HER HORRORWEEN - Brown Widows

[00:00:00] [SPEAKER_02] Listen up, thrillers. A quick note. Tonight's Devious Audio Delight contains adult content and language. Please see the content warnings in the show notes.

[00:00:20] [SPEAKER_02] The police get to him just in time. His decorated letter jacket, ten years past its prime, hangs off his body in shreds, ripped from the nails clawing to prevent his escape. His feathered hair sprouts the twigs and thorns he army crawls through, before bursting to freedom onto Old Creek Road. He collapses onto the asphalt. His breath, visible in the cold midnight air, lights up in red and blue.

[00:00:50] [SPEAKER_02] With a trembling arm, he hails the flashing lights. He relays his incredible tale through gasps and tears to the pretty blonde patrol woman. It is only when he moves to wipe the snot from his face that he realizes her partner, who he thought was taking his vitals, has handcuffed him. As a local, he should know better.

[00:01:13] [SPEAKER_02] He should know not to trust any of the women who call the rugged crags and impenetrable woods of this imposing mountain their home. But he doesn't believe the whispers. That women are capable of such things. But we are. And that dependable, sexist naivete buys me enough time to speed down the mountain and find him before the officers call it in.

[00:01:39] [SPEAKER_02] I careen around the curve and spot him just off the shoulder, slumped against that rotten, upturned tree stump that everyone says looks like an old troll face. The blonde clocks me, pulls her radio up to her lips and hovers her thumb over the talk button. Don't you dare, I call, tumbling out of the moving van, willing it to find the curb and stop on its own. She spits a soggy toothpick out over her shoulder. I beeline to...

[00:02:09] [SPEAKER_02] Gosh, I don't even know his name. I think his jacket says... Dawn? Still wobbly from the elixir, I yank him from the ground and drag him to the van's sliding door. The blonde tosses her radio back in the cruiser, maneuvers to the trunk and leans on it. She's refusing to help me stuff him in. Not that I would have accepted it anyway. She cocks her head.

[00:02:32] [SPEAKER_01] You know we're always happy to be of service. But you might want to keep a tighter leash on... your pets. I glare at her. Bite me. Righteous makeup.

[00:02:45] [SPEAKER_02] I catch my reflection in her aviators. The artistic lines of my ritual coal are smeared across my face. All thanks to Dawn shoving me into the coition chamber's stone wall during his escape. Thank you, Officer Corey Hart. She snorts and pops a new toothpick from some invisible stash. These female police officers are only cult-adjacent and obviously envious of my superior standing. But she isn't wrong.

[00:03:15] [SPEAKER_02] I never should have lost him. If I were anyone else, I would have gotten expelled from the cult for this. Some screw-ups are expected. Almost welcomed. It gives senior members a sanctioned reason to torment the junior ones. But I'm not junior anymore. Losing this man at this moment in our history could derail everything we've spent millennia working towards.

[00:03:41] [SPEAKER_02] Even if we could start the ritual all over with someone new, it's difficult and time-consuming. Identifying, luring, and preparing the right man for his sacred duty. And there's no guarantee we could pull it together in time. I grunt as I swing his muscular legs into the van and slide the door shut. I glare back at the officer. Our ancient mother thanks you for your service.

[00:04:09] [SPEAKER_02] Truly, no role is too small. Yeah, I'm a petty bitch. She flips me off and mumbles something about better be worth it before she and her partner get back in their cruiser and speed off down the mountain. I stand defiant until out of sight of the rearview mirror. Then slide to the ground and let out a petulant groan. Being a cult member has not come naturally to me.

[00:04:35] [SPEAKER_02] I'm not detail-oriented enough or single-minded enough. I'm the outfielder chasing butterflies. And the roommate unloading a dishwasher full of dirty plates back in the cupboard. I want to revive our ancient mother of the vast unknowable just as badly as any other cultist. But I'm not built for a starring role in making that happen. Well, I am, technically. But something seems to have glitched in me along the way.

[00:05:06] [SPEAKER_02] It bothers the others that someone so clumsy, so graceless as me, is the mother of mothers. Destined to birth the reincarnation of her whose true name is unpronounceable by humankind. But here we are. And I can't help the timing. That's why they keep me around. They have no choice unless they want to forego our only chance at her resurrection.

[00:05:33] [SPEAKER_02] The scriptures reveal that 160,000 years ago, traitors within her paradise, Ki, launched an unjust and unprovoked attack against her. Rather than forgive those treacherous snakes and spare their lives with an undeserved pardon, she brought forth a great supernova. To destroy Ki entirely.

[00:05:58] [SPEAKER_02] The explosion transformed her and hurled her through tears in the fabric of space until she arrived here, on Earth. Life force nearly depleted. A kind of dormancy where her essence endures within the Empyrean fires. She arranged her future reincarnation to coincide with the arrival of that same supernova's light to Earth, from which she will reclaim the energy she created and reconstitute herself.

[00:06:27] [SPEAKER_02] Badass, right?

[00:06:30] [SPEAKER_02] Badass, right?

[00:07:04] [SPEAKER_02] Badass, right? Badass, right? Badass, right? Badass, right? Badass, right? Badass, right?

[00:07:26] Badass, right? Badass, right?

[00:07:26] [SPEAKER_02] The other cultists make snide comments skeptical of my lineage, given I'm a total airhead, but I just glower at them until they back down like the betas they are. My eyes terrify them and remind them of their place. People have always marveled over them. They're so dark brown they look black, they'd say. Black is not a human eye color. But my eyes are not entirely human.

[00:07:54] [SPEAKER_02] They are the visual link to her. As black as my mother's, grandmother's, great-grandmother's, and all the greats before her, I assume. Given the repeated accusations of witchcraft leveled at my ancestors, with such proof scribbled into church tomes as eyes like tar, and has cats. I don't have a cat, though. I doubt I could keep it alive.

[00:08:21] [SPEAKER_02] Anyway, by design, none of my blessed ancestors had more than one child, or a boy. And now, I'm the last of the bloodline of our great mother and savior. And every sire meets the same end after he plays his part. My grandmother explained this to me as a child. Her gray and white streaked hair, bundled on top of her head in braids,

[00:08:46] [SPEAKER_02] glowed in the moonlight as she recounted the conception of my mother over s'mores one evening. He was beautiful. If a man can be beautiful. The way he gave himself over to me. She placed a hand on her heart and stared into the fire for a moment, before she fixed her gaze on me once again and squealed. And he tasted love.

[00:09:15] [SPEAKER_02] She chomped down on a melty, stringy marshmallow. I couldn't help but giggle. When I compared this arrangement to that of the black widow or praying mantis, she smiled and patted my head. Then she described the brown widow to me. How the males threw themselves at sex and death. First mating, then thrusting their abdomens into the fangs of the females.

[00:09:43] [SPEAKER_02] What would cause a creature to hasten its own demise, I wondered. She answered the bewilderment in my eyes with the only explanation needed. The elixir. That's why the sacrificial sire is so hard to find. He must be a man who is the last of his own bloodline. He must be naturally susceptible to the suggestive properties of the elixir.

[00:10:09] [SPEAKER_02] Not everyone can handle our homemade concoction of witch's hair, cobra lily, doll's eye, salvia, and jimson weed. And of course, blood of the impending mother. That little taste of ancient mother is the special sauce. If the elixir doesn't kill the potential sire outright, or turn him into a totally useless freakazoid, then he continues on to the mating ceremony.

[00:10:35] [SPEAKER_02] Oh sure, every generation has faced multiple lecherous sumerologists, Egyptologists, occultists, even hobbyists of the weird. Those who put the pieces together of a supposed mythical maternalist sex cult. Some found our mountain hideaway. Like a few years ago. A PhD candidate from Oxford actually believed that we spun a telepathic web of forbidden pleasure

[00:11:02] [SPEAKER_02] to lure him to us, against his will for use in our rituals. Gag. Anyway, we're not exactly drowning in sire candidates. But we don't grab any random perv off the street who hopes he'll join some mystical orgy he's dreamt up. And none of these idiots have ever met all of the criteria needed. So no, we didn't lure in that sad sack academic. And we don't perform any rituals until needed to continue the bloodline.

[00:11:31] [SPEAKER_02] Which isn't that often. But once he was here, we couldn't let him live. We had to protect our home. We dwell in the Rockies, the Alps, the Himalayas, the Atlas. We've conquered every range on this tiny planet and often move between them. But on our terms. No one else's. So these trespassers are nothing but pests we must exterminate.

[00:11:58] [SPEAKER_02] But once we do find the sire, it's a really special festive time for us. I glance back at Don, curled up in the back, head lolling with every bump in the road. The other occultists may enjoy the failed sires if they want. But Don, he's all mine. I'm not even stressed over his escape attempt. I dig his moxie.

[00:12:24] [SPEAKER_02] And once our rituals are done and the full dose of elixir is in him, he'll willingly offer his body up to me. First, to plant the final seed to bring forth our ancient mother. And then, to bear his neck to my blade and beseech me to drain his life so that I will thrive and create our goddess. It helps that he'll beg for it. Torment will course through his veins until the last drop of blood has left him.

[00:12:52] [SPEAKER_02] And peace settles over him. Not that I feel too bad about the loss of one small-town loser, especially given how ancient mother will purge the rest. He'll meet his end with a great lay and an act that will truly give his life meaning. He's getting off easy. More than I can say for most people. As I wind through the hidden past to our sanctuary, I anticipate what's to come. Joyful tears streak down my cheeks.

[00:13:22] [SPEAKER_02] The ritual won't start until sunrise, so I ease off the gas. I have time to soak it all in and return him to the coition chamber before the other cultists panic. He whimpers, so I turn on the radio and sing along to calm him down. There's enough elixir left in him that my ecstasy infects him, and he stops fighting his restraints. God, this song is bitchin'. The hunger. The anticipation.

[00:13:51] [SPEAKER_02] I'm taking Don home tonight. And the light will never find him again.

[00:14:17] [SPEAKER_00] The local popping judge. You've been listening to Ominous Thrill Her Horrorween. It's created, produced, directed, and sound designed by myself, Jeff Schmidt. If this is your first Ominous Thrill episode, please look back in the feed to find other stories you might enjoy. There's plenty of devious audio delights to choose from. The best way to help support making more Ominous Thrill is to subscribe to the ad-free feed, The Red Room, on Patreon and Apple Podcasts.

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