Welcome to episode three of the Accursed. 

This is a story you're going to want to listen to from the beginning, so if you're just jumping in now, I suggest going back to episode one and starting there. 

Also, 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 so that you can honor yourself and your boundaries. An extra note this week this story does involve a dog. While there is no direct violence towards the dog, it does disappear in a somewhat mysterious and perhaps distressing way. 

I've got two stories for you today. The first one is a suggestion from a friend of mine. It is her current favorite and it also serves as a good introduction to a recurring theme in these stories. The woods. In particular, the woods that border the family homestead. This story arrived about three months in the dog still whined at the back door.


~STORY~


For years. Almost every night at 8:30 I would hear her scratch against the old screen door, her high pitched cry begging to come in. But she wasn't there. After a while I knew she was never going to be there. It was hard not to hope, though, even all those years later. 


I remember I sat on the steps going up to the house playing fetch with Maggie. That was her name, Maggie. Some sort of beagle mix, smallish but sturdy. Gran found her as a puppy under one of the magnolias down by the lake about a year before she passed. That old lake had a hum to it, has it still a song, more than just the wind through the cattails, but no one seemed to care but me. 


When I was young, I would ask the grown ups what the lake was saying and they would just throw their heads back and laugh as if there was some big joke that no one would tell me about. Mama was the worst. She would smile and pat my head. Oh, hazelnut, she would say, as if she couldn't hear it too. I never did like the way that mist clung to the water in the morning, twisting into faces and claws, tendrils reaching out a little too close. I wouldn't trust anything that came from out there. But Gran said she was just a puppy, awfully tiny and would be no trouble at all. So I did what I was told and got the old collar from whichever one was the one who had it before. And Maggie was ours. 


I grew to like her. When I moved into the room upstairs, she would stand on my bed while I got ready for the night, looking out the window, looking out over the woods. And if there was ever a shimmer at all, she would growl. She never let anything show m its face to me more than all those other mutts did when this happened. I'd been at the house with Pop for longer than I usually was, longer than I should have been. But no one knew where Mama was, and I think Aunt Grace was just plain tired of me. the excuse was always that Pop needed the company with Gran gone and all. But he only needed that old dog. 


It was nice of him to let me stay, though. It was dusk and the shadows were pulled in tight against us. The nights had started getting chilly, and I shivered as a breeze blew through. I heard Pop driving up well before I saw him. The rumble of the truck and the crunch of the gravel from down the hill. I threw a ball, but Maggie heard Pop, too, and took off to meet him. She was a good dog. I had no reason to worry. This is what happened every night. She would run down the road until Pop stopped and let her in the cab. They drove back to the house together. I stayed on the steps, waiting. 


My eyes turned to the woods. They shimmered in that way they do, reminding me, daring me. There was something out there that night. Something more. I didn't like the way the air felt. A, shadow moved along the old stone fence longer than it had any right to be. I should have gone inside, I know. None of it would have happened if I had just gone inside and started supper like I was supposed to. A noise came from the house that made me flinch. A radio where there should have only been silence. I could hear the crackle of the static, but that was all. I couldn't move. I just couldn't. It was all wrong. 

I wanted to be there with Pop, just in case. Though deep under my skin, I knew it wouldn't matter at all. I wish I could say I was relieved when Pop turned into the driveway, but I could see his face through the windshield. He had seen the woods as he was driving up. He already knew. Get in the house. He hollered. The moment he opened the door, I was. Get in the house. He yelled again, interrupting me. You are just like your mother. I swear. He meant it as a slap, but it felt like a punch. 


I stood still and steady. Maggie was out of the truck and jumping at his feet, wanting her treat she knew was in his pocket. The dog stopped first, hearing it before we could. But after a second or two, our heads snapped towards the growing night and the stone fence. The howl was low, but piercing still. Maggie howled back, and the sound Made my skin crawl. Papa and I locked eyes. We knew he bent down to grab her collar, but she darted away towards the noise, towards the woods. I didn't think. I just jumped up and began to run after her. I remember the way the world blurred around me. And I remember his voice, Pop. Hollering for us to stop. By some miracle, we both did. Though Maggie was still length in front of me, Pop a ways behind me. Fear rushed through and stole my breath. 


I bent over, gasping for air in the stillness that, Howell persisted, deepening, stretching beyond where I could hear. Maggie twitched at the sound, but Pop hissed and she stopped, turning to look at him. I got down low, move toward her slowly as I could, not wanting to startle her into running. 

“Hey, girl”, I said softly. Her ears shifted slightly towards me. “Come on, Mags. Come on, girl.”


 She turned back towards the fence, towards the woods, towards whatever was howling for her in the distance. Pop started calling for her too. He kept his voice low, but he called her name over and over. I heard him dig into his pocket and take out that bit of jerky he had for her. She turned her whole body as if whatever spell those woods cast was finally broken. I thought that might be enough, that she would trot over to him, get her spoils, and we would go in the house, shut the blinds and lock up tight for the night. But she stayed put, her eyes focused on Pop, but her ears searching for whatever was happening over the threshold. I got down on my belly and started to crawl towards her. She wasn't far, not. Not at all. 


My hand wrapped around her collar just as the howl began to spin in on itself, twisting into something that burrowed deep into my belly. It was high and sweet, a tune that never really was anything more than the way your mind made the day go faster. She'd sung it to herself while hanging the wash or making supper. It should have been sweet to hear a memory of Gran come to life. But I knew she wasn't there. I don't know where she went, but I saw her go. And it sure wasn't in those woods. 


Maggie began to pull, but I held on, trying my best to pull her closer. I. I was only 12, but I tried. The song grew louder, as if Gran were coming near. Maggie started to cry, whimper, as if she were begging me to let her go. I could hear Pop saying that it was okay over and over. I wasn't sure which one of three of us he was talking to. I pulled her quick. She shrieked, but I had her now in my Lap. And I kept my arms around her, not sure how to move. She started to growl and squirm. I just needed her to stop. I needed it all to stop. Then he could come here and pick her up. Or she would just follow us back in the house like she did every night. The louder that whatever it was got, the more frantic Maggie grew. And it got so loud that I could feel the world rumble in my chest. Maggie growled and thrashed. The wind shook the leaves and the trees bowed towards us. It was a taunt from the devil. I swear. 


I heard Pop take a step, the gravel shifting under his weight. I don't know if it was the noise that did it or if she knew he was going to get her. If there was more. I could never quite see, but Maggie bit me hard on my arm. On instinct, I, grabbed at myself, placing my hand over the bite. And she ran as fast as I'd ever seen her go. I howled my own cry above all the noise the night was offering. Pop screamed for her, but she didn't stop. She jumped right over the stone fence and was gone. The world fell quiet again. Just the moan of my pain and the ragged breath of my grandfather remained. 


We stayed as we were until the wind kicked up seconds lightly. But time was playing her own tricks. He grabbed me and pulled me up before rushing into the house. Pop had me sit down at the kitchen table as he closed everything up. He was unsteady, holding onto the walls as if they would show him the way. It's the first time I ever thought that he was old. He cleaned the bite and bandaged me up. I watched his face as he did. All showed in his eyes. The fear tumbling against the grief, the anger. 


“You did good”, he said, and gently gave me a pat of my hand. 


I broke into tears, sobbing that I was sorry. I was sorry. I was sorry. He stood, kissed the top of my head and again said, you did good. 


We ate in silence, only the wind making herself known. I was washing the dishes when I heard it, heard her. Pops gave me a look that told me I should stop, to be still. I listened, not moving an inch. I swear you could hear her nails on the screen door. You could hear her crying as she always did when she wanted to come back in. My heart leapt, but Pop didn't move. The sounds got louder, more demanding, but he still didn't move. Tears started to fall down my face, but I did my best to stay quiet. He walked over to the window and peeked out. I don't know what he saw. But I know that he went ashen and had to hold himself up against the silly. He turned to me and told me to get off to bed. I didn't argue. I didn't want to know any more than I already had. 


I went back out to the kitchen well after midnight to get some water. And he was sitting by the back door with a shotgun, awake and waiting for something. He just gave me a grim smile and nodded. The next night, as we were sitting down for supper, we heard the same noise, the same scratching at the door. 

For a moment, just one, I lit up, thinking Maggie was back. I started to get up when Pop's face told me to sit back down and not move. He peeked out the window again and said no one was there, that it must be the wind. We both knew he was lying. The next night, when we heard the scratching, he gave me a sharp look. Neither one of us said anything. After a few days, no more needed to be said. We just went on as usual, not ever mentioning that old dog again. 


I thought it might stop when Pop passed, but it still happens, you know. Not as often as it did. I looked once when no one was home, but there was no one out there. Nothing I could see, at least. Never bothered looking again.


~END OF STORY~


 A lot of Hazel's stories involve the woods. And, I can't help but wonder if this is where it all began. Whatever is hunting them, whatever makes them all the way they are. In another story, Hazel writes the woods were alive with something that should have stayed dead. That notion gives me the creeps, but I suspect she's right. 


The second story also came in the first few months. I wasn't tracking them then because honestly, it just didn't occur to me to. This one has more of a haunted house or, well, apartment feel. It's on the shorter side, too.


~STORY~




 I was young enough for Mama to be able to wrap her whole hand around my wrist when she pulled me through the street and up the stairs. The apartment was over a butcher shop and the smell of old blood had made its way into the wood floor. But Mama was so very proud. And that was all that could ever matter. It's the first time I ever remember it being just Mama and I. 


Mama was in one of her moods and shooed me off to the bedroom so she could make supper without me underfoot. I wasn't allowed in there often, but it felt like a wonderland. Her bedspread was light pink and soft. Silk. Though there would be hell to pay if I mussed it up. She hung scarves and necklaces on the walls. All cheap as could be, mind you. But somehow it still looked like a palace. 


I sat in her closet, the clothes hanging down over me. I'd gotten a little diary for my birthday that year and carried it with me everywhere. I lay down on the floor and drew little squiggles I pretended were words. Sometimes a feeling overtakes me like it did then, like I'm underwater, All the pressures around me making my ears hurt, making my breath short. I tried to call out to Mama, but I couldn't make a sound. It took all the courage I had. But I looked up, hoping for something, but I didn't know what. I know for sure I wasn't hoping to see those dirty old boots, but there they were. Men's boots. 


They crossed in front of the closet and back again, pacing angrily. I couldn't see more, not then, at least. I just watched those boots walk back, back and forth. I held my breath, afraid of what would happen if I made a sound. I tried to draw myself back into the closet, but knocked over a pair of Mama's, heels. He stopped, and the world softened. For a breath, I thought that maybe he had gone. But then, without warning, I saw those boots standing right in front of the closet. 


The hangers parted with force and I heard him grunt and mumble. He looked right at me, but acted as if I wasn't there at all. I could see him finally. Old blue pants and a shirt that was torn and bloody. His face was smudged with dirt and his hair looked greasy and matted. He gnashed his teeth and turned away. I couldn't see him anymore. He just became a whisper. But I heard the rustle of the bedspread and then saw it being tossed to the ground. The bureau tipped over till the drawers opened and all of Mama's things were thrown to the floor. Even the big mirror fell and shattered. I heard him cry out, a wail that stung my heart. I closed my eyes, hoping it would all be over soon. 

Mama threw open the door, already screaming, Hazel. But she didn't get all that far. I heard her gasp. I stayed in the closet. Mama said my name, soft like a cloud, but I was too afraid to answer. She came over and kneeled in front of me. She reached out and I scampered into her arms. I tried to tell her that I didn't do it, but she hushed me right up. We both slept in the living room that night. 


~END OF STORY~


I often use the word unsettled to describe how reading these stories makes me feel. I keep trying to find a better word, but so many of the stories feel like they aim to dig, away at the solid foundation I worked very hard to build. This one did that for sure. These are the sort of stories experiences that I was terrified of as a child. Something in my house, in my room. It's why I look around at night to make sure there are no ghosts, just in case. Well, that is what I have for you for today. If you've got questions or ideas about what these stories are, I would love to hear them. You can email me at JoAnna@TheAccursed.com. Until next week. 


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.