HER HORRORWEEN - Watcher of the Wisps

[00:00:00] [SPEAKER_00] Looking for a true crime and paranormal podcast with some salt and side-eye? Check out the hit podcast, Strange and Unexplained, with Daisy Egan. Each week, award-winning writer and actor Daisy Egan brings you stories from all corners of the globe, covering tried-and-true topics like Bigfoot and H.H. Holmes to stories you've probably never heard before, like Cassie Chadwick, a woman who used her feminine guile to defraud the men around her out of millions of dollars. All told with

[00:00:28] [SPEAKER_00] Daisy's signature skepticism and wit. Strange and Unexplained with Daisy Egan is in its sixth season, with new episodes dropping every Thursday. Binge all episodes wherever you get your podcasts, or go to grabbagcollab.com for early and ad-free episodes and bonus content. Strange and Unexplained with Daisy Egan, not your typical true crime podcast. Enjoy and stay strange. Want to immerse

[00:00:55] [SPEAKER_04] yourself in Wonder Woman's Amazon tribe? Or the setting of the movie Atlantis? Or the bisexual bliss of the mummy, curse and all? You found your queer history girlies in Spirits, mythology, legends, and folklore. Spirits is a weekly podcast where mythology buff Julia explains a different story from ancient myth or modern folklore to her childhood BFF, Amanda. They examine these stories through a queer feminist lens, drawing parallels to modern life, and asking why these stories still

[00:01:23] [SPEAKER_04] matter to us as human beings. Once a month, they also tell spooky stories from listeners' hometowns. Listen to Spirits, mythology, legends, and folklore in your podcast app every Wednesday. And as they say on Spirits, stay creepy, stay cool. 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.

[00:02:01] [SPEAKER_01] The show notes. Sunlight bleeds from the sky in a slow and patient darkness. Sulphur lamps pop on around campus. It's been three hours. And finally, Ivy exits the library. She's a frail wisp of a creature with long earthy hair and a gossamer skirt. She steps into the night and she's not even wearing a whistle around her neck. My heart clenches. Doesn't she know there are

[00:02:31] [SPEAKER_01] predators out here? She breezes past me, down the library steps, sweetening the air like a late-blooming flower. I stand, searching for the words I've rehearsed all semester, just here to escort her home like a gentleman. But mud fills my mouth and she disappears into the inky darkness between street lamps. The feral animal laughter of frat parties echoes in the distance.

[00:03:02] [SPEAKER_01] I wait until she reappears in the sallow lamp glow down the block, the foreshadowing after her. My unsung duty. Someone has to look out for this one. We've only ever spoken in passing. In women's studies. In the cafeteria line. Twice to say good morning on the sidewalk outside her door. But it's obvious. She's out of her element.

[00:03:32] [SPEAKER_01] She drifts between the quad's scattered street lamps. Light to darkness, then light again. Her eyes meek and downcast. I get the sense she'd rather be barefoot in my kitchen. Maybe pregnant. Like she's never heard of women's lip. A maiden from another time. I often imagine her wearing corsets with wildflowers in her hair. Fifty steps behind.

[00:04:01] [SPEAKER_01] Dressed all in black. I cling to the gloom. And soften my stride. Don't want her getting the wrong idea if she glances back here. A wolf pack of frat bros swaggers past her. Pawing her skirt. They have no problems sharing their feelings. Drunken invitations to party. The animals. I hold my breath as Ivy murmurs words I can't hear.

[00:04:28] [SPEAKER_01] Her almost-Romeos stumble onward with bawdy laughter. I exhale. Relieved. I'm tall. Muscular. But maybe not enough to take on all three dudes, if it came to that. Ivy pauses in a pool of light beside the quad's bulletin board. Maybe to gather courage. So many beasts in her midst.

[00:04:56] [SPEAKER_01] Maybe she's finally learning to be scared. Instead, she cracks a library book and removes a loose page. A posting? She pins it up amid a patchwork of student flyers. Eyes glinting. She glances over her shoulder. Shit. Does she see me? I slink deeper into darkness as my dream girl scurries away.

[00:05:23] [SPEAKER_01] I wait until she's several lamplights down before creeping toward the bulletin. Her flyer ripples in a springtime breeze, inked with lacy handwriting. My pulse explodes. Nothing there, except her phone number and two impossible words. Kidnapper wanted. Kidnapper? And then what?

[00:05:52] [SPEAKER_01] Dawn arrives before I grow the balls to call. Still damp from restless dreams, I clutch the payphone, convinced I'm still asleep when Ivy's gauzy voice whispers hello. I tell her I saw her flyer. She asks if I can meet for an interview. Anytime, anywhere. If this is some elaborate setup for a first date, I can't wait to tell her grandchildren the story.

[00:06:20] [SPEAKER_01] But an hour later, my Vizal business when I join her on a bench in the quad.

[00:06:25] [SPEAKER_03] It's for my thesis project. An examination of the fertility rituals of matriarchal cultures. In a nutshell, I'm hoping to recreate the sowing of Oleandriel. The ritual appears throughout pagan folklore and histories. Most recently in the village of Ruth Haven, Pennsylvania. They say the soil there is blessed. Have you heard of it? Maybe.

[00:06:51] [SPEAKER_01] I shake my head, trying to sober up. Eye contact with Ivy is intoxicating.

[00:06:58] [SPEAKER_03] Ruth Haven is just a few hours from here. Infinitesimal population, not even a dot on the map. But it thrived in the 1700s and as late as the 1960s. A village overseen solely by women where only daughters were born. They worshipped Oleandriel, the goddess of watchtowers and the soil. Worked her fields, danced naked upon her soils.

[00:07:24] [SPEAKER_03] And every springtime, they invited a man into their sacred folds. If he pleased the goddess, they say she would rise from the dirt upon a stone watchtower to grant fertility. The seeds of new daughters.

[00:07:38] [SPEAKER_01] I unchoked the mud from my throat. And you need me to kidnap you because...

[00:07:45] [SPEAKER_03] A man is required to lead the ritual.

[00:07:48] [SPEAKER_01] A man? But you study matriarchies?

[00:07:52] [SPEAKER_03] The sowing of Oleandriel is about inviting masculine energies, submitting to the dual rhythms of nature. Only special men are chosen. Do you understand?

[00:08:06] [SPEAKER_01] Sure, yeah. I think I'd love to. I mean, roleplaying as a virile pagan, sowing my seeds? My zealous veins throb.

[00:08:16] [SPEAKER_03] What do you need me to do? The ritual has seven phases, with detailed instructions.

[00:08:21] [SPEAKER_01] Ivy bites down on a shy smile. A wooden box waits beside her. She unlatches it, retrieving a handwritten parchment, like something torn from a grimoire. She offers it to me, and her fingertips spark against mine. The first phase on the list involves me blindfolding her. I glance up. Is this for real?

[00:08:48] [SPEAKER_03] Will you help me or not?

[00:08:49] [SPEAKER_01] I read over the seven phases, pulse exploding harder the further down I get. This can't be real. God help me if I ever make it past phase two. But I nod. If I don't agree, some frappero animal will. When do we start? She hands me the box.

[00:09:11] [SPEAKER_03] This contains everything you'll need.

[00:09:14] [SPEAKER_01] I'm Levi, by the way. Ivy smiles at me. The little minx.

[00:09:20] [SPEAKER_03] Yes, sweetheart. I know.

[00:09:25] [SPEAKER_01] The clock tower tolls midnight, and I step from the shadows outside Ivy's dormitory. I've never been inside, but I know which window is hers. Tonight, the curtains hang closed, waiting for me. I've dreamt about this. I deserve this. And holy God, am I ready? I spent the day rehearsing the ritual, rereading the seven phases until I understand them better than Oleandriel herself.

[00:09:55] [SPEAKER_01] Even so, my hand trembles around the key from Ivy's wooden box as I slip it into the door of the woman's dormitory. I didn't really expect it to turn. But holy shit, it does. I slip inside the common corridor.

[00:10:41] [SPEAKER_01] This is reckless, utter insanity. I'm in the middle of the night. I'm in the middle of the morning.

[00:10:56] I don't know.

[00:10:56] [SPEAKER_01] It doesn't matter. her mattress like a grave plot. This chick is next level. She waits for me in a sleek white nightgown, hands folded atop her womb, my womb, feigning sleep, helpless as a damsel in a fairy tale. It takes my noblest inner knight not to kiss her right here, right now. I slide a rope

[00:11:22] [SPEAKER_01] in a blindfold from my robe's inner pocket. Per Ivy's instructions, the blindfold is streaked with dirt from outside my own dorm room window. I secure it around her eyes. It steals her sight, so her goddess must sense me by touch, sound, and taste. Ivy's lips part. She gasps, but doesn't struggle

[00:11:46] [SPEAKER_01] as I bind her wrists with the rope, tightening bone against bone. Pressing my mouth to her ear, I murmur the ritual's first prayer, words that have been my secret mantra for months. And Ivy is ready, docile. I loop her bound wrists around my neck, then sweep her into my hard, flexing arms. Light

[00:12:14] [SPEAKER_01] as a doll, delicate like a wisp of silk. She trembles. So do I. This is the first time I've held such an exquisite creature, felt one so supple and close and willing. Don't scream. I carry her into the too bright corridor. A sweet guilty dread echoes after me, but I sneak Ivy past dorm room

[00:12:40] [SPEAKER_01] after dorm room. Shit, someone with wide open eyes steps into the corridor. I freeze, looking awkward as sin with this helpless beauty dangling in my arms, bound, blindfolded. But the shadow elongates into just another frat bro buckling his belt. He salutes me and makes his own escape. I squeeze Ivy

[00:13:06] [SPEAKER_01] closer. A full-on miracle. She doesn't scream. And nobody stops me on the path from her dormitory to my Chevy. We made it. I slide her into the passenger seat. She remains silent, virtuously bound while I lean into the back seat and grab the map from her wooden box. Instincts scream to keep

[00:13:29] [SPEAKER_01] the headlights dark. Inconspicuous. As if I'm actually kidnapping this girl. But I hit my brights and cruise boldly off campus, triumph beating through me as I merge onto the highway. She's mine. Blindfolded. Pure white gown. Awaiting my command. This is happening after several

[00:13:56] [SPEAKER_01] silent, surreal miles. You know, you're lucky I'm the one who saw your posting. I'm not like most guys. I don't... Hush. Her voice shivers through me. Just know you were wise to choose me. I am a... Only Andrea doesn't care who you are. Despite her bound wrists, Ivy presses a fingertip against my lips.

[00:14:22] [SPEAKER_01] Now hush. We've got a long drive ahead, into the deepening nightscape. Through back roads and thicket woods. But I feel it now. Her little tease. Silence will enhance the ritual. Give her time to anticipate me. Give me time to soak in what's mine. Her perfumes. Her vulnerabilities. The whispered thunder of our

[00:14:51] [SPEAKER_01] dual heartbeats as we imagine what awaits us. In the wilds. Phase two. A bath in muddy waters. Three hours of electric silence. By the time Ivy's hand-drawn map leads me to the final dirt road,

[00:15:21] [SPEAKER_01] I understand the intimate rhythms of her breath. The sweet, earthy nuances of her musk. I savor her wiles. Her kink. This fragile girl who recruits tall strangers to role-play fertility rituals. I've invented a thousand carnal futures for us. And now the full moon haunts the treetops. I don't remember it hanging over the dormitory. And something about it turns my senses around.

[00:15:51] [SPEAKER_01] When the trees break and my headlights flash across a splintered sign for the forgotten village of Roothaven, I break in disbelief. A misty field stretches into the starry horizon. Vapors and wildflowers for fathomless miles. Nothing around. No lights. No cottages. Not even ruins. I double-check the map. Then side-eye Ivy.

[00:16:19] [SPEAKER_01] Her hair hangs in wild tangles around the blindfold. And her mouth parts in candy's sweet anticipation. Only a chump would break this spell by asking for directions. I roll forward, tires crunching a fading gravel road. Barely wheel tracks in dirt. To my right, a grove of weeping willows rises from the mist. Beyond that, moonlight shimmers off a pond.

[00:16:48] [SPEAKER_01] My heart skips. This is it. I kill the engine. Beside me, Ivy tenses. Is she having second thoughts? Can she do that? I slide a stone-handled dagger from the box. Then hurry from the car. I allow myself a moment amid the honeyed air and cricket song to compose myself.

[00:17:18] [SPEAKER_01] I pluck a handful of wildflowers. Then unlock Ivy's door like a black-robed gentleman. I grip her bound wrists and guide her into the night. Just as Oleandriel demands. The daisies I tuck into her hair are all for me. I've always imagined this one decorated in wildflowers. Moonlight enchants the pond's milky surface. I walk Ivy along the shore.

[00:17:47] [SPEAKER_01] My blood pounds. Exhilarated. Disbelieving. Any minute now, I'm gonna wake up. Dampen my bed. I pray that I don't. I position Ivy facing the pond. Facing north. Cool water licking our ankles. My dagger gleams. And she stands motionless. Her white nightgown slicking against her body. Lovely lines.

[00:18:18] [SPEAKER_01] Exotic hips. The graceful bloom of moonflower breasts. A blindfolded nymph. This creature of primal allure. Daring me to break character. Daring me to take her here and now. Everything about her belongs to me. There's nobody around. Nothing for miles. Not even goddesses of watchtowers and soil. Still, Ivy's measured breath flutters faster.

[00:18:48] [SPEAKER_01] Is she afraid? Do I want her to be? Maybe a little. Though her blind trust is intoxicating. I drive the ceremonial blade into the muddy shore. Then remove my robe. Exposing my nakedness. Shamelessly erect. Tonight, Ivy celebrates masculinity. Presenting me to her fabled goddess as I am.

[00:19:16] [SPEAKER_01] Just as she presents herself to me. Her god. Not a stain on me. But Oleandriel insists Ivy wash the filth of the world from my flesh. I draw her into the pond. Velvet mud between my toes. Murky, cool water splashing my knees. My nude silhouette reflects on the moon-bright surface. Sculpted. Potent.

[00:19:45] [SPEAKER_01] Ivy, in her white nightgown, sways like a virgin, ready for sacrifice. I wish she could witness us. But Oleandriel insists she stay blindfolded. Cupping my hands, I scoop up silty water and dribble it across Ivy's shoulders. Down her silk-shrouded breasts and smooth, empty stomach. She shivers. Goose flesh prickling her skin.

[00:20:15] [SPEAKER_01] And I sense her desire to reach for the solid warmth of me. But I make her wait. Just as she's made me wait all semester. I wash the stains of men from you. Her first scripted words of the ritual. She cups her own handful of water, dripping pond scum, and loops both arms around my neck.

[00:20:42] [SPEAKER_01] Somehow, she avoids flesh-on-flesh contact, keeping herself pure, even as she clearly aches to writhe in the mud. Frigid, slimy water trickles over my shoulders and down my spine. The unexpected icy touch makes me shiver. It withers me. Ivy's blindfold now seems like a blessing.

[00:21:07] [SPEAKER_01] When her hands run empty, I clasp her wrists and turn toward shore, ready for my robe. But my breath hitches. Holy shit. Hairs. Cottontails, march rabbits, whatever the hell they are. Dozens and dozens line the misty shoreline. Long, erect ears. Their eerie, red-gleam eyes transfixed on Ivy and me.

[00:21:41] [SPEAKER_01] Phase three. The raising of the tower. I stand flaccid and motionless in the water. Ivy? You have to see... Shh. Is it the hairs? Yeah. How would the hell... Don't frighten them. Don't frighten them. I guide us slowly through the pond. Ears twitch, but the hairs don't bolt away as we slip onto shore.

[00:22:11] [SPEAKER_01] Don't they know men are dangerous? Small, cunning movements I cover up with my robe, then slide the dagger from the earth. The hairs don't flinch. They sit amid the rising vapors. Watching as I trace the mud-slick dagger across Ivy's stomach. Anointing her womb like an artist marks his creation. I'm careful not to cut her silk or make her bleed.

[00:22:41] [SPEAKER_01] Not yet. I draw oleandrials, prescribed sigils, and thin, muddy lines. The divine feminine. Antlers. The hair. As I step back...

[00:23:02] [SPEAKER_03] Flesh and mind, and arise.

[00:23:14] [SPEAKER_01] This gauzy voice deepens and bellows. Again. Again. Braying on the winds. Blowing back to us. A primal foghorn. Like a thousand distorted voices. Early today, I rehearse this moment countless times on paper. Still, the too-loud echo of Ivy's voice unnerves me. It shakes something loose inside me.

[00:23:43] [SPEAKER_01] I clap my hands over my ears. And still, all around the pond, the hairs don't flinch. A seismic chill quickens through me. A shifty unease. And I can't stand being the only one who witnesses those unnatural probing eyes. Ritual be damned. I yank Ivy's blindfold loose. No! She reaches for the blindfold, only to freeze.

[00:24:12] [SPEAKER_01] Her eyes widening into moons. Astounded by something wild behind me. Not the hairs. In the ephemeral distance, a stone watchtower looms above the mist.

[00:24:26] [SPEAKER_03] We hear.

[00:24:33] [SPEAKER_01] She stares northward in exultant awe, going off script a moment longer before returning the blindfold to her eyes. I hesitate.

[00:24:44] I hesitate.

[00:24:44] [SPEAKER_01] My bones reverberating with those grotesque banshee howls. I blink at the watchtower. A stone monstrosity. The gnarled silhouette twists towards the moonlight, choking the sky. It stands miles away. Across fog-shrouded wilds. How did I miss it when I drove past the root haven sign? I step toward it. And finally, the hairs startle.

[00:25:13] [SPEAKER_01] They bolt into the field, stirring wisps of moon-white mist. The milky vapors swirl, drawing lines against the night. Feminine silhouettes, curving hips and breasts and watchful eyes. The fuck? I blink. Thought I saw it. Never mind. Ivy bites back a crooked smile.

[00:25:44] [SPEAKER_01] Amused by me? Come on. Oleandriel awaits. Back in the car, I consult the map and follow the wagon wheel road. I increase speed and head toward the watchtower over impossible terrain. The dirt itself seems to drag my tires onward. My headlights, over bright and surreal, catch nothing but mist and wildflowers.

[00:26:14] [SPEAKER_01] I stay alert for our final destination. It's gotta be here if the watchtower is. But the mist thickens, rising higher than the car and the nothing beyond. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Not the ruined cottages described on Ivy's map. No barns. No lights. Certainly not the gas station I gambled on to get us home.

[00:26:42] [SPEAKER_01] Only the hairs running alongside the car. And the distant watchtower ever rising above the fog. I glance at Ivy in the passenger seat. Blindfold and wildflowers. Anointed and bound. The rhythm of her breath rising. To nervous flutters of anticipation. This girl let me drive her to nowhere. Let me strip naked and bathe in front of her.

[00:27:09] [SPEAKER_01] This girl let me draw on her with the muddy dagger. This girl wants more from me. I'm not turning around. I concentrate on the fog. And then, they're ahead. Finally. The flickering purple glow of neon. Motel. Vacancy.

[00:27:39] [SPEAKER_01] This is it. The motel sinks beneath its own weathered bones. A relic of an era I can't fathom. Looks condemned. But sallow light glows in the lobby's window. I pull into the empty parking lot and tell Ivy to wait in the car. She's a sight. I don't want her to raise an eyebrow. Inside the cramped motel lobby,

[00:28:09] [SPEAKER_01] I catch my rogue-clad reflection in the window. Holy God. I look insane. Lucky me. This late at night, nobody mans the desk. I glance around. Peeling paint. Muddy floors. Grainy pictures of the watchtower hang on every wall. There's a bell on the counter. But an envelope sits nearby. With Ivy's name in lacy handwriting.

[00:28:38] [SPEAKER_01] Sister Ivy. Sister? I shake the envelope. A room key tumbles out. Lucky number seven. No desire to wake anyone. I duck outside into the motel's flickering neon. More hairs surround the car now. Glittery eyes. They scatter as I approach, disappearing into the curling mist.

[00:29:06] [SPEAKER_01] Unease prickles my spine. The watchtower looms in the far murky distance. And for the first time, I wonder if anyone's up there. Oleandriel? Yeah. Right. Parked near room seven, I grab the dagger and usher Ivy to the door,

[00:29:33] [SPEAKER_01] eager to smuggle her and her rope bonds out of sight. The key twists like magic, and I sweep her into eager arms and carry her over the threshold. Not part of Oleandriel's ritual, but it suits what comes next. I fumble for the light switch. The room is decrepit. Musty. Grimy carpet. Muddy sigils painted everywhere. A cracked TV with a cord,

[00:30:03] [SPEAKER_01] but no outlet. More photographs of the watchtower spy on us from every wall. I carry Ivy to the bed. As Oleandriel demands, someone has prepared us a mattress of rich black soil, like a freshly dug grave. A plot for us to writhe upon. Until death. Ivy arches hungrily in my arms. A thesis project?

[00:30:33] [SPEAKER_01] Really? Who is this girl? This dew-thighed creature who appeared on campus mid-year? This minx who plays elaborate mating games with strangers? Who shovels dirt onto beds so we can turn dirty together? Does it even matter who she is? My rushing blood promises it doesn't. I release her onto bare feet, then ready the dagger.

[00:31:03] [SPEAKER_01] Slipping back into my roll, I trace the pointed tip along the solicitous silky curve of her breasts, letting her nightgown rip. A ritual all my own. I press my mouth against her ear and whisper Oleandriel's question. Am I the one? She breathes, and the siren currents of her voice throb through me.

[00:31:31] [SPEAKER_01] I slice the ropes from her wrists, and the wildflowers fall from her hair as I guide her onto the altar of our bed. Phase five. The oath of blood to mud. Not yet, I tell myself. Not yet. With Ivy kneeling blindfolded on the bed, I clutch the dagger in my eager hand.

[00:32:00] [SPEAKER_01] Oleandriel requires two more phases. Two more acts of blind devotion before we're allowed the seventh phase. The climax. Two more steps before the real magic begins. I steel myself, test the sharpness of the blade. I'm really going to do this. Quickly then. I join Ivy on the mattress, dirt grinding into my knees. I face her as she faces me.

[00:32:30] [SPEAKER_01] Unseeing. Willing. God. I want to taste the free-spirited filth of her. Outside and in. I scoop a handful of soil from the bed. Ivy does the same. Dagger gleaming. I raise it, and we clasp dirt-matted hands around the blade's dual edge. Our fingers entwined. Flesh and soil. Dangerous steel.

[00:33:00] [SPEAKER_01] Swelling. I tense my grip. Ready to open us up.

[00:33:05] [SPEAKER_03] Wait.

[00:33:06] [SPEAKER_01] Here's that illicit tremble of fear I craved earlier. Her awe of me lures her off script. She feels my dark willingness. She feels beholden to my mercy. And God, what a thrill.

[00:33:22] [SPEAKER_03] You know what happens next, right? The next phase?

[00:33:26] [SPEAKER_01] Of course. I know. More elaborate roleplay. More kinky dirt play while the watchtower watches from all four walls.

[00:33:36] [SPEAKER_03] Promise me. Don't leave me buried like those other men.

[00:33:42] [SPEAKER_01] I promise. Promise you the world. Hell, at this point I'd promise anything. She nods, and I'm in charge. Her body. My desires. I tighten my vice hold on her, forcing our palms against the bite of the blade. I admire our poised reflections in the cracked television screen. But something twitches below. A hair on the carpet,

[00:34:11] [SPEAKER_01] ears alert, beady, voyeuristic eyes glittering at us. The hell? Do it. I jerk the blade from our clasped hands, pulling out with a spray of blood as our palms split open. Oleandriel, let your mud course my veins. Flow through me. Seed to grave. In my loins.

[00:34:41] [SPEAKER_01] The ghosts of future generations churning inside me. It's Ivy's duty to bear them. To bear me inside her. This is what she exists for. We loosen our fingers, and blood pumps from our gashes. My blood. Ivy's blood. Oozing down our arms. Muddy and... What the hell am I seeing? I blink. Dark clots drip between us.

[00:35:11] [SPEAKER_01] Gritty. Lumpy. Twitching with the crimson slick shapes of earthworms and grave beetles. Filth from Ivy's veins. I jerk back as her mouth unhinges. It surges from her siren throat. Guttural. Doubling. Echoing atop the watchtower's infernal foghorn wail. What is this? What has this stupid girl summoned into herself?

[00:35:42] [SPEAKER_01] Reality shudders around us. The soil trembles at our knees. Before I can cry, what the fuck? A wispy white hand reaches from our bed soil and clamps spectral fingers around Ivy's wrist. Her hand tears from mine. Electricity arcs across us. The motel lights snap to absolute darkness. Phase 6.

[00:36:12] [SPEAKER_01] Unearthing of nameless graves. Darkness obliterates the motel room. Nothing survives it. Not the neon glow outside the window. Not even the eldritch glint of Ivy's smile. I grope dirt and shadows. Give me anything. A breast, a shoulder. Just to touch her again. Because I can't believe something else just did. Because what I saw can't be fucking real.

[00:36:42] [SPEAKER_01] Ivy? Dozens of candle flames ignite, circling the motel room, flaring in mason jars, reflecting off a sea of beady eyes. Hairs. The bed is empty. Ivy is gone. But the hairs have multiplied with the candlelight. Dozens and dozens of them. Mangy creatures. Bodies tense.

[00:37:12] [SPEAKER_01] Ears purred. How in hell... The fuck did you do with her? I stagger off the bed, head swooning in disbelief. My fist clenches my soiled wound. Where'd she go? How'd she slip away? I almost had her. My dagger's gone. So is my robe. The hairs angle their bodies to observe my naked escape. But don't scatter. Is this some sick game? Ivy! Ivy.

[00:37:41] [SPEAKER_01] She's not here. But the watchtower watches from the walls. From all corners of the world. And now in those photographs. A blinding, all-seeing gaslight shines at the top of the tower. Forget this madness. Forget Ivy. I'm out.

[00:38:28] [SPEAKER_01] I trip toward the door. I'm out. I'm out. I'm out. I'm out. I'm out.

[00:38:53] [SPEAKER_01] I'm out. I'm out. I'm out. I'm out.

[00:39:23] [SPEAKER_01] I'm out. I'm out. I'm out. I'm out.

[00:39:57] [SPEAKER_01] I'm out. I'm out. I'm out. I'm out. I'm out.

[00:40:27] [SPEAKER_01] I'm out. I'm out. I'm out.

[00:41:19] [SPEAKER_01] I'm out. Mist escapes her mouth. Blinking the dirt away, she gazes up at me with a dreamy, earth-caked smile.

[00:41:37] [SPEAKER_03] You dug me up?

[00:41:39] [SPEAKER_01] Told you. I'm out. I'm one of the good ones. She rises on elbows, meeting my mouth with a feral damsel kiss, rewarding me with nectar lips and gritty tone. She presses against my naked flesh, reaching lower. I indulge her for several long seconds before breaking away. Ivy, we gotta get out of here. This place is dangerous.

[00:42:08] [SPEAKER_01] I shake my head, tug her to her feet, sending the hairs scattering. No. She hugs my arm and twines around me as she moons at the watchtower. Filthy awe fills her eyes. Something's up there. But where's her terror?

[00:42:29] [SPEAKER_03] We have to finish what we started. The goddess spoke to me beneath the soil. Filthy awe. She approves. She wants us to be together.

[00:42:38] [SPEAKER_01] Is she insane? Am I insane for wanting this? To my very bones, I want this girl. Even as the watchtower casts its tall, nasty shadow. Ivy moans in my ear. A sweet vertigo of friction and sensation.

[00:42:57] [SPEAKER_02] All we have to do is what you've always wanted.

[00:43:02] [SPEAKER_01] No, this is bad shit. I'm in control here. The divine masculine. I grab her wrist and tug. We'll fuck when we get back to campus. We're leaving. She won't let us. We'll see. I rip the bottom of Ivy's nightgown and use the silky fabric to cover myself. Then I jerk her through the graveyard, away from the watchtower. We pass countless nameless gravestones with skeletal hands reaching from the soil.

[00:43:31] [SPEAKER_01] Women? Abandoned by men? Lucky Ivy. She doesn't have to worry about that. She's mine. I've proven myself. But where in this perverse, twisted wet dream is the motel? Where's my car? I find the wagon wheel road and follow it past hairs and the fleeting ethereal shapes of women in the mist. I yank on Ivy to keep her moving. But we go nowhere.

[00:44:00] [SPEAKER_01] Around every turn, the watchtower rises before us. West, east, south, doesn't matter. It's always there.

[00:44:09] Lurking.

[00:44:11] [SPEAKER_01] Lurking. Its hideous shadow looming over me. This fucking tower. Behind me, submitting to my grip with a dewy, distant smile, Ivy walks like a daydream. Eyes mooning upward as if the watchtower is some breathtaking miracle. An insidious curse this stupid girl summoned upon us. But where's her terror? Why isn't she dropping to her knees?

[00:44:39] [SPEAKER_01] She presses herself against me, breathing in my ear.

[00:44:43] [SPEAKER_03] Ole Andriel needs us to finish.

[00:44:47] [SPEAKER_01] The glowing watchtower looms ahead. I pivot off-road into the wildflowers. And there ahead the watchtower looms. At its base, the purple neon glow of the motel splits the vapors. Parking lot vacant. My car still missing. Escape forbidden in this primal game. Our motel room stands open. Door gaping. Primed for the seventh phase.

[00:45:18] [SPEAKER_03] You know it. Just one, sweetheart. Then Oleandriel will let you go home.

[00:45:30] [SPEAKER_01] Phase seven. The sacrifice of the seed. The hairs open a path to the bed as Ivy and I step inside the motel room. The candlelight licks her mudded torn silk curves. I've never been so terrified to want something. I am supposed to be in charge. Who's guiding who? The bed springs groan. The dirt grinds into my flesh. Ivy smiles down at me.

[00:46:00] [SPEAKER_01] Straddles me. Not yet. But almost. The hairs watch. Circling closer. The watchtower watches from the neon parking lot. Watches from all four walls. Ivy plucks a wildflower from our bed of soil and tucks it in her hair. Just like I imagined her. She licks her finger and cleans the sweaty filth from my chest. Drawing the sacred sigils.

[00:46:30] [SPEAKER_01] And when she has me primed, she lowers herself onto me. She raises the dagger high. The blade glints like the eye of a goddess. Then Ivy slams it down. Agony explodes between my ribs. Steel grinds bone. Grazes my heart. And I spasm. My first tiny death. High in the watchtower.

[00:46:59] [SPEAKER_01] Something answers. That echoing foghorn siren's wail. Shaking the earth. Shaking the blade between my ribs. Splitting the seams of reality. Opening a chasm of mindfuck mysteries like the filth between a woman's legs. The candlelight flickers. And the hairs evaporate into curves of vapor. As shadows darken Ivy's rapturous face.

[00:47:29] [SPEAKER_01] The motel room drips mud.

[00:47:32] The motel room drips mud.

[00:47:33] [SPEAKER_01] Walls melting away. As the goddess lifts me skyward. Moonlight everywhere. Wildflower fields far below. A breeze blows across this muddy altar in the sky. Here, atop the watchtower. I cough up a bloody moan. Trying to sit up, despite the blade scraping my ribs. But ropes bind my hands.

[00:48:02] [SPEAKER_01] And Ivy pins me down with the weight of stone. She leans low for a kiss. And that gaze is intoxicating. But it isn't hers. Eyes deep as burial holes. The feral goddess of watchtowers. The soil witnesses me from behind Ivy's narrowed stare. Ivy's hand clutches my throat with hideous strength.

[00:48:31] [SPEAKER_01] And dozens and dozens of feral women saunter forward from rising mists surrounding me. Women decorated in hair masks and furs. And muddy sigils. These wisps. Ripe for the natural cycles. Birth. Death. Here to see me drain dry. Mud-stained hands grope me. Hold me docile. Sharing my seed. But...

[00:49:00] [SPEAKER_01] I love you. I beg Ivy. The goddess buried inside her muddy veins laughs. Empowering them all.

[00:49:16] [SPEAKER_03] Love? You know this was never about love.

[00:49:21] [SPEAKER_01] She yanks the dagger from my ribs. With her rapturous spray of blood. Life pumps from me. Crimson this time. Hot and final. In the fever dream pulse beats before I wither. Ivy closes filthy fingers around my jaw. And twists my head to one side. The women of Roothaven part like hairs. The women of Roothaven part like hairs.

[00:49:50] [SPEAKER_01] Granting me a view from the watchtower. Showing me what Oleandriel sees. A relentless landscape stained by the broad brushstrokes of masculine appetites. Voices of divine feminine wisdom drowned in a cacophony of boyish ego. I see a world of rules written in the sticky white ink of patriarchies.

[00:50:16] [SPEAKER_01] I see a man's kingdom deliberately calibrated to control the autonomy of goddesses. Sacred fertility rites and rites buried beneath the monuments of male conquest. Women as trophies. Women as damsels. Women as targets and puppets and holes. Women reduced to wisps. And everywhere stand men dressed in shadows.

[00:50:45] [SPEAKER_01] Lurking in darkness. Even as they imagine themselves to be knights on white horses. And now the landscape shifts. A feverish vision of Ivy and her sisters in the coming dawn. Celebrating another successful sowing. I see them returning to their hidden village beyond the vapors. Empowered, vibrant women gathering in verdant fields below their watchtower.

[00:51:14] [SPEAKER_01] Women all. And women only. They rejoice the coming bounties. Fertile wounds already swelling with a new generation of daughters. Daughters who will be elevated beyond the appetites of strangers. Daughters who will never suffer the obsessions of ignoble men boasting the status of gods. Because real gods are immortal.

[00:51:42] [SPEAKER_01] And those skeletal hands protruding from Roothaven's graveyard. Don't belong to women. They belong. To men. Men learned by the one language they know. Men who are only useful for one thing. Men who may pretend they're the good ones. Simply because bigger monsters exist. And yes. Bigger monsters do.

[00:52:17] [SPEAKER_01] Ivy unleashes her goddess' banshee cry for all the women of the world. As one. She and her sisters raise daggers like teeth. Feeding a divine feminine rage. As one. They slam their blades down. Violating the last of me. Bitches. Whores. I spit and shudder. Bloody and withered. And all used up. As they carry me to the edge of the watchtower.

[00:52:48] [SPEAKER_01] Without further ceremony. They dump me over the side. My enlightened view plummets. And in the heartbeat before the brutal impact. Before the unforgiving earth splits open. And the pulsing grave mud entombs me. Holy Andriel grants me a final haunting indignity.

[00:53:15] [SPEAKER_01] A breathy whisper of wind and wisps in my disposable ear. The sisters of Roothaven have already forgotten my name.

[00:53:30] [SPEAKER_00] The Watcher of the Wisps. Written by Amanda Cecilia Lang. Performed by Michael Arasu. With Erica Dawson as Ivy. You've been listening to Ominous Thrill. Her Horrorween.

[00:53:57] [SPEAKER_00] 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. Find links in the show notes. It's greatly appreciated. Next best is to share this story with everyone you think might enjoy it.

[00:54:26] [SPEAKER_00] Help spread the word. Use the share icon in your listening app of choice. And the easiest way is to leave a five-star rating and a positive review. It doesn't do much for the algorithms, but it helps other listeners decide if they'll listen. Thank you. This has been Ominous Thrill, Her Whoreween. And until next time. Thrill you later.

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