Episode - 9 A curse trapped in a mirror and a malevolent presence in the Adironkacks
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The primary thrust of today's discussion centers on the chilling narratives of the "House of Mirrors" and "The Watcher," both of which elucidate the precarious intersection of reality and the supernatural. We delve deeply into the haunting experience of Ellen Harper, who, in her quest for solace following a tumultuous divorce, inadvertently becomes ensnared in a malevolent force that emanates from her new residence, an ancient domicile steeped in dark history. Subsequently, we transition to the tale of Elliot Harper, whose retreat to the Adirondack wilderness in pursuit of creative rejuvenation becomes a harrowing encounter with an enigmatic watcher, a presence that embodies the very essence of dread and isolation. These stories serve as poignant reminders of the hidden terrors that lurk beneath the surface of our seemingly mundane lives, challenging our understanding of safety and sanctuary. We invite our listeners to reflect on the nature of fear and the unseen forces that might be at work in the corners of our world.
In the realm where the mundane intertwines with the arcane, the episode embarks upon a journey through two captivating narratives that explore the complexities of human emotion in the face of supernatural adversity. The first story, 'The House of Mirrors,' centers around Ellen Harper, who, in her quest for solace post-divorce, unwittingly enters a home steeped in malevolence and a cursed history. As she navigates her new life in Willow Creek, Ellen becomes ensnared in a web of terror, characterized by unsettling disturbances that escalate into a relentless psychological torment. The narrative reveals the haunting legacy of Mara Cade, a healer wronged by her community, whose spectral presence seeks to claim Ellen as a vessel for her unresolved rage. This tale deftly examines themes of fear, trauma, and the invisible burdens we carry, ultimately culminating in a confrontation with the very essence of the curse that binds Ellen to the house.
Transitioning to the second tale, 'The Watcher,' we encounter Elliot Harper, a disenchanted novelist seeking to escape the cacophony of urban life by retreating to a secluded cabin within the Adirondack wilderness. However, the silence he yearns for morphs into a breeding ground for dread as an unseen force begins to stalk him. The narrative skillfully intertwines Elliot's internal struggles with the external threat posed by the watcher, a malevolent presence that preys upon his fears and insecurities. As the story unfolds, the isolation intensifies, leading to a chilling exploration of madness and the existential dread that accompanies the pursuit of artistic integrity. The culmination of Elliot's ordeal serves as a poignant reminder of the fragility of the human psyche when confronted with the unknown.
Together, these narratives create a compelling exploration of the human condition when faced with the inexplicable. They serve as profound allegories for the fears that linger in the shadows of our lives, urging us to confront the darkness that resides within and the legacies we inherit from our past. The episode leaves listeners pondering the intricate dance between reality and the supernatural, and the eternal struggle against the specters that haunt our existence.
Takeaways:
- The first story, 'The House of Mirrors', explores the haunting experiences of Ellen Harper as she confronts an ancient curse that feeds on fear.
- Ellen's journey reveals the dangers of seeking refuge in a place burdened by a dark history, ultimately leading to tragic consequences.
- In the second story, 'The Watcher', Elliot Harper seeks solitude in the Adirondack wilderness but encounters a malevolent presence that stalks him relentlessly.
- Both narratives illustrate the theme that attempts to escape one's past or fears can lead to dire outcomes when confronted with supernatural forces.
- The podcast emphasizes the interplay between reality and the supernatural, showcasing how fear can manifest in physical forms.
- Listeners are encouraged to reflect on the idea that some legacies of fear and trauma can transcend time and haunt individuals forever.
Transcript
Imagine a world teetering on the edge of the familiar, a place where the fabric of the everyday begins to unravel, revealing glimpses of the extraordinary lurking beneath.
Speaker A:You're about to embark on a journey into the enigmatic, where the peculiar and the perplexing intertwine, where every tale twists the mind and tugs at the spirit.
Speaker A:It's a descent into the strange, the mysterious, and the unexplained.
Speaker A:This is when Reality Phrase new episodes are published every Monday and Thursday, and when Reality Phrase is available everywhere, fine podcasts are found.
Speaker A:Before we move on, please hit that Follow or Subscribe button and turn on all reminders so you're alerted when new episodes are released.
Speaker A:Today's episode contains two stories.
Speaker A:First up is the House of Mirrors, a story about a woman seeking a fresh start but finds far more than she bargained for.
Speaker A:The second story of the day is the Watcher, the tale of a failed author who flees the clamor of the city but encounters an ancient presence in the solitude of the wilderness.
Speaker A:Now let's get to the stories.
Speaker A:A quiet street in the heart of Willow Creek, where maple trees whisper secrets and a modest bungalow stands cloaked in ivy.
Speaker A:Ellen Harper, a woman seeking refuge from life's storms, steps into this house, unaware that she's crossed a threshold not just of wood and stone, but of something older, hungrier, and far less forgiving.
Speaker A:Welcome to a place where mirrors reflect more than faces, where whispers carry the weight of eternity and the line between fear and fate blurs.
Speaker A:Welcome to When Reality Frays this is the story of the House of Mirrors.
Speaker A:Ellen Harper thought she had found salvation in the ivy draped bungalow on Maple Lane in the charming town of Willow Creek.
Speaker A: Purchased in: Speaker A:Ellen, a nurse with a quiet warmth, needed a place to heal.
Speaker A:But the house, older than the town's memory, had a need of its own.
Speaker A:The disturbances began in her third month.
Speaker A:Late at night, her phone rang, the screen showing unknown caller.
Speaker A:Ellen answered, creeped out when a woman's voice, low and venomous like a serpent coiling through static, whispered Ellen's name several times.
Speaker A:It was like an incantation.
Speaker A:The call dropped, leaving her breathless in the dark.
Speaker A:Ellen tried blocking the hidden number to no avail.
Speaker A:After several more nights of calls, she changed her number, but the calls persisted, the phone company unable or unwilling to identify the unknown caller.
Speaker A:Soon notes followed, scrawled in jagged red ink.
Speaker A:They were slipped under her door, left in her mailbox, even tucked into her car's visor, they only held three simple words.
Speaker A:You can't run.
Speaker A:Next came dead roses piled on her porch, the their petals charred as if kissed by flame and tied with twine that smelled faintly of ash.
Speaker A:One evening she found a Polaroid in her coat pocket, a photo of herself sleeping, taken from above her bed, her face ghostly in the flesh.
Speaker A:The police dusted for prints, checked for forced entry, but found nothing.
Speaker A:They passed the photo off as a prank, not at all convinced this wasn't Ellen's way of seeking attention.
Speaker A:But Ellen's eyes burned with unshed tears as she clutched the photo.
Speaker A:Its edges curled like a warning.
Speaker A:Fear became her constant companion.
Speaker A:She installed deadbolts, motion sensors, and a security system with cameras.
Speaker A:The footage showed only static, occasionally flickering with blurred shapes moving too fast to discern.
Speaker A:Neighbors reported no strangers, but old Mrs.
Speaker A:Evelyn, who lived across the street, offered cryptic warnings.
Speaker A:She claimed the land Ellen's house sat on was cursed, said it was known as Mara's Lot, and no one had ever stayed long.
Speaker A:Ellen forced a smile, dismissing it as folklore, but the old woman's words wouldn't leave her head.
Speaker A:At night she dreamt of a woman with blackened eyes, her voice the same as the whisper, her hands reaching through a mirror.
Speaker A:The harassment grew bolder on a stormy night.
Speaker A:Ellen woke to scratching like claws tearing at wood echoing from the attic.
Speaker A:Heart pounding, she climbed the pull down ladder, flashlight trembling in her grip.
Speaker A:The attic was empty save for a full length mirror propped against the wall, antique, its frame carved with twisting vines, and faces frozen in silent screams.
Speaker A:Ellen owned no such mirror.
Speaker A:As she stared, her reflection blinked when she didn't, its lips curling into a smile that wasn't hers.
Speaker A:The flashlight fell, its beam spinning wildly, and she scrambled downstairs, locking the hatch.
Speaker A:Ellen hired a local man to haul off the mirror, but when he climbed into the attic, it was gone.
Speaker A:The whispers infected everything, the hum of her fridge, the rustle of leaves, and the creak of floorboards.
Speaker A:She couldn't sleep and her face grew gaunt, her hands unsteady.
Speaker A:She confided in her closest friend, Clara Voss.
Speaker A:Clara suggested a therapist, but Ellen's fear was infectious.
Speaker A:Clara began waking to her own nightmares, a woman's voice whispering her name.
Speaker A:Desperate, Ellen visited Madame Seraphine Vay, a medium whose shop smelled of sage and wax.
Speaker A:Vea's hands shook as Ellen recounted the Polaroids, the mirror, the whispers.
Speaker A:In a breathless voice, she related a story to Ellen.
Speaker A:This was no mere spirit.
Speaker A: orn of blood and betrayal, in: Speaker A:She was a healer the town revered until drought and plague turned them cruel.
Speaker A:Her own family, sisters and cousins, called her a witch, claiming she had cursed the crops.
Speaker A:They burned her alive in her cabin, her scream swallowed by the flames.
Speaker A:Her rage sank into the earth, birthing a curse that claims anyone who calls that land home.
Speaker A:Mara marks her chosen, feeds on their fear, twists reality to trap them.
Speaker A:The mirror is her window, the whisper's her voice, the scratches her claim.
Speaker A:Ve gave Ellen an iron key etched with runes older than the town, cautioning her to wear it always, to bind Mara's power and finally to leave the house before her soul was taken.
Speaker A:Skeptical but unnerved, Ellen wore the key, its cold weight heavy around her neck.
Speaker A:For three weeks.
Speaker A:The harassment ceased.
Speaker A:She laughed with Clara at a diner, her smile fragile but real.
Speaker A:But on the 22nd night, the whisper returned a hiss inside her skull.
Speaker A:The key burned hot, searing her skin.
Speaker A:She tore it off, gasping, and saw that the runes from the key had been branded into her chest.
Speaker A:The mirror reappeared in her bedroom, its glass rippling like a storm tossed sea.
Speaker A:In it stood a woman, not Ellen, but a figure with charred flesh, blackened eyes, and a smile like a wound.
Speaker A:Ellen screamed, smashing the mirror with a lamp.
Speaker A:The shards vanished by dawn, but the house pulsed with malice.
Speaker A:She found more Polaroids herself at work in her car, always watched.
Speaker A:Ellen told Clara everything.
Speaker A:The curse, Mara's name, the mirror's hunger.
Speaker A:Clara, shaken but resolute, dove into Willow Creek's archives.
Speaker A:She found records.
Speaker A: A fire in: Speaker A:Other residents of Ellen's bungalow had fled, abandoning the house to never return.
Speaker A: In: Speaker A:Clara also uncovered a darker thread.
Speaker A:Mara's betrayers.
Speaker A:The Cade family had descendants in Willow Creek, including the Tates.
Speaker A:Clara begged Ellen to leave the house.
Speaker A:Ellen agreed, her hands trembling, but she needed time to pack her belongings.
Speaker A:That night, Clara returned to help Ellen load her possessions.
Speaker A:When she arrived, the door was ajar, the lights flickering like a dying pulse.
Speaker A:Inside, the air was thick, the walls scarred with deep scratches.
Speaker A:Furniture lay overturned, books shredded, a Polaroid camera smashed in the backyard.
Speaker A:Clara found Ellen's body, her face frozen in a scream.
Speaker A:A coroner ruled it suicide, citing pills and Ellen's reported anxiety.
Speaker A:The police closed the case.
Speaker A:But Willow Creek seethed with rumors.
Speaker A:Some swore Mara's curse had claimed another, her hunger eternal.
Speaker A:Others whispered of a human stalker exploiting the town's folklore.
Speaker A:Clara, consumed by guilt, refused to let it rest.
Speaker A:She teamed with Sam Carter, a local journalist who explored unsolved mysteries.
Speaker A:Sam had a knack for finding truth in shadows and had grown up hearing tales of Mara's lot.
Speaker A: had investigated Henry Cole's: Speaker A: sidents of the bungalow since: Speaker A:Clara and Sam interviewed Mrs.
Speaker A:Tate, who admitted her family's ties to Mara's betrayers.
Speaker A:Her great grandmother was Mara's cousin and had helped light the fire that consumed Mara.
Speaker A:She further claimed to experience frequent nightmares in which a horribly burned Mara stood over her, blaming her for what had happened.
Speaker A:Clara also spoke with Ve, who revealed a way to break the curse.
Speaker A:A ritual on Mara's lot, using the blood of a betrayer's kin, the iron key, and a mirror to trap Mara's spirit.
Speaker A:Vey warned of the danger, that Mara had fed on decades of fear and was stronger than ever.
Speaker A: She shared a journal from: Speaker A:His horrifically mutilated body was found in the same spot Ellen had been.
Speaker A:Clara, Sam and Mrs.
Speaker A:Tate prepared.
Speaker A:They enlisted Jonah Reed, a groundskeeper who had worked Maple Lane for decades and seen things.
Speaker A:Shadows in windows, roses blooming black.
Speaker A:Jonah believed the land was alive.
Speaker A:They gathered supplies, a new mirror, Vey's book of Chance, and the iron key which Ellen had worn around her neck.
Speaker A:Mrs.
Speaker A:Tate offered her blood, her hands steady.
Speaker A:Despite her fear, Vey agreed to lead the ritual, though her eyes held dread.
Speaker A:On a moonless night, they entered the bungalow.
Speaker A:The air was frigid, the floorboards groaning.
Speaker A:Whispers filled the house, reciting each of their names in a serpentine hiss.
Speaker A:Ve began the ritual, chanting in a tongue older than English, her voice growing as she lit candles in a circle.
Speaker A:Clara held the key, staring at it in disbelief.
Speaker A:When the engraved runes began to glow, Sam positioned a second mirror, facing the first.
Speaker A:Once they were prepared, Mrs.
Speaker A:Tate pricked her finger, letting blood drip onto the floor, where it hissed like water on a hot skillet.
Speaker A:Jonah stood guard, clutching a shovel, his eyes scanning the shadows.
Speaker A:The house fought back.
Speaker A:Windows rattled, candles flickered, and the air grew foul.
Speaker A:The mirror flared, and Mara appeared, her flesh charred, her eyes black voids, her scream shaking the foundation, she lunged her claws a hair's breadth from opening Clara's throat.
Speaker A:But the second mirror pulled her back, holding her trapped in an infinite limbo of reflections.
Speaker A:Sam steadied the mirrors as Vey's chants grew louder, her book trembling in her hands.
Speaker A:Mara raged and screamed as Mrs.
Speaker A:Tate poured more blood, muttering a prayer for forgiveness.
Speaker A:The key glowed red hot and Clara dropped it, her hand badly burned.
Speaker A:Mara lunged again, slashing at Vey, who stumbled back in surprise when her arm was was gashed open.
Speaker A:A pause of shock, then she drew a deep breath and shouted the final words.
Speaker A:By blood and iron be bound.
Speaker A:Mara wailed, and the original mirror cracked as it pulled her back.
Speaker A:The house shuddered, windows shattered and floorboards split.
Speaker A:Then silence.
Speaker A:They stumbled outside, gulping the fresh night air.
Speaker A:The bungalow was still, quiet, and Morrow was trapped in the shattered mirror, which they buried in consecrated ground.
Speaker A:Ellen Harper sought a home but found a prison instead, an echo of rage that lingered in the soil of Willow Creek.
Speaker A:Clara Voss, Sam Carter, and their allies dared to challenge that rage, believing blood and iron could bind what fear had fed.
Speaker A:They may have won a battle, but the war is never truly over.
Speaker A:For in the quiet corners of our world, where mirrors gleam and shadows whisper, there are forces that defy our understanding, forces that thrive on our deepest fears, waiting for a crack in our resolve.
Speaker A:Maracaid reminds us of a truth as old as time.
Speaker A:Some debts cannot be paid, a lesson learned when reality frays.
Speaker A:If you're enjoying the stories, please consider donating to support the research and production that go into bringing them to you by buying me a coffee.
Speaker A:The link to send support is in the episode's show notes.
Speaker A:I would greatly appreciate your support.
Speaker A:Now on to today's second story, which is the Watcher Picture.
Speaker A:A man named Elliot Harper, a writer fleeing the clamor of New York City for the solitude of a mountain cabin.
Speaker A:He seeks silence, a refuge from failure in the heart of the Adirondack wilderness.
Speaker A:But in these ancient mountains, where snow buries secrets and the wind whispers of forgotten souls, solitude is a dangerous companion.
Speaker A:Elliot Harper is about to learn that some footsteps lead not to escape, but to the destination where reality frays.
Speaker A:This is the story of the Watcher.
Speaker A:Elliot Harper was suffocating in New York City.
Speaker A:The city's pulse, screaming sirens, crowded subways, and the relentless buzz of 8 million lives had broken him.
Speaker A:Once a celebrated novelist, his debut, a haunting meditation on life, had dazzled critics.
Speaker A:But his later works crumbled under expectations, each one a louder flop.
Speaker A:And at 40, he was a husk of his former self.
Speaker A:Divorced, estranged from his sister, and haunted by deadlines he couldn't meet, Elliot craved escape.
Speaker A:The cabin, a dilapidated rental deep in the Adirondack Mountains, promised silence.
Speaker A:No wifi, no cell service.
Speaker A:Just him, his notebooks, and the pines.
Speaker A:A blizzard was forecast, but Elliot didn't care.
Speaker A:He packed his jeep with supplies, food, whiskey and a laptop, and fled north, the city skyline fading in his rearview mirror.
Speaker A:The cabin was a relic, its log walls stained black by time, its steeply pitched roof buckling under the weight of forgotten wood winters.
Speaker A:It crouched in a clearing surrounded by towering pines that swayed like mourners.
Speaker A:The air was cold and sharp, laced with a faint rot of damp wood.
Speaker A:Inside, the cabin was stark.
Speaker A:A stone fireplace loomed over the main room, which was furnished with a sagging couch and a scarred oak table.
Speaker A:A staircase led to a loft which held a lumpy mattress beneath a frost cracked window.
Speaker A:The floorboards groaned and the air held an acrid tang like charred bone.
Speaker A:A generator sputtered in a shed out back, and a pile of firewood offered warmth.
Speaker A:Elliot unpacked, lit a fire, and felt a flicker of hope.
Speaker A:Here he could write again.
Speaker A:For the first day, he did.
Speaker A:He typed by the fire, the quack of keys drowning out the storm's howl.
Speaker A:The blizzard buried the world, sealing the cabin in white.
Speaker A:The wind wailed, but it was raw, elemental, a stark contrast to the city's chaos.
Speaker A:By the second night, however, the isolation turned heavy.
Speaker A:The wind's cries sounded too human, and the fire's shadows twisted in corners, defying the light.
Speaker A:Elliot dismissed it as exhaustion, poured a whiskey and focused on his novel, a gothic tale of a man haunted by his past.
Speaker A:The irony gnawed at him.
Speaker A:Past midnight, the storm's howling wind eased, and he heard it, a faint crunch from outside.
Speaker A:Elliot paused, fingers frozen over the keyboard.
Speaker A:The sound came again.
Speaker A:Crunch, crunch.
Speaker A:Slow, deliberate, like boots pressing into deep snow.
Speaker A:He stood, heart thudding, and listened.
Speaker A:The steps circled the cabin, methodical, unhurried.
Speaker A:Crunch.
Speaker A:Crunch.
Speaker A:Crunch.
Speaker A:They passed the window, the door, then continued along the back wall.
Speaker A:He told himself it was wildlife, a deer, a moose, perhaps.
Speaker A:But the steps seemed too precise, too human.
Speaker A:He crept to the window, wiping frost from the glass, and peered into the swirling snow.
Speaker A:The world was a white abyss, the pines mere shadows.
Speaker A:He saw nothing, no movement, no form.
Speaker A:And the footsteps had stopped.
Speaker A:Elliot stood, breath fogging the glass, waiting.
Speaker A:The silence was suffocating, heavier than the wind.
Speaker A:Then the steps resumed, crunch.
Speaker A:Louder, Closer.
Speaker A:Right outside the door.
Speaker A:His stomach lurched.
Speaker A:He grabbed the fire poker, its iron cold in his hand.
Speaker A:The cabin's door had no lock.
Speaker A:Why would it in this wilderness?
Speaker A:But a heavy latch held it shut.
Speaker A:He checked it, fingers trembling, and found it secure.
Speaker A:He didn't call out.
Speaker A:The thought felt reckless, like inviting, inviting something in.
Speaker A:Instead, he pressed his ear to the door, the wood chilling his skin.
Speaker A:For a moment, there was nothing.
Speaker A:Then a low, rasping breath, like air dragged through brittle twigs, came from the other side.
Speaker A:It was close, inches away.
Speaker A:Elliot stumbled back, gripping the poker.
Speaker A:The latch rattled.
Speaker A:A sharp clank, once, twice, then stilled.
Speaker A:Sleep was a lost cause.
Speaker A:Elliot sat by the fire, poker across his lap, whiskey untouched.
Speaker A:Every sound jolted him.
Speaker A:The roofs groan, the hearths pop.
Speaker A:He tried to rationalize it.
Speaker A:A lost hiker, a trick of the storm.
Speaker A:But the breathing, that awful breathing, was no illusion.
Speaker A:Dawn brought gray light and a renewed bout of snow.
Speaker A:It fell in heavy flakes, cloaking the world in silence.
Speaker A:Elliot bundled up, grabbed a flashlight, and stepped outside.
Speaker A:The air stung his face as he scanned the snow, and his breath caught.
Speaker A:A single set of footprints, human sized, circled the cabin.
Speaker A:They were fresh edges, sharp, untouched by drifting snow.
Speaker A:And the prints were deep, as if made by something heavy, and passed beneath each window like a watcher peering in.
Speaker A:Elliot followed them, boots sinking, his heart pounding.
Speaker A:The tracks led to the door and stopped.
Speaker A:No prints led away.
Speaker A:It was as if the walker had dissolved.
Speaker A:He checked the door, windows, the shed.
Speaker A:Nothing was disturbed.
Speaker A:No marks, nor signs of entry.
Speaker A:Just those footprints.
Speaker A:A silent challenge.
Speaker A:Elliot's mind scrambled.
Speaker A:Maybe the wind erased the departing tracks, or he had missed something.
Speaker A:But the print's precision, their unbroken circle, felt like a ritual, a claim.
Speaker A:Back inside, he found a journal in a drawer, its pages yellowed and curling.
Speaker A: er who had stayed here in the: Speaker A:Early entries were mundane weather, game, but then grew unhinged.
Speaker A:It walks at night, the hunter wrote.
Speaker A:Circles.
Speaker A:The cabin never stops.
Speaker A:It sees me.
Speaker A:Later, he mentioned Adirondack tales whispered by locals.
Speaker A:The watcher, a spirit older than the mountains, born from the blood of the Paleo Indians and Algonquin hunters who clashed here long ago.
Speaker A:The Haudenosaunee called this land a dish with one spoon, a shared hunting ground.
Speaker A:But some said it was cursed, claimed by a presence that stalked the lonely.
Speaker A:It marks you with steps, the hunter wrote.
Speaker A:Don't look at it.
Speaker A: e final entry, dated February: Speaker A:It's here.
Speaker A:I can't leave.
Speaker A:Elliott slammed the journal shut, hands shaking.
Speaker A:He recalled stories from a bartender in Lake Placid, where he had stopped for gas.
Speaker A:The Adirondacks the man said, were riddled with ghosts.
Speaker A:Lumberjacks lost in storms.
Speaker A:Miners vanished in collapsed shafts, travelers who stepped into the snow and never returned.
Speaker A:Some spoke of the watcher, a shadow that hunted in blizzards, its footsteps a warning.
Speaker A:If you see it, you're already gone, the bartender had said, half smirking.
Speaker A:Elliot hadn't believed it then.
Speaker A:Now he wasn't so sure.
Speaker A:He spent the day fortifying the cabin.
Speaker A:He nailed boards from the shed over the windows, dragged the couch against the door, and sharpened a rusted knife.
Speaker A:In the shed, he found an ax, its blades scarred but heavy.
Speaker A:He uncovered more relics.
Speaker A:A rusted trap under a floorboard.
Speaker A:A faded photo of a gaunt man outside the cabin, his eyes hollow.
Speaker A:The journal mentioned a trapper's tale.
Speaker A:The watcher didn't just stalk.
Speaker A:It waited, patient as the mountains, until its prey broke.
Speaker A:It wants your fear, the hunter wrote.
Speaker A:That night, the storm roared back, a maelstrom that shook the cabin.
Speaker A:Elliot sat by the fire, axe in one hand, poker in the other.
Speaker A:The footsteps returned, louder, heavier, the crunch vibrating through the floor.
Speaker A:They circled, paused, then circled again, relentless.
Speaker A:The latch rattled, the door shuddering.
Speaker A:The couch groaned but held.
Speaker A:The air turned frigid, the fire dimming despite fresh logs.
Speaker A:The cold was unnatural, seeping into Elliott's bones.
Speaker A:He didn't sleep, and morning revealed fresh footprints stopping at the door.
Speaker A:Fresh scratches marred the wood, jagged at eye level, like claws dragged in rage.
Speaker A:Elliott packed his bag and trudged to the jeep.
Speaker A:But the road was buried beneath the snow.
Speaker A:Not even a jeep was going to drive out.
Speaker A:He was trapped.
Speaker A:The third day was torment.
Speaker A:Elliot stopped eating, his appetite gone.
Speaker A:The cabin shrank, the walls closing in.
Speaker A:He found a child's drawing under the loft mattress, a crude sketch of a tall, thin figure in the snow, its eyes black voids.
Speaker A:The journal mentioned a miner's story, a man who saw the watcher and went mad, clawing his eyes out to unsee it.
Speaker A:Night fell, the storm a howling beast.
Speaker A:Elliott clutched the axe, the fire his only light.
Speaker A:The footsteps this time were slower, heavier, a deliberate taunt.
Speaker A:The scratches deepened and wood splintered.
Speaker A:The fire flickered, casting a shadow, not Elliot's, but something tall, whims bent, wrong edges sharpening, Then the footsteps shifted.
Speaker A:Crunch, crunch.
Speaker A:They came from the loft, descending the stairs.
Speaker A:Elliot spun, flashlight trembling.
Speaker A:The staircase was empty, but the steps continued, invisible, unstoppable.
Speaker A:The door creaked, inching open despite the couch, revealing snow and something standing there.
Speaker A:Its form blurred, eyes like frost.
Speaker A:Elliot swung the axe, hitting air.
Speaker A:The fire died, darkness swallowing the cabin.
Speaker A:He screamed, stumbling back, the axe falling.
Speaker A:The last thing he saw was the figure, closer now, its shadow stretching across the floor.
Speaker A:When the storm cleared, rangers found the cabin empty.
Speaker A:Elliot's jeep was buried in a deep drift.
Speaker A:Footprints circled the cabin, stopping at the door.
Speaker A:Another set, made by someone running, departed the cabin and disappeared into the forest.
Speaker A:The rangers followed the trail to the edge of a deep ravine, where the prince told the story of someone who had walked off the edge without any apparent care or hesitation.
Speaker A:At the bottom of the long drop, Elliot's body lay shattered and broken on the rocks.
Speaker A:Locals whisper to the watcher, some say it's a spirit that guards the mountains, while others claim it's a malevolent force responsible for deaths of trespassers since before the first explorers reached the new world.
Speaker A:Ever the truth may be Eliot Harper came to the Adirondacks seeking solitude and a chance to outrun his failures.
Speaker A:Instead, he found a shadow woven into the fabric of these mountains, patient and unforgiving.
Speaker A:The stories presented are inspired by true events.
Speaker A:Names may have been changed for privacy reasons.
Speaker A:New episodes of When Reality Phrase are uploaded every Monday and Thursday.
Speaker A:If you're enjoying the journey into the strange, the mysterious, and the unexplained, be sure to press that Follow or Subscribe button and turn on all reminders so you're alerted whenever an episode drops.
Speaker A:Until next time, thank you for listening to When Reality Frays.
