Untold Podcast

A pack of werewolves plot to take down Santa in Kingsley, Michigan.

untold_podcast_-_cold_moon_christmas.mp3 File Size: 36068 kb File Type: mp3 Download File (Right Click to Save)

Kingsley, Michigan 2015
          
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” The elf screamed.

He tried to kick, but his feet were tied to an old wood table. He tried to punch, but his arms were restrained by a man.
No, not a man, a half man, half wolf with deep gray fur. A creature with only a hint of humanity illuminated by dim candlelight.

“It is December 23rd.” A second, red-furred creature growled. “You are his scout!”
          
“Just to assess the threat of your kind in the region. I don’t know his schedule. I’m not even supposed to check in until after Christmas!” The elf tried to hold back a whimper.

As an advanced scout for the timeless saint, he had received interrogation training. But the stakes in training only involved a letter grade.

A conservationist returns to her compound just after poachers have slaughtered everyone.

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Elena slapped a tree trunk for balance as she skidded past and flung herself down the faded trail to the lower stream. Her breath sobbed in her throat and hot tears threatened her vision.

They were close behind, but near the jackfruit tree she forced herself to a walk. She took small steps, rolling heel to toe, and counted the meter of “Rock-a-bye, Baby” as she stepped. She hesitated as she neared the rotting log and then veered to the right. Even in her haste—especially in her haste—Queenie was a safer bet than Elvis.
She glanced at the nearby mound and saw a telltale strip of olive-brown among the decomposing leaves. Nothing more. Her familiar tempo had bought her passage.

She veered left again, safely past the leaves and log, and reached the jackfruit tree. Its foliage was thin but with luck, she might go unnoticed among its enormous fruit. She hooked a leg over the lowest limb and wriggled as high as she trusted it.

She touched her phone, secure in its belt clip. It had no signal here, but she had to keep it close, for Dr. Morrison and Dr. Laghari.

She had been away when the poachers came.

Isabella charmed Demetrius with her innocent beauty and effortless grace from the moment they met. Her virtue hides a deadly secret that threatens to destroy their blossoming romance and everything he holds dear. Evil comes in many forms, but none so twisted and destructive as the promise of true love.

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The clear water of the reflecting pool shimmered like diamonds. The humidity made everything sticky, and the climbing mercury did nothing to temper the madness that came with it. Demetrius told himself he never intended for things to go as far as they did. He had always tried to maintain a calm and even demeanor as was demanded of him by breeding and upbringing. In stark contrast to his lifelong training, he lay half on and half off the stone bench surrounding the pool and stared into the water, tears streaming down his soot and blood covered face.

Everyone else was gone, and he was left to deal with the fallout alone. He remained partially on that bench throughout most of the day and into the evening, contemplating what had happened and what was next. One thing he knew for certain. His chance for a life in Paradise Valley had vanished.

A man wakes up in a cell with no memory of how he got there, and must find a way to escape before he is butchered like an animal.

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The shrill sound lasted for three seconds. Clangs and clacks quickly followed.

Dave’s eyes snapped open. He pulled his head from the floor, lungs working overtime. His heart boomed in his ears, and he could taste something metallic.

Blood, seeping from his right cheek.

Dave jerked into a sitting position and his vision swam. He planted his hands onto the thin blanket separating his naked flesh from the concrete floor. When his vision stabilized, he looked around.

The building was dark. There were metal bars on three sides and a cement wall behind, leaving him a 5x3 foot rectangle to sit in. Similar cells lined the walls of the long warehouse, a small alley running between them. A trickle of white light came from the end of the building to his right, followed by the faint sounds of machinery. He could smell urine and sweat.

A man hides in his attic as a creature stalks him from below.

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The wet stench of decaying wood lay heavy on the humid air that enveloped its victim.  The man moved his eyes slowly from side to side grasping only slivers of light from the jagged floor boards beneath him.  He released a long and slow breath through trembling lips as droplets of moisture trickled down his dirty skin. 

Pulling his arms around his weakened body, the man tried to remain silent and still - as if that would help him evade capture and certain death from the creature below him.  In reality, he was already dead and he knew it.  There was nothing that could change his fate at this point.  The only uncertainty that remained was how his final breaths of his life would be spent.  Would there be begging or pleading for mercy or would his body just lay helplessly paralyzed by the fear that now coursed throughout his nerve fibers?

After moving into the Deep South, Wallace's neighbors tell him to leave an offering for the Death Angel, or face the consequences.

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Heaps of dead leaves lined the streets of Smith’s Junction. Scarecrows, crudely fashioned out of broomsticks and old clothing, stood watch over the neighborhood. Fake spider-webbing clung to the eaves of each house like a fine layer of graveyard mist. White garbage bags filled with confetti had been made to look like ghosts floating above each roof. Stray strands of toilet paper dangled from a tree here and there-the remnants of teenage mischief.  There was no denying that this was October country.   

Wallace piloted his Buick through dark streets like the ferryman’s skiff through black waters. He kept waiting for his headlights to outline the small moving shape of a superhero or ballerina or a zombie with a meat cleaver buried in its head, but there didn’t seem to be any kids out yet. He checked his watch. Nearly 7:30.  Weird. 
He turned off on the boulevard, hoping to dodge as much Halloween traffic as possible. Above all else, he didn’t want to get trapped in a convoy of mini-vans. That didn’t seem to be a problem. The street was deserted, but it was far from empty.

Although they had lived in this town for a month now, Wallace still hadn’t gotten used to the way people in the South piled their trash at the edge of the street. Normally they just put out the customary bags of garbage in black bags. Tonight, however, the people of Smith’s Junction had put out everything but the kitchen sink…and upon closer inspection there were even one or two of those as well.

Old freezers, rusty wagons, wheelbarrows, galvanized metal buckets, trash cans, and a few discolored Igloo ice chests flanked either side of the blacktop.

Long ago, Raul watched helplessly as his family was attacked and killed by monstrous beasts. Now, as a seasoned monster-hunter, Raul returns to rage against the monsters.

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Long ago, Raul watched helplessly as his family was attacked and killed by monstrous beasts. Left with nothing but his oath to exact vengeance, he prepared for war. Now, as a seasoned monster-hunter, Raul returns to the land of his childhood, ready to track the monsters down, ready to resolve his life-long conflict, ready to deliver payback…no matter what the cost.

Follow Raul and embark on a dark and visceral fantasy tale about loss, hatred, and a dark life consumed with revenge. Join the hunt that lies within.

The Forresters have found their dream home… So has something else.

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Andy escorted the brothers up the stairs to the attic. He pulled the chain and heard the familiar scratching right away. A prickle crawled up his spine and it grew louder as he slid the ladder down to the landing.

"I want to go up alone, Mr. Forrester," Dan said with a slight tremble of excitement or fear in his voice.

Andy hesitated at first, then relented to the request. If there was some way the boy could conduct an experiment up there and determine the cause of all this, it just might bring them closer to some sort of resolution. Wishful thinking for sure, but it was better than no thinking at all. 

Once Dan was up, he peered down at Andy and Jason, and asked Andy to close the door.

"Dan, I don't think that's a very good idea. Tess got trapped up there and the door got stuck."

"Mr. Forrester, with all due respect, I am a professional. I have seen and heard more weird stuff than most people do in their lifetimes. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

How can Pearl escape the destruction coming to Earth? What will it take for an immortal to die?

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Shimmering white hair danced around her head, the strands like banners of light shifting with the rhythm of the dark wind. Warm air whipped at her skin with intense prejudice, the night’s single desire for her to die. To Pearl’s dismay, immortals could not be killed by mere wind, otherwise she would have been put out of her misery long before this moment.