Welcome to the Accursed. My name is Jo Anna and this is my story. 

This podcast shares some scares and frights. It also delves into adult themes. Specific content warnings are in the show notes of each episode. Please check there so that you can honor yourself and your needs. 
At the edge of my drive is a little library. Mine is bright yellow and called the Library of Wonders. Just after the New Year, when 2024 rolled into 2025, someone began leaving stories for me inside of the library. Weird, ghostly, creepy, interwoven stories. 

I remember going to check the mail one day and poking my head into the library to see if there was anything new in there. What I found amongst the books was a generic number 10 envelope with my name printed on it in block letters. Folks had left notes for me in the library before, so when I saw the envelope I assumed it was just that. I opened it up while walking back into the house and stopped short. I sat on the porch and read the whole thing. What was written inside gave me the shivers and to say I was confused would be an understatement. 

I remember I called my boyfriend while still sitting on the porch and told him everything. He thought it was weird, but also just kind of assumed it was done in the spirit of the library. Either that or maybe someone was having a mental health crisis. The library was a gift from him and when we first put it up, I wanted it to be more than just a place people dumped their old books. I filled it with art and little secret messages. Other people did things like that in there too, so it was not out of the realm of possibility that someone was just doing something that they thought was in the whole vision of the library. And honestly, they wouldn't have been wrong. 

Also, I love ghost stories and I wondered if someone who knew me was giving me a scary little present. If you knew my friends, you wouldn't think it was such an odd suggestion. 

After I got that first letter, I kept checking to see if anything else arrived. I couldn't decide if I wanted to find another story or if I preferred for it to be a one time bit of oddness. But about five days later there was another envelope. Another story, and they've been arriving steadily ever since. One, sometimes two times a week, always in the same kind of envelope, always with my name printed in block letters on the front. 

Getting these stories has been a mix of unsettling, but also kind of fun. It's my own strange little mystery, and I'm not gonna lie, I have enjoyed that. It has also freaked me out. More than a few times, I began to tell my friends what was happening. And of course, they wanted to read the stories too. It became a thing. Sunday dinner and a scary story for dessert. The stories, after a little while, started to connect together, like there was a larger narrative trying to be seen, one that is still not yet totally clear, but somehow even more unsettling than, the individual stories themselves. Everyone has their own theories as to what is happening and what it all means, but really, we know almost nothing. 

While this has been kinda creepy, I haven't really ever felt afraid for myself. There's never been any threats or anything like that. I've got cameras and an alarm system and there's been nothing so far. And knock on wood, it stays that way. one of my friends suggested making a blog or a podcast or something to share the stories, thinking that maybe some. Someone would have an idea as to what's going on or who might be doing this. I thought maybe people out there would like to be in on the mystery too.
It's been fun getting to share this with my friends. It's been a needed touch point in our busy lives and crazy world. Maybe other folks would like that too. Plus, I know I'm hardly the only one who likes ghost stories. I'm going to read you the first story, the first one that I got, and then each week I'll read you some more. I'll tell you what I know what my friends and I have figured out. Spoiler alert. Not that much. and if anything happens, I'll keep you posted. Other than that, we can enjoy a scare together. 

Okay, so this is the first story that was left for me. 



~STORY~

It was a dark and stormy night. Don't you just love stories that begin like that? A dark and stormy night is scary in its own right. Knowing that there might be more lurking in its shadows is downright terrifying. But this is more than a story. It really was a dark and stormy night. It had been a dark and stormy day. A, dark and stormy three days to be true. The storms were the worst because you couldn't leave. You had to stay in the house, listening to the water drip through the roof and into the pans that rally and I were charged with changing out every so often. 

This storm was the worst. Not because the electricity flickered until it finally faded, leaving us to the heat, without fans to even make a breeze. It was the worst because Mama was there. Mama was never there except when she needed something like money or to dry out. I don't know what Mama needed this time, but it didn't matter much. Aunt Grace always let her come back, reason or not, no matter what havoc was wrought. She didn't see Mama the way I did. 

Mama had arrived the day before the rain started a surprise, showing up on the porch with her suitcase and a bruise on her neck. She thought we wouldn't notice under the makeup. I won't lie. She was fine that first night, sitting next to me on the couch, brushing out my hair. She was telling me how she was going to get a place of her own and that I could come and live with her again. I didn't believe her, but it was nice to pretend for an evening. She had stories of the women at the store, how, they were so glamorous and how she knew I would just love them all. And when I turned 16, I could work right there with her. She was having a whole fit of laughter about the men who would buy perfume for their wives while sliding their hands down her her back and pinching her derriere. I remember her little shimmy, all proud of her bewitching ways, as if I didn't know who she was. 

When the rain started, Mama got crabby, having me run all over kingdom come for her. Bring me this, bring me that. She almost made me walk to the store to get her a pack of cigarettes, but Aunt Grace forbade it because she was worried about the creeks rising. 

On the first night of rain, she crawled into bed with me, saying that old couch was lumpy and hurting her back, saying that I should be the one to sleep out there, but she would be nice and we could share. She was afraid. I could feel the jitter in her belly. I wondered what was out there. Who was out there? 
I turned away and faced the wall, trying to find sleep. But she started to whisper, not wanting to wake Rally, I suppose. 



“I messed up”, she said, like it was some big revelation.



I said nothing back, hoping she would think I was already gone. But she wasn't fooled too easy. Not then, at least. I didn't mean to, she said, even quieter than before. She said it with an innocence in her voice, Trying to convince herself, no doubt. 



“What did you do? I said to the wall. 



“You just don't understand.” She harrumphed like a petulant child.

 I turned to face her. We were eye to eye. She got what she wanted. Me. 

“Gregory left me.”  Her eyes brimmed with crocodile tears. “He went back to his wife and he made all those girls hate me. All of them. Poison them with his lies. No one talks to me. No one even looks at me anymore.”



“Mama,”  I sighed. 
“What did you do?”


“Nothing. Everything's fine. Forget it,” She spat back at me and turned over. 



I waited until her breath grew shallow before letting myself fall to sleep. She ignored me the next day. Barely even looked at me, acting as if the night before never even happened. The power was out by then. once the sun went down, Rally and I sat on the stairs listening to the adults play cards. Mama, Aunt Grace, Uncle Arch. He had poured them some bourbon and everyone was downright giggly. Rally and I just sat there, listening. 

Rally was my cousin, Aunt Grace, and Uncle Arch's girl. Two years younger than me but at least 2 inches taller. She was kind and soft. I was still young enough to think I could protect her. See, I was a fool once, too. 

Rally and I just sat there quiet, hoping the adults would spill a tale or two that they kept hidden from us kids. But mostly they just gossiped about folks I didn't know until Mama asked Aunt Grace if she still had that old spirit board up in the attics. Rally's eyes went wide. She knew exactly where it was. She had brought it to our room a few months back, and I told her that I was not going to touch that. Not then, not ever. I made her put it under her mattress if she was going to insist on keeping it around. 

Uncle Art said he was calling it at night, but if they wanted to be fools, they could have at it. Aunt Grace called from the other room, "Rachel Lynn, you go get that talking board right now and bring it downstairs.” 

The way Rally rolled her eyes made me laugh. I didn't want to be there, though. I didn't want anything to do with it. I tried to sneak upstairs, but Mama hollered for me to come and play. When I said no, she marched right over to me and wrapped her hand around my wrist so tightly there were bruises there the very next day. 



The four of us sat at the dining room table with the wind and the rain and the drips and the buckets. Hate was brewing in my heart. Mama knew I didn't like these things. She knew, and she cared so little. All that mattered was the whim of her mind. Aunt Grace lit some more candles and all her hands went on that little planchette. Mama asked who was here tonight. She didn't need to. All of a sudden I could feel the breath on the back of my neck. It had been a time since that had happened, not since they first moved in and I had to come to stay. For a spell. I froze and didn't let the planchette move. Mama kicked me from under the table, and I swear that little piece of wood shot across the board so fast we could barely hold on. Oh, something's here, all right. Aunt Grace shrieked. If only they had asked. 

The board spelled out welcome as if it were greeting us. Mama asked who they were, and the board said, now I am. M here. Rally suddenly shot out with Prove it. They all looked around, waiting for a sign. I closed my eyes, wanting to go back to my room and be done with this nonsense. Something hit the front window. A bird, most likely. We all screamed, me included, and our hands flew back to the planchette, and before we could even ask, it spelled out See? That's when they started with the questions. Will Uncle Arch get a new job? Will Rally Mary? Should Mama leave the department store? The board told us yes, Fred Allerson, and no. The mama asked if she would ever meet the man of her dreams. The planchette moved slowly but deliberately. It took a while, but it spelled out, a man waits for you. Mama was all tickled and said that she was ready. My skin crawled as I again felt that hot breath on the back of my neck.

There was a big clap of thunder and we all screamed again. I guess this was enough for Uncle Arch, because he came in and said we were done. They put that board away nice and neat, left it on the dining room table without a care in the world. Riley was asleep by the time I finished washing up. When I walked back into the room, the rain picked up, hitting the tin roof with a fury. 
The noise gave me the shivers, and I got into bed as fast as I could. I was laying there for a good long time before I could feel it, the way the air grew still and heavy, making it downright hard to breathe. I only opened my eyes because Rally was there and I. I wanted to make sure she was okay. He was standing at the foot of her bed, flickering like moonlight coming in from the window. He looked tall and thin, clad in darkness. His features were sharp, all angles and edges, his hands and fists at his side. 

Rally didn't stir, and I wanted to keep it that way. He didn't seem to notice me at first, so I just stared as hard as I could, hoping he could feel me the way I felt him. There was another flash of lightning, and I gasped. Raleigh rolled over, never waking, but he saw me. Before I knew it, he was there, towering next to me. If he had eyes, I could not see them, but goodness knows I could feel them pouring into Me, he wouldn't get to me, though I could be still. That much I knew. He began whispering my name over and over, like he wanted me to know that I was not foreign to him. I stayed as still as I could, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. I don't think he liked that very much. He crouched down right next to me and told me all the ways my people were going to die. It does please me to know that he was only partially right. 
He finally disappeared when the sun rose and I was summoned to make breakfast. Mama didn't seem to notice. He stood right next to her as I put pancakes on her plate and she didn't so much as blink. She just kept going on about leaving the department store and finding that man who was waiting. She and Aunt Grace would say names of who it could be and then dissolve into giggles, all the while never paying attention to him. To be honest, I expected better of her, though by then I'd learned to expect close to nothing. 
He would look at me, knowing that I could see him, that I could feel the chill he brought. I don't think he liked that very much, especially since Mama flitted around the house without a care in the world. He took to screaming a raspy, full throated wail right at her, right to her. And she just carried on, not even flinching. Rage would wash over his shadowy face and I would jump each time while everyone else looked at me like I'd grown a second head. Mama even ruffled my hair and called me her little hazelnut, even though she knew what it felt like.

 Aunt Grace blamed me when she walked into the kitchen and the cupboards were open and four plates were smashed to the ground. She blamed me when the door wouldn't stay latched and kept blowing open. She even blamed me when she felt on her back as she made her way down to the basement, even though I was already in bed. I woke again in the middle of the night to his whispers. No longer prophecies. These were promises. Promises of taking my mother far away from me, breaking her, making her wither and crack, as if she wasn't going to do that all on her own. I don't know what he wanted. My rage, my pity. My help. He got none of that. And so as the winds rose, he began to howl, once again, matching the elements and causing a stir. The windows rattled, the house shook. Then a tree outside fell, missing the house, missing our room by almost nothing. Uncle Arch ran to us and I pretended to have just woken up to the noise.

The man sneered, but stayed in the corner, silent and still, for the rest of the night. The storm finally broke the next morning, and Mama was aching to leave. Uncle Arch took her to the bus station before noon. I placed her suitcase in the trunk, even though she told me such things were not becoming of a young woman. Aunt Grace made another joke about finding that man, but she already had. He was there waiting for her in the back of the sedan, looking right at me through the window. I guess he was gonna wait as long as it took. 



~End of story~

Imagine getting that out of the blue. Just so you know, a few days later, after the second story arrived, my boyfriend did move one of our security cameras so that I could see the library a whole lot better in case things got weird. So far, so good. Ish. These stories almost always arrive at night. Occasionally they seem to appear during the day, but it's hard for me to be sure. 

The stories, every one of them, are handwritten. The handwriting is a perfect looping script. There are almost no mistakes, only a very occasional line crossed out. The handwriting also doesn't change, no matter what seems to be happening to the author or in the story. The pages appear to be neatly ripped out of a book, like a journal of some sort of I only say that because you can see the subtle jagged edges on some of them. 

The stories all seem to be told by the same person, a woman. She refers to herself as Hazel occasionally, and the stories span over a long and seemingly haunted life. The stories don't arrive in any order, as far as I can tell. One time I might get one from her childhood, the next one, she's an adult. And after that we're back to childhood. I have no way of knowing if they're written in any particular order either. I've done my best to lay them out chronologically. Themes and arcs have definitely emerged, but I don't know where it's all going. Some stories are m well, it just seems like whoever's writing these isn't always the most stable. Some of the stories are straightforward, well written, and scary. Others still creepy or way more chaotic. 

Like I mentioned, I do have cameras set up outside, looking out into my yard and onto the road. There are now two that are focused on the library. There are none that are currently inside the library because honestly, that feels like going overboard. I have seen someone though, with the cameras, so I tend to find the envelopes in the morning. And on, the mornings that I discover a new story, there's always one person who goes to the library during the night. I can't tell who it is, but it seems like the same person. Sometimes that person has been to the library during the night and there isn't a story waiting for me the next day, though I suppose it's possible someone else snagged it. 

There are a few people, four or five in my neighborhood who look like the person I saw on the recordings, and I fully know that it could be someone who I don't know or see regularly, or who doesn't even live near me. I'm not comfortable with singling these people out and talking about them here. I mean, if you lived on my street and heard my description, you might very well be able to pick out who they are. So for now, I'm not going to get into that. There's really no need. Anyway, in terms of background, that's pretty much it. There is more to talk about and so many more stories to share. If anyone is actually listening to this and you have questions or ideas of what could be going on, you are very welcome to email me at joanna@theacursed.com thank you for listening. See you next time. 

The Accursed is written, created and all around conjured by me, Joanna Dane. You can find out more about the show at theaccursed.com or on Instagram TheAccursedPodcast. You can find out more about at joannadane.com.
 
The intro and outro song Cathedral is provided by Moby Gratis. Want an extra bonus story? Sign up for our mailing list at theaccursed.com and one will be delivered right to your inbox. If you like the show, there are two ways you could help us out. First, please consider leaving us a review on Apple Podcast, Spotify, or wherever you happen to listen. Second, share us with other folks in your world who also might love a ghost story. Thanks again for listening. Bye.