thrilled to present three horrifying and hauntingly beautiful stories. Come and gather around the campfire, as we collectively grow more and more unsettled together.
Consider donating to Beloved Asheville.
Lakeland was written by Marisca Pichette, and narrated by Michael Crosa. This story was originally published in text in September 2022 by Night Terror Novels, as part of their Theatre Phantasmagoria series. Marisca's first novella, Every Dark Cloud, is forthcoming in spring 2025 from Ghost Orchid Press. Support Michael by checking out the Podnooga Podcast Network.
Black Tea, Cream Tea, Chocolate Tea, Blood was written by Elou Carroll, and narrated by Denali Bartell. It was previously published in Kaleidotrope last year and was included in Tor.com's (now reactormag.com's) Must Read Short Fiction list for September 2023. You can follow Denali on Instagram at @Denalibartell and check out their poetry collection here.
Eulogy of The Lake was written and narrated by Mike Macera. You can listen to Beach Therapy on Spotify here.
Get Lunatics Merch here. Join the discussion on Discord. Listen to the paranormal playlist I curate for Vurbl, updated weekly! Check out Abby's book Horror Stories. Available in eBook and paperback. Music by Michaela Papa, Alan Kudan & Jordan Moser. Poster Art by Pilar Keprta @pilar.kep.
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Follow us on TikTok, X, Instragram and YouTube.
Join the conversation on Discord. Support us on Patreon.
Hello everyone and welcome back to another episode of the lunatics radio, our podcast. I am Abby Branker sitting here with Alan Kudan, hi, and we haven't done this in a while.
Speaker 2:Done what.
Speaker 1:Today we have a Campfire Tales episode for you. Do you remember that series that we abandoned and left for?
Speaker 2:dead Hang on. It was not abandoned, it was put into cold storage, which is ironic because this is about fire.
Speaker 1:That's right. So the premise of our Campfire Tales series is that we are going to present to you stories that play with darkness in their own way. They're not tied to any unifying theme. They're just really good, well-written stories, very well narrated, kind of similar to if you were sitting around a campfire right and people were taking turns telling stories. Yeah, that's the vibe, that's fun. Yes, we should do this more often and I think we will foreshadowing. Oh, but without further ado, I'm super excited for the stories today. I think they're all incredibly unique from each other and all actually are kind of fresh, I think, in terms of types of stories that we feature on the podcast. So I feel very lucky and excited to present them to everybody.
Speaker 2:I got to say these are three very unique stories. Instead of just teasing, let's just roll the first one.
Speaker 1:Absolutely Roll the tape. Lakeland, written by Mariska Pichette, read by Michael Grosso.
Speaker 4:You might think there's no way to survive in a landscape of exposure. Scrub grasses, icy tarns, bare rocks only fit for lichens. What could live in this barren world, and what could it possibly eat? Birds are dissatisfying, rodents unappetizing. No, here, in a district regarded for its wilderness, there is only one meal able to sate us. You will not find us hunting, looking at us. You won't find us at all, until it's too late.
Speaker 4:I am not the only thing that moves in the fells, unseen, lingering under two still waters. My view ripples across grasses and rocks. From my position I can see across the rugged peaks out to the gaping edge that claims all failures. This privileged spot contributes to my success. I never lose a catch. Mist gathers along the ground and the banks of my tarn, and there I see them Clods creeping on, rooted legs, spindly white, some no larger than pollywogs, some the size of quail eggs, some masquerading as hares, twin tufts of heather pretending at ears. They creep and roll and dig in the earth, and after ages of watching, I know what they prefer. Rain is no issue for them, flickering their roots so they can slide away from the rabbit holes they cover, take advantage of the mist to twist and break an ankle. They come in all kinds of weather. I pray. Resting under the gently lapping waters, I feel them. Boots strike, soil Clods settle into place next to rocks and holes and roots. As one, we wait. We're not in direct competition. Each of us plays to our strengths here at the base of the sky. Strengths here at the base of the sky, a solitary hiker, poles gripped in hand, slick with moisture Red jacket, like a streak of blood in the mist. They cross the fell confidently, ignorantly. A clod shifts, exposing a depression that wasn't there. Before the hiker's foot catches, their voice croaks briefly, stifled by heavy clouds. Earth rises before they can right themselves, climbing their leg and filling their face with choking mud. Wet and cold and alone. The clod's prey sinks under a herd of hungry grass. A soft mound marks the place they were. I spin lazily under my surface waiting for the next one.
Speaker 4:The clods catch the most. Their tactics are simple, instinctual. I ignore my closest neighbors most of the time, look to their hunting for entertainment. The rest, on clear days, they are almost inert, with no sign of another hiker. I swim to the other side of the tarn and watch the rocks. The rocks don't lie in wait like the clods. They are listening. Still until voices, still until footsteps. Ambush predation is the nature of granite and shale. I rarely see their victims Watching under the water. I see only the hunters leaping down the fell, cracking from the bedrock to roll into action Filtered by icy water. I hear distant screams, drawn out or cut short. I feel, deep in the muddy bottom of my home, the satisfaction of a successful kill. Rain passes, wind whips, some rocks detach themselves, but if they hit true, the storm absorbs the sound.
Speaker 4:As the day fades into afternoon, the sun sheds glorious light on my waters. I warm anticipation tingling through my body. Now is the time I hunt. My tarn glistens brilliant, reflecting the sky. My ripples promise relief. My banks invite rest. Sometimes there's just one who stops, sitting down to gaze across the surface, sometimes a group. I rarely manage to catch more than a couple, but one is all I need to sustain me for a group. I rarely manage to catch more than a couple, but one is all I need to sustain me for a year.
Speaker 4:Boots grind against gravel. I hold still as they stop, set down all they carry when they bend to remove their shoes. I've already won bend to remove their shoes. I've already won. Toes grip mud, fingers tickle the warmer waves at the edge. Hunger stirs my core.
Speaker 4:I wait until the hiker leans close and tastes my tarn, regarding their face in its pristine reflection. They don't feel my fingers sliding through the mud to circle their feet. I've had an age to perfect my attack. When they see me at last, eyes on the other side of the water, they rarely scream. Shock breeds silence. This one tries, their mouth opening wide as the clods pits, the sound is quickly stifled with a splash. I drag them down, kicking. I drag them down, flailing. I drag them down down limp and cooling to the bottom. There I feast until I'm full. What of them remains, then I plant in the mud, covering their body with rocks that hunt no more and clods past their prime. We share what we don't eat the rocks, the clods and I. Our ecosystem would not endure otherwise. And can you not say, looking on us and the world, we have made over so many of your bones that we are beautiful.
Speaker 2:Didn't we have something on like freshwater monsters or lake monsters or something?
Speaker 1:Lake horror many years ago.
Speaker 2:A long time ago.
Speaker 1:Worth a revisit, probably, but this is prime oh yeah, lake horror so good.
Speaker 2:Where was this story when we're talking about loch ness, monster bullshit? I?
Speaker 1:know, I don't even think we did lunatics library back then.
Speaker 2:That's insane how old that this was so good yeah, so good so this was not only a very scary lake monster, but it was very well written oh yes, so this story comes to us by many time.
Speaker 1:Collaborator at this point, mariska Pichette. The story was originally published in text in Night Terror Novels as part of their Theater Phantasmagoria series, and that was in September of 2022. And also so, mariska, has their first novella coming out in spring 2025 from Ghost Orchid Press, which is the original publisher of this story. That's awesome. It's going to be called Every Dark Cloud and we are so, so, so excited.
Speaker 2:Okay, so just putting it out there. This would make a great novella.
Speaker 1:Yeah.
Speaker 2:I want to read everything about this lake monster.
Speaker 1:Yes.
Speaker 2:And all the stuff they do. Just any time you get into the head of a monster and start to understand their not just motivations but hopes and dreams. I think that's so cool.
Speaker 1:Yeah, I agree, and this was such an ancient monster from the depths and I've loved the world's building and I think Mariska did a really good job of flipping kind of what you're saying but flipping the world on its head and looking at it through this lens and the ecosystem that it maintains and the centuries of time that have passed, and it was kind of this very rich, beautiful, dark story.
Speaker 2:I've always felt that making a relatable villain is a higher tier of writing, and it's difficult. The villain is typically the other. That's fine, that's expected. But when you make someone the other, but still relatable, that just adds all these extra layers where you care about not just the protagonist but also the antagonist, and it leads for a more balanced story. That you know, I don't, it's just good writing.
Speaker 1:Yeah, because I truly believe't it's just good writing. Yeah, because I truly believe right, very rarely are people evil. Everybody is human and there's nuance and humanity and reasons for all of us.
Speaker 2:Every time one of these articles comes out about like best villains of all time. You often see Hannibal Lecter oh, always number one, and that is because he is, I don't know. Some people call him an antihero, but that's not true at all. He's just a straight up villain that has relatable motivations, to the point where he sometimes helps the protagonist. Every so often, when you have a villain that you can empathize with, it just changes the entire dynamic and makes the whole story more complex. And we have a fucking ancient lake monster and we're feeling those vibes. So that's cool.
Speaker 1:Very cool, yeah, and so this story was narrated by our friend Michael Krosa. We are, as I'm sure everyone who listens to this podcast knows, very big fans of Michael. He runs the Podnuga podcast network out of Chattanooga, tennessee, and I want to remind you guys. So Michael actually also read a story for us for New England Vampire Panic, and at that time we had called for donations for a charity that Michael suggested called Beloved Asheville, and I just want to remind everyone that there's still a lot of need for all the flooding and the storms that have hit this country this year. So we will leave a link in the description of this episode as well, especially as we're getting into the holiday season and I know there's so many different places to donate and give back to, but Beloved Asheville should be on your list of contenders, for sure.
Speaker 2:Yeah, michael is just like one of those great people. Then, without people like this, just the world would straight up collapse. So thank you, michael, for everything that you do. Your personal content is incredibly wholesome, yet here we have you, joyfully voicing a primordial lake monster that feasts on quite innocent people. Uh, so thank you for everything that you do.
Speaker 1:Thank you especially supporting this podcast we appreciate it so in turn.
Speaker 2:We're going to support you and you can just save the world there you go.
Speaker 1:There you go, all right. Well, without further ado. We have two other stories in the queue. Shall we get to the next one?
Speaker 2:please do roll the here we go.
Speaker 3:Black tea, cream tea, chocolate tea, mud. Red by evil Carol, red by DiGiulio Pardo.
Speaker 5:In Goldenboar there lives a good wife. She knows she is good because she can feel the nails sticking out of the hole in the nape of her neck. The nail tells her she is good and so she must be. When the traders came, they brought with them ships full of tea and finery, and the good wife bought up a larder full of teas and foreign ingredients for baking. It is in this way that she keeps her husband happy. She has been keeping him happy for as long as she can remember, and the rounded mound beneath her dress tells her that she is happy too.
Speaker 5:She is different from her neighbor's wives. Her skin is not the same rich gold as theirs and her curves are not curves really, besides the one in her belly on which she places her hand. It whispers to her soon. It has been whispering soon for as long as she can remember. When she sleeps she is a bird and she visits girls with golden skin. She can feel their pulses, slow, as she drinks them. Oh, how she loves the shallow rise and fall of their chests. Towards the end she strokes them soft as a feather and all is still forever. But she is a good wife and good wives do not dream of golden women. So she forgets the dream and instead goes about her chores. She makes pretty the beds and mends her husband's clothing. When the mending is done, the good wife ventures out into the garden to pick potatoes and fresh vegetables. Her husband is fond of hearty meals. She watches as he eats them and warmth swells in her chest. Her own plate is always empty, but she does not hunger for food, for she is a good wife and her only hunger is to make her husband happy.
Speaker 5:The neighbors, dressed in their finery, with blushing cheeks and smiling faces, do not look at the good wife when they leave their house and board the carriage that waits for them. She does not envy their leaving, for she is a good wife, and a good wife wants nothing more than a home and a husband. The nail in her neck tells her it is so, and so it must be. When the neighbor's daughter, with her dark eyes and her golden skin, pulls the carriage curtain just so and gazes timid across to the good wife, the good wife feels a tremor in her chest. Across to the good wife, the good wife feels a tremor in her chest when the neighbor's daughter, with her dark eyes and her golden skin, closes her eyes, long eyelashes casting long shadows across her cheek. The good wife remembers her sleeping, the way her mouth hangs open just a little, the way her chest rises. No, the nail in the nape of her neck tells her. You do not know the hidden places of her, for you are a good wife. And a good wife thinks only of her husband. The nail in her neck tells her it is so, and so it must be.
Speaker 5:In the morning she wakes her husband with a pot of black tea as rich and flavorsome as his soul, which must be rich and flavorsome because she wants nothing more than to keep him happy. He drinks deeply and tells her that she is a good wife and she will always be his good wife. The good wife breathes deep and is happy. Her wound whispers. Soon as he leaves, she kisses his cheek and promises she will wait right here until he returns. The good wife places her hands on her stomach, arranges them gently, prettily, and waits. Her husband shuts the door behind him and the good wife watches him leave. She is still by the door, hands crossed about her belly, when the neighbor's daughter comes up garden path. The good wife sees her through the window and her palms grow damp. It has been hours since her husband left and will be hours still until he returns. But she told him she would wait and so she must.
Speaker 5:The neighbor's daughter, dark-eyed and golden-skinned, dithers in front of her door. She raises her hand to knock three separate times, but her knuckles never quite meet the wood. The neighbor's daughter shakes herself and looks up. Then she jumps when her eyes meet the good wife's, who is standing so still and so solemn that she might be a statue carved for her husband's pleasure. The good wife swallows, wuts her lips, but the other woman with her dark eyes flees back down the path and does not look back.
Speaker 5:When her husband returns in the afternoon, the good wife serves cream tea with cakes and scones fresh from her oven. She makes them like the traders tell her, and they come out warm and soft. She takes a crumb from the plate and it melts in her mouth at first, and then it burns her. She spits it out because it's her husband's and she is a good wife and good wives do not steal from their husbands. He eats it all up and licks his lips after he tells her she is a good wife and that she will always be his good wife.
Speaker 5:The good wife is happy because her husband is happy and guilt pools thick in her belly. She should not have taken the crumb and she should not think of girls with dark eyes and soft golden skin. As her husband reads in his study, the good wife stands behind him, she cups her belly and her womb whispers Soon. The good wife is happy with her husband. She places a hand on his shoulder and her husband looks up at her through thick lashes. She feels the look heavy in her stomach and knows that she is wanted.
Speaker 5:Before bed the good wife gifts her husband with a thick, rich tea of chocolate and cinnamon. He drinks and drinks and his eyes warm. He tells her that she is a beautiful wife and that she will always be his beautiful wife. He takes her in his arms and she is filled with him. The good wife does not know where he ends and she begins, and this tells her she is happy. When she is so full with her husband, the good wife does not think of dark eyes and golden skin. With her husband, the good wife does not think of dark eyes and golden skin. The good wife thinks only of her husband, his long fingers, his large hands, hands which travel to her face, close upon her neck. His fingers graze the nail, but he does not notice. She is his and it is in this way that she makes him happy and he is very happy. Again, his hand finds the nail, but he does not notice. He is close and she is happy. But the good wife wants to be closer, wants to pull her husband up inside herself and hold him in her swollen belly like a babe. In this way they will both be happy. One last time his fingers hit the nail and it slips from the hole with a liquid thump, the good wife pales, her fingers sharpen and she feels as if she might once have been a bird. She looks down at her husband and he is happy. Her fingers move to his stomach and press deep until the red wells up. It is in this way that she makes him unhappy.
Speaker 5:The good wife remembers the hammer and nail, the look on her husband's face when he caught her Not yet a husband then, but a boy, hungry and wanting the once. Good wife remembers feathers and golden women with soft, soft skin. Her neighbor's daughter in the carriage. Her neighbor's daughter on the path. Her neighbor's daughter at the door. Her neighbor's daughter in her bed with her.
Speaker 5:Her mouth hung open, the once good wife pulls her fingers from his navel and up. She knows she is not a good wife and she is not good because the hole in the back of her neck is empty. The hole in the back of her neck tells her that she is not a wife and so she must not be. She remembers the taste of metal and salt when she looks down at her husband. She has been keeping him happy for as long as she can remember. His hair is peppered with grey. No longer the young man who caught her and held her down and hammered the nail into her nape, the iron biting and taming and cold. The mound beneath her dress is still too still and tells her that she was never happy.
Speaker 5:She is different from the neighbor's wives. Her skin is not the same rich gold as theirs. Her curves are not curves. Besides the one in her belly on which she places her hand, it stays silent. It has been silent for a long, long time. Her skin is not the same rich gold as her neighbor's wives and her curves are not curves. Her curves are joints, skin pulled tight over them. Her still veins painting her bones with map lines. Her eyes are not like their eyes.
Speaker 5:When it is night she is a bird and she visits girls with golden skin. She can feel their pulses, slow, as she drinks them. Oh how she loves the shallow rise and fall of their chests. Towards the end she strokes them soft as a feather and all is still forever. She drinks them up and leaves them tucked in their beds where she found them. But her neighbor's daughter is special. Her neighbor's daughter looks at the once good wife meets her eyes with wonder. Daughter looks at the once good wife meets her eyes with wonder. The once good wife drinks her too, but not fully just enough. The once good wife remembers now. It is in this way that she knows she is happy.
Speaker 5:In the morning she wakes to her husband with a pot of tea as black as her hair, which is more black than her neighbor's wives, and brittle to the touch. She drinks deeply and places a hand down into his stomach. When she pulls it out again she has in her hand his kidney and she tells him he was never her husband and that she will never have a husband. She leaves the kidney on the bed and is happy when she returns to him. In the evening she sips cream tea and melts cake crumbs in her mouth. She does not spit them out because they are hers and he was never her husband. The once good wife reaches a hand into his stomach and pulls out his liver. She tells him that he was never her husband and that she will never have a husband. She looks to his face and sees that he is unhappy. She is glad she ate the crumbs Before bed. The once good wife drinks deep of chocolate, tea and cinnamon. She drinks and drinks and her eyes grow cold. She tells him of their neighbor's daughter and her soft golden skin and how when she drinks her she doesn't know where she ends and the daughter begins and how. It tells her she is happy. She tells him he was never her husband. The once good wife feels in his chest and removes his heart. She tells him she will never have a husband. The once good wife takes the nail from the floor and pokes it through the heart, lets out a faint hiss.
Speaker 5:In Goldenpore there lives a woman no one looks at a woman without a husband. Ran away in the night, they say, and left her there alone. She has a hole in her neck and it tells them to steer clear of her. It is in this way they keep her happy. In Goldenpore there lives a golden girl who tastes just like vanilla. She knows she is good because she dreams that a bird visits her while she is sleeping. The bird tells her she is good and so she must be.
Speaker 1:I freaking love this story, which I guess is surprising to no one, but I really, really, really like it. I love the mechanic of the nail in the neck as this symbolic control mechanism or brainwashing or both mechanism. I love the journey of it's almost like the Stepford Wife language of I'm a good wife, I'm a good wife right Repeating and repeating, and repeating until it's true, and then the unraveling of that in just the most violent and satisfying way. I think it's beautiful. I think it's really unique.
Speaker 2:I don't think we've ever had something quite like this.
Speaker 1:No, not at all.
Speaker 2:And I mean that in the best way. This was a classic tale of repressed sexuality that was straight up unleashed in the coolest possible way.
Speaker 1:And control. And, you know, I think in a lot of ways it's something that's very familiar to people, even if the circumstances aren't quite one for one Right, the idea of needing to feel like you're fitting in or doing the job that you feel like people want you to do, or living the life people feel like they you're supposed to live quote, unquote, of course and kind of the freedom that comes from having, you know, being able to break out of that, which is not always possible. So that was really beautiful and moving, in addition to being like pretty rock and roll and I love, you know, the kind of full circle moment of having the nail that's been in her neck for so long go through his heart at the end.
Speaker 2:It's a cool mechanic.
Speaker 1:Very cool. I love the nail. I think it's so simple but visual and you understand exactly what's happening and it's gross and and horrifying and all these things at the same time.
Speaker 2:I'm really trying to place it, because the idea of a spike going through someone as a way of dampening their power sounds so familiar and I can't remember where it's from.
Speaker 1:I don't know it doesn't ring a bell for me in that lens, but to me it kind of just reminds me of, you know, almost like medieval torture, of like oh, I'm sorry, it's the opposite.
Speaker 2:I'm thinking of brandon sanders, mistborn okay where they put spikes through people, through certain organs yeah and, depending on where the spike is, it actually amplifies their abilities seems like a risky little game, though, though. I mean, sure, but this is a fantasy setting, right, it's all magic. And all these spikes are done in ritual format, Sure, and by removing the spikes you actually kill the people. Very cool, but regardless. Having spikes through people as a way of restraining them not only, I mean, I don't know that's honestly quite biblical.
Speaker 1:It is yeah, for sure.
Speaker 2:If we may be a bit on the nose, that's the spikes 101.
Speaker 1:There you go, the originator. This story was narrated for us today by Denali Bartel, who was a film student at Brooklyn College, majoring in screenplay writing. When they're not busy working on scripts or projects, they enjoy participating in Brooklyn's vibrant art scene and performing poetry from their new book, laundry Day, which, of course, we will link below. I thought Denali did just a perfect job with this story and I'm very, very interested to check out Laundry Day and keep kind of getting to know their work. But beautifully narrated. And this story, of course, is from Elu Carroll, who has been featured on this podcast before, and this story was previously published in Kaleidotrope last year and was included in TOR's dot com must read short fiction list for September 2023, which is amazing Cool and TORcom is now Reactormagcom. But, as always, we will link everybody's social handles on social media and links to their work in the episode description, because we're such big fans of these folks and we encourage you to go out and interact with their stuff and keep supporting indie artists along the way.
Speaker 2:This story just had such unique world building. I'm like really curious if this is almost wild assumptions that this is not part of a larger piece but this author's writing style. I'm kind of hoping that it's like some kind of like larger universe where, you know, other works still have this type of mythos, cause I think it's super, super cool.
Speaker 1:I agree. I think it's beautiful and very poetic. All right, and we have one final story which is, I would say the least, lunatics style. What? But give it a chance, it's got a lot to say eulogy of the lake, written and read by Michael Cero.
Speaker 6:I spent all my childhood summers at the Hospitality Creek Campground in Williamstown, new Jersey. Back then, it was a family business passed down by three generations of people who lived on the premises in a log cabin. In 2004, it was cheap and lawless and contaminated with great ideas. There was this rickety nature trail there, and this was my absolute favorite. It was a small pathway, two planks wide for its entirety that would twist and turn into the muggy forested swamp. The bugs were awful and the planks were so close to lake level that they would frequently flood or be covered in mud. The planks then just stopped at some point and the trail would drop you off into some sandy patch of woods without any indication of where you were supposed to go next, and the sand was full of these little bugs. That would make these little pits. They looked like these reverse ant holes, and my dad and I would put ants in the reverse holes and watch as the sand would cave in around them and they would get pulled under by this unseen monster with claws. It was really fucking cool. Now, if you made the right turn in the trail, you would end up back at the lake. You would do a full circle around the entire campground. I'm not sure what would happen if you made a wrong turn and just kept going further into the woods. I guess eventually you would end up somewhere along the Garden State Parkway. Now, these are the strongest memories I have of Hospitality Creek, walking that nature trail and going in circles over and over again until sunset.
Speaker 6:I haven't been back, though, since around the 2010s. The last time I went, I was a sophomore in high school. I brought a girl and we got bored, and then we ran back to my place to have sex for the first time before my mom got home. I chickened out anyway, so it didn't matter. I should have stayed. The campground had been bought out at this point years later by Yogi Bear's Jellystone Park. I have never heard of these guys, but apparently they are a corporate campground chain and they're the largest one around. They own 75 campgrounds across America. I remember I expressed disappointment to my neighbor about this and he said well, the owners are happy. They sold the place for $3 million and they moved to Florida. So this year I decided to return to Hospitality Creek to see what was old and what was new.
Speaker 6:I think firstly, just to get an idea of what's changed, I should break down the guest and membership fees at Hospitality Creek. So at Hospitality Creek a day pass was originally $8. That gave you total access to the picnic grounds. It gave you access to a pool, a beach, a lake. There was a small activity water park kind of thing, an island to fish off of, and there was the nature trail I talked about. So for around $15 an hour you could also rent boats to take out onto the lake and for a little extra you could even rent a ping pong table. You could play some arcade games. You could purchase some terrible food it was like hot dogs and really good fries and you could get ketchup in these little paper cups.
Speaker 6:When I was getting older, that entrance fee, it rose to $10, and then it climbed to $12 at some point. There were also yearly swim club memberships that I recall being somewhere around a couple hundred bucks a summer, like $300 or something. So that would grant you day access to the campground and its amenities at any point over the summer so you wouldn't have to pay every time you go in. Now, with Jellystone acquiring the place, a day pass has now risen to $36. And the swim club memberships they're only valid on the weekdays now. So if you want to go during the weekends, when you'll probably be like off of work and you'll be, you know, most available to take your kids, you got to pay like another premium. So a $36 experience at Jellystone is no better than a $12 one at Hospitality Creek. I would actually argue it's worse, because upon entrance there's these ceramic and inflatable yogi bears and boo-boos and picnic baskets, and now these things adorn the entire campground. But other than you know, sprinkling in some really dumb Hanna-Barbera aesthetics, jellystone has massacred Hospitality Creek. The lake has become a shadow of its former self, the old Hospitality Creek Lake.
Speaker 6:It felt like Williamstown's answer to like Action Park or something. There were these terrible pink water slides. They would thrash you around and dump you in the water, like your fucking life was meaningless. There were these platforms with diving boards you could backflip on and go into 10 feet of dark, murky lake water. There was this terrifying rope swing that I didn't even have the balls to try until I was like 12. First you had to. You had to climb onto this metal staircase. That was like rusting, it was full of tetanus and you know. And while you were walking up the stairs you had to drag this large knotted rope behind you. It was like you were leashing a giant. Then you had to jump off the stairs and hoist yourself onto this rope midair, or else you'd just get dragged into the water. You'd hit a piece of water, you'd slam back into the tetanus metal stairs. It was incredibly violent, but the threat of injury really enhanced the feeling of accomplishment I had when I finally got my ass on that rope swing and I soared into the air.
Speaker 6:Now all of this is gone. It's replaced by this inflatable cornucopia of water slides and trampolines that Jellystone calls the wibbit. It is big and green and resembles a severely disfigured frog. And when you're on this wibbit you need to wear a life jacket. And you know the wibbit seems fine enough, but this looks like something you know you could buy at like Lowe's and, like you know, I'm not going to wear a life jacket at Hospitality Creek. That's ridiculous. I mean, maybe I'm psychotic, but I just miss when this place was dangerous. And safety aside, jellystone has just removed stuff for no good reason the wooden water wheel. This was Hospitality Creek's unofficial mascot. They used to have this water wheel that was in a field. It's been torn down and now it's replaced with a photo op opportunity. There's a wooden cutout of Yogi Bear. You can stick your head next to him and, you know, pose for photos.
Speaker 6:The trail's been closed. It's not gone, though. They kept the entrance, which was an old bridge that overlooked the creek, but the first few planks that would lead into the swamp they've been ripped up. They've been removed. Now only their pylon stubs kind of remain there. A yellow construction sign now reads Trail Closed, but they didn't bother to raise the entire thing. Like I looked ahead, I could still see the winding wood path disappear into the marsh. They only took out the first few planks, so the only thing between me and this trail was a thick puddle of mud, and I didn't go through that.
Speaker 6:Jellystone did leave something behind. They left the swimming pool exactly how they found it all the way down to the old Hospitality Creek logo. The logo of Hospitality Creek had the old water wheel wheel in it, and there's a ceramic tiled version of it. It sits carved into the concrete at the bottom of the three foot section. Now, when I wasn't even three foot tall yet, my dad would teach me how to swim by going underwater with me to touch those tiles. I remember how they felt too. You know. They'd feel different than the concrete. They felt smooth, um, and I don't know. I wonder why they kept that part if they're going to tear everything else down. But part of me thinks they just didn't bother to empty the pool and replace it with a ceramic version of Ranger Smith or something like that.
Speaker 6:So I walked around Hospitality Creek at dusk and I think about what this campground meant to me and why I felt so strongly about slides and water wheels, and I realized with some fear that maybe this is the first time I've ever felt really old in my life. You know, I'm 24 now and I'm beginning to feel the stinging effects of nostalgia, like how I feel when old fast food places get torn down near me and replaced with sleek and gray, lifeless versions of themselves without playgrounds. Hospitality Creek feels like that. It feels sleek and it feels gray. Now, you know, gone are the road signs that were carved into wood with painted yellow letters. Now they're replaced by cartoony ones with fonts I can make out from Microsoft Word.
Speaker 6:Maybe the world really was better back then, and I wonder if the degradation of Hospitality Creek would be my dive towards inevitable conservatism. You know when are all my outlooks going to become watered down to back-in-my-day arguments. The world will continue to spin and it will spin towards the sun for many, many summers to come. And it left Hospitality Creek behind, and you know, it could leave me behind too.
Speaker 6:So I stood there for a while thinking about this, where the water wheel once was, and I watched these kids as they cannonball and backflip off the wibbit and I watched them make all these new and happy memories of their own, and I think nostalgia does not hinder their enjoyment at all, because they don't know it yet. And that's the worst part of nostalgia is making you think that you know better than others. They probably do not remember a time before the wibbit even, and if they do, they'll probably prefer these inflatable thrills over a rope swing that could have easily paralyzed them. Maybe someday they'll close the wibbit too. They'll also deem that unsafe. Maybe they'll close the lake altogether and ban swimming because it's filled with germs and brain-eating bacteria. And maybe these kids, they'll close the lake altogether and ban swimming because it's filled with germs and brain-eating bacteria. And maybe, these kids, they'll become parents and they'll think sadly to themselves. What happened to the death-defying Jellystone Park that I grew up with and, you know, maybe they'll tell their kids how good they had it.
Speaker 2:I have my own theories, but tell me why you think this story exhibits the history of horror.
Speaker 1:Well, I don't know that every story feature on this podcast needs to exhibit the history of horror, but I do think it exhibits existential dread and something that's super relatable to a lot of people, which is kind of like, even in some ways more powerful and poignant, because it's very human for all of us to grow connections to things that are fading right To.
Speaker 1:Things don't last forever, places even like the energy of being at college or high school or your parents' house when you're young. Everything changes and nothing lasts and you get to a point in your life where you leave home or you graduate school or whatever, you move apartments and that phase ends, and things don't always end when they're ready to end or when you're ready for them to end or when they're bad. Right, sometimes good things end and then you have to miss those things, and that's like a super human, relatable mini tragedy in some ways right. And so the reason this story really resonated with me is because there is a place that my family has actually gone to every single year of my life. Me and my sister are in our 30s now. Her husband comes, alan comes, we've had friends come, and it's very simple in its execution of a family trip. I would say it's a comedically small cabin on this plot of land that has many cabins.
Speaker 2:Oh, that place.
Speaker 1:And we go multiple times a year.
Speaker 2:Oh, it's so small.
Speaker 1:We all bunker in together and light fires and swim in the ocean and cook meals and the. You know it was built in the 1920s and it's very charming and was very, very special to all of us.
Speaker 2:It's comedically small.
Speaker 1:Yes, I think so.
Speaker 2:The ocean is 50 degrees.
Speaker 1:Yeah, okay, well, for me it's, it was very important and it was something that felt like home, almost more so than any other place, because we've gone there more than my parents have lived in any single house or anything else like that, and it was always owned by a family, right, that we knew very well. And last year they sold it and it became very commercial and very expensive and they renovated these cottages from the 1920s and everything changed, you know, and we didn't return and it was the first time in 30 something years that we didn't go to this place and have this experience in this kind of very simple communal lifestyle for, you know, a few weeks or a week or whatever it was.
Speaker 2:But it was a big deal.
Speaker 1:It was a big deal and it was really sad. And it wasn't sad because you know it's a tragic thing and there's lots of things in the world, obviously, that are worse than that. But it's like it's very rare, I think, for families to have a place and a vacation and a ritual that lasts that long.
Speaker 1:You know, now that you mentioned it but it was super special and important to us, and now it's gone, you know, and that's just how the cookie crumples, and you know we're very grateful that we got those experiences for so long, but it doesn't mean that it's not doesn't feel like a loss and the reflection of, like a commercialization of a part of the world that for a long time felt very pure, you know, and so I think that's a lot about what this is about too. It's about that feeling of nostalgia, of course, which Mike talks about directly in the story, but I think it's also, in a lot of ways, of course, about kind of the loss of simplicity or purity and this need for expansion and growth, and you know it's living in a capitalist society.
Speaker 2:I think it is one of the most adult and wonderful things to have something that is so, so dear to you and then let it go. I feel like this is something that everyone has experienced in one way or another. You have this recurring bit of comfort, something that you associate with home, and then it's gone. Either it's a place that's gone away, it's a person that leaves your life, it's all these things. But to not look at that with a sense of loss, but instead to look back at it and smile and be like man, that was great. I feel like that is one of the most beautiful moments in life and it's it's rare.
Speaker 1:I'm actually getting a little bit emotional as I'm talking about this, because this was such a special, magical place.
Speaker 2:I know what this place meant to you.
Speaker 1:And one of the people that I met there many, many years ago recently passed, and so when our friend, mike Massera wrote and recorded and gave us his story, you know, in time for this episode, which was well before that news came in, I don't think he realized how poignant it would feel for me now.
Speaker 2:I had a feeling this was going to come up and it honestly I'm sure the Germans have a word for this feeling of being able to look back at something nostalgic and not look at it with a sense of loss, but look at it with a a sense of love well, it can be both things.
Speaker 1:I think it can be an acknowledgement of how you're going to miss something so much, but your memories are all fond. I also really love how Mike narrated this story, which he also wrote. But he has a way in this narration that feels because obviously I think the story is quite personal to him but it just feels like he's talking to someone directly, it just feels like you're in conversation with him. It's kind of this casual storytelling style and I thought it was A perfect for campfire tales right, the premise of us all sitting around together listening to these stories. But it also just felt quite unique and intimate, which I really loved.
Speaker 2:This was really special for me. I know Mike as a talented narrator, actor, a crew member. You know he's a very talented guy, but I didn't know that he was a writer and that the fact that this is the first thing that he whipped out as a writer is really, really special.
Speaker 1:Mike is an incredible writer, is very, very talented and we've discussed some really cool story ideas together. Mike isn't a horror, you know. I don't think he loves horror as much as we do or loves writing it.
Speaker 2:Okay, Mike's canceled.
Speaker 1:But he kind of meets us halfway with, you know, with stories like this, and he's very good at dissecting humanity and analyzing it and bringing it to people in kind of a very personal way. So, Mike, thank you very much for your words and your narration and a very well-timed you hit Abby right in the feels.
Speaker 2:Mike, I hope you know what you did.
Speaker 1:And, of course, our friend Mike Massera is one half of Beach Therapy, which is a very talented band. Check out Parking Lots.
Speaker 2:Abby loves Parking, lots Love it so much.
Speaker 1:Check it out on Spotify. We're big fans. We'll link everything below, of course, but thank you to all of the writers and narrators. I really enjoy these episodes and, as I kind of hinted at earlier, we will be. There will be more in coming, in 2025, because I love giving kind of a little, because I do think it's super important to give a stage to our horror writer community or that's always tied to a theme talented writer community yeah, who knows?
Speaker 2:because apparently mike doesn't Tied to a theme. Talented writer community yeah, who knows? Because apparently Mike doesn't write horror, despite being dangerously handsome.
Speaker 1:Oh, there you go. Well, as always. Thank you guys so much for being here. We hope you're all doing well and hanging in there as best as you possibly can, and we'll be back soon. Bye, bye, bye.
