Ep.226 – Horror at the Hexagon House Inn - A Return to Black Springs!

WEBVTT

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A family man in the early nineteen
hundreds moves himself and his wife to a

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small town in Texas in order to
get away from the humidity which may be

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causing her persistent cough. But that
town in Texas was Black Springs, a

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town unlike any other in the United
States, and few get out alive.

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What's that you want to be scared
to? Come with me? He will

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experience tales over opera, ghosts,
and death. It is not recommended at

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the foot of we get hard to
listen as in the dark. It's more

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fun at that way way. This
is Weekly Speaking. Hello, my spookys,

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It's Wednesday, and you know what
that means. It's time for a

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little spooky in your weekly. I'm
your host and narrator, Enrique Kuto,

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and we have quite a chilling story
for you tonight. We're heading back to

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Black Springs, Texas, a town
we first visited back in episode two oh

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four. If you want to go
back and check it out. You don't

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have to listen to episode two o
four for this to make sense, but

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it does expand on the mythology of
Black Springs. I love the concept of

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Black Springs. It's a little homeye
Texas town with so many deeply dark mysteries,

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and this episode brings out some pretty
intense ones. I really enjoyed it,

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and it was written by our listener, William Spears, a listener inspired

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to write for Weekly Spooky. And
if you want to send in a story

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for us to consider, just like
tonight's author did, you can send it

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over to Weekly Spooky at gmail dot
com. You can also contact us for

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any reason at that address. We
love hearing from you, and hey,

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you can get all kinds of fun wearables,

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coffee mugs, and so much more. So there are lots of ways

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to support us, but The number
one way to support us is what you're

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doing right now, and that is
tuning in to a scary story with me.

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My friends, Get out your cowboy
boots. We're about to go on

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a trip to Black Springs right after
these quick words from our sponsors Horror at

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the Hexagon House Inn by Bill Spears, September twenty fourth, nineteen thirty four.

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To my dear friend Robert Hoffman,
your favorite writer of weird fictions is

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a cowboy. Now, that's right. I, Henry Noble and my lovely

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wife Victoria have moved from the great
city of Chicago to an up and coming

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Texas town called Black Springs. You
may ask why we have moved. The

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move was because Victoria has been suffering
from a persistent cough for months and doctors

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have recommended that we moved to a
drier climate. So goodbye Great Lakes and

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hello to a town that has no
natural water source other than a creek that

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is ten miles away. Black Springs
is a town that seems to be prospering

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more than many others from the recent
oil boom. While the country seems to

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be in a recession. You couldn't
tell it here. The name even comes

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from the oil boom. The story
I've heard is that Black Springs was named

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New Munich when the community was discovered
by German immigrants in eighteen fifty nine.

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The name was changed in nineteen seventeen
when loathing of the Kaiser by the Scotch

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Irish citizens that took over the population
and the discovery of oil in the area

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caused them to change the name to
Black Springs. It's no secret that the

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history of Texas economics is a bloody
one between cattle drives and fence cutter wars.

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This newest chapter is no different.
On the outside skirts of oil boom

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towns, there are acres of tense
cities where the roughnecks live while working in

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this county. At night, the
roads are filled with miscreants and robbers that

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are looking to take advantage of the
roughnecks that are reaping great rewards for the

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incredibly long hours they are working.
Bars and beer joints are being erected overnight

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to tempt the roughnecks out of their
pay. It's not unusual for gunfights to

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happen at these establishments. Here we
are three and a half decades into the

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twentieth century, an age of civility, and these men are living like they

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were in the outlaw West. Don't
let my previous paragraphs worry you too much

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about my safety, though. If
you take out the bars, robbers,

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ten cities and oil dericks, Black
Springs and Samuel County are quite beautiful.

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There's an opera house downtown that they
are installing a screen and movie projector into.

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It will be the first movie theater
in this area. That's not all.

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There is legend that the opera house
was opened by John Wilkes Booth after

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he escaped death. Imagine the absurdity
of the assassin of my home state hero

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escaping a burning barn and gunshot to
the neck to open an opera house in

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Texas. Our lodging is quite remarkable
as well. We're staying in room two

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of the Hexagon House Inn. This
beautiful structure was built at the turn of

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the sentry and has six identical sides, each with balconies and three gables.

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Each gable has a five pointed star
above a peaked window. The upstairs area

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has six rooms, one for each
side of the inn. The rooms form

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a sort of circle, so Room
one is next to Room six. Each

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room is complete with a king sized
bed, and a fireplace complete with a

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sitting area with two comfortable chairs.
I have never seen anything like this and

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refuse to believe that an inn this
remarkable ex exists anywhere else in the world.

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The inn is owned by a couple
named Cartwright. They also live downstairs

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and are great company. Inclosing,
I hope that you are doing well in

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California. Tomorrow morning, I will
start my new job as a ranch hand,

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because we both know that the delayed
payments from Weird Fiction's magazine are not

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going to be enough to support my
wife and myself. Your friend, Henry

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Noble, October twenty fifth, nineteen
thirty four. Dear Robert Hoffmann, I'm

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glad to hear that all is well
with you, and I did enjoy your

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story that was published in the last
issue of Weird Fictions. The owner of

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the local pharmacy was kind enough to
stock the magazine when I requested it.

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It turns out that it is quite
the cellar with the roughnecks that frequent the

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store for benzadrine and sleeping pills.
I'm honestly surprised these Scotch Irish barbarians know

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how to read They have finished installing
the screen and the projector the Opera House,

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and it is now officially a movie
theater. This weekend, for Halloween,

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the new Universal Pictures movie The Black
Cat will be showing. It's based

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on the Edgar Allan Poe story.
I hope the Opera House isn't truly haunted

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by John Wilkes Booth. He might
decide to shoot me, confusing me with

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another Republican from Illinois. My new
job as a ranch hand on the Failure

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ranch is going well enough, but
I fear that I am not entirely cut

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out for the work. It is
hard labor and long hours. I have

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never ridden a horse before, so
the experience I have to offer is limited.

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I feel like a burden because the
other hands are constantly having to stop

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to teach me things that seem to
come naturally to most people born down here.

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My writing has been suffering because I
have hardly any time to devote to

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it. Working in the oil field
is not a suitable alternative. Perhaps I

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can take up work as a soda
jerk for the local drug store. Victoria

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is ever supportive of whatever I wished
to do. She received an inheritance years

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ago. And it helps us greatly. Thank you for asking about Victoria's cough.

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It has gotten so much better since
we've moved to Texas. It has

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virtually disappeared in the past month.
Speaking of Victoria, I do understand that

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this letter will find its way to
you some time after Halloween. But I

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have a great ghost story to share
with you that involves Victoria. It's not

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a weird fiction's yon either, It's
a real ghost story. For the past

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two weeks, I've woken up in
the middle of the night and Victoria was

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not in bed with me. For
the first few nights, I went back

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to sleep and paid her absence no
mine, and returned to my slumber.

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On the fourth or fifth night,
however, I let my curiosity get the

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best of me and began looking for
her. I would find Victoria in Room

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four of the inn. The room
is currently unoccupied, as Victoria and I

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are the only lodgers at the moment. Victoria is spending these nights in a

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room four, sitting by the fire
talking. The chair she's been sitting in

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has its back to the door,
so she hasn't seen me standing there.

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There was no indication of who she
had been talking to though the other chair

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was completely empty. It's like she
was talking to herself. But that is

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an impossibility because she has been slipping
into speaking German at times. I have

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never known Victoria to speak any other
language. Last Sunday morning, over breakfast,

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I asked Victoria about her fireside chats. She said, she has no

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memory of what I'm talking about.
She's firmly convinced that she's sleeping through the

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night. She even went as far
as to tell me that the past few

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weeks were the best she slept in
years, and only knows of going to

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sleep and waking up. Then I
mentioned to her that I heard her speak

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in German. Victoria replied, I
don't even know German, in a laugh,

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as if I were making the whole
thing up as a joke on her.

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But then she paused, I have
been having dreams of a German priest.

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Though. Do you think that it's
possible that Victoria is dreaming of a

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ghost, or possibly that this is
a case of possession. I feel like

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I should be keeping a record of
this. Then maybe I too can have

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a new story published in Weird Fictions. Your friend, Henry Noble, November

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thirtieth nineteen thirty four. Dear Robert
Hoffman, your favorite writer of weird fictions,

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is no longer a cowboy. That
is correct, I am now a

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legitimate soda jerk. I do hope
that I can perform this job to the

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best of my abilities. All joking
aside. I received your letter Wednesday and

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do appreciate your support in my ghost
situation. I felt you would best understand

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the situation. Out of all of
our circle of weird fiction's writer friends.

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The others all loved to write about
the supernatural, but I doubt any of

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them truly believe in the things they
write about. It is now a cool

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November Friday afternoon, and I am
writing in the cool air while sitting on

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the porch of the inn. Yesterday
was Thanksgiving. I hope your holiday was

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well. Mine was educational. Mister
and Missus Cartwright are a couple in their

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forties that never managed to have children. On Thanksgiving, they invited Victoria and

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I to join them and the family
of mister Cartwright's brother for Thanksgiving dinner.

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Mister Cartwright's brother, David, lives
in San Antonio, where he has a

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practice as a doctor. David,
his wife and two teenage sons are also

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staying in rooms five and six of
the Inn for the weekend. During the

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dinner, I brought up Victoria's sleep
walking and dreams. As strange as it

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seems, I've actually never mentioned these
things to the Cartwrights before, only to

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you. I really haven't seen a
point in mentioning them. The sleepwalking hasn't

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been a bother for weeks. Victoria
denies it even happens, claiming she's been

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sleeping soundly. I've gotten used to
it and am able to sleep through it.

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At the mention of dreams of a
German priest, mister Cartwright and his

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brother David both fell silent. I
took this as a rather ominous sign,

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so after dinner I made it a
point to catch David on the porch while

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he was smoking his pipe. I
wanted to find out if there was more

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to this. I really couldn't think
of any way to lead in with it,

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so I just started talking, hoping
that he would bring up the topic.

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It took a bit, but the
conversation came around when David asked me

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how long Victoria and I were planning
on staying at the Inn. As long

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as we can. We really haven't
discussed whether we should stay here or go

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back to Chicago. Have you thought
of finding another place to stay in the

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meantime? Does this have to do
with Victoria's dreams? David fell silent.

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He was looking for an excuse for
us to leave that didn't involve whatever he

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was hiding. When he realized that
there wasn't one, he asked, do

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you believe in the supernatural? I
answered that I did. I think there's

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something supernatural in that house. I
think it's been here since nineteen seventeen.

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Why nineteen seventeen, I asked.
In nineteen seventeen, the Catholic Church built

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that little chapel out on the east
side of town. I don't know why

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they even built it. Everyone in
town is either German families that immigrated to

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Texas during the days of the Impresarios
or scotch Irish by way of Tennessee.

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The Germans are Lutheran and the scotch
Irish are Baptist. There's no Catholics any

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who. They sent a priest,
a German named Father Johann Bauer, not

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like the Germans that were already here
and have been here since the town was

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founded. This was a German from
Germany. You can imagine that didn't go

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over very well. Since the Great
War was going on at the time.

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We were in the middle of changing
the name of the town because even the

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Germans living here didn't want to be
associated with Germany. People said things about

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him. Some said that the Catholics
didn't even build the church, that it

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was the Kaiser that had built it, and that the priest was a spy

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for the Kaiser. That made sense
to a lot of people. Father Bauer

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was having a hard time finding any
place to stay. None of the boarding

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houses would have him. No one
wanted to rent or sell to him.

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My parents owned the inn at the
time and weren't in any position to turn

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down anybody, so he stayed here
in room four. I was twenty two

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at the time and working here part
time and at the pharmacy part time,

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trying to save up for medical school. There was a pause. It was

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almost as if David needed a push
to go further. So I asked him

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what happened to Father Bower. That
church is about a mile and a half

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from here. Father Bower would walk
it every day. I still don't see

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why no one else was setting foot
in the place. But he walked there

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every morning and then back here every
evening. One morning he left for the

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church, but didn't come back that
evening. He just disappeared. I asked,

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in a town this small, nobody
just disappears. You hear talk about

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what happened to people? What talk
did you hear about what happened to Father

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Bawer? He was lynched? You
mean he was hanged. I was disgusted.

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I had heard stories of people being
hanged here in the South, but

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the tales I'd heard usually involved the
person being hanged also being accused of horrible

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crimes. I couldn't imagine someone being
hung over paranoid rumors. Not all lynchings

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00:17:10.720 --> 00:17:15.000
are hangings, David continued. In
father Bower's case, he was tarred and

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feathered. I have lived my entire
life in Chicago, where the police handle

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matters. Lynchings of any sort are
not common. I was trying to imagine

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someone being tarred and feathered. I
had always heard of this as a metaphor

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for humiliation, not a lynching.
David saw the confusion in my face and

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began to explain, when someone is
tarred and feathered, it's supposed to hurt

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and scar, but not kill.
The tar has to be hot enough to

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stick to the skin and the feathers. That's about three hundred and fifty to

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four hundred degrees at least. There
was a group of about a half a

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dozen men that waited for Father Bower
between the church and here that evening.

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From what I understand, the goal
was never to kill him, just to

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hurt him bad enough to make him
want to leave. Something went wrong,

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though, and he ended up dead. From what I heard, the body

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was buried with the feathers still melted
to the flesh. David Cartwright went on

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to tell me that the Catholic Church
sent a new priest the following spring,

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this time an irishman, so those
types of rumors wouldn't spread again. David

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said he moved to San Antonio the
following fall and tries not to think of

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Father Bauer. I hope that my
story hasn't lowered your spirits too much.

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I fear that this story might be
too gruesome for even the pages of Weird

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Fictions if I were to try to
turn it into a story for the magazine.

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I felt that I must write you
while it was still on my mind,

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00:18:45.160 --> 00:18:51.599
since it seems to relate to Victoria's
new sleeping habits. I really want

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to get this to you as soon
as possible, and it is early enough

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00:18:53.680 --> 00:18:57.640
that I can walk to the post
now and send it. Henry Noble,

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00:19:00.160 --> 00:19:06.759
February nineteenth, nineteen thirty five.
My friend, Robert Hoffman, it has

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been months since I have written to
you, and if you responded to the

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letter I sent you during Thanksgiving,
I never received it. I have been

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institutionalized and imprisoned since the night that
I placed that letter in the post.

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To you, Robert, you are
the only one that will believe me,

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and I have tried to explain to
others what happened, but they locked me

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up in a sanitarium in North Texas, where I was drugged and unable to

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communicate with the outside world. Don't
go away weekly, Spooky will be right

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00:19:40.000 --> 00:19:52.480
back. I spent months in that
dreaded place, surrounded by people who couldn't

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00:19:52.480 --> 00:19:57.039
even form a sentence. Screams of
the mad filled the hallways at night.

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They thought I was because of the
story I told them, but the place

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00:20:02.880 --> 00:20:08.279
they sent me to cure me was
driving me mad. I'm getting far ahead

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00:20:08.279 --> 00:20:12.279
of myself, though, I need
to start with that night, the night

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that you last heard from me.
The evening was very normal. After I

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returned from placing the letter in the
post, we sat in the parlor visiting

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the Cartwrights, David's family, Virginia, and myself. The Cartwrights had a

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00:20:27.319 --> 00:20:32.799
bottle of Kentucky bourbon that they shared
with us. Around midnight, a thunderstorm

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00:20:32.880 --> 00:20:37.880
rolled in. We wound things down
and retired to our rooms. I fell

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00:20:37.880 --> 00:20:42.160
asleep easily, with the bourbon in
my system and Victoria beside me. As

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00:20:42.200 --> 00:20:47.920
soon as my head hit the pillow. I was sleeping heavily, regardless of

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00:20:47.960 --> 00:20:52.759
the storm. Suddenly I was awakened
by a stark, blood curdling scream,

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the scream of a woman. I
bolted upright, reaching my hand beside me.

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Victoria wasn't there. The storm was
still raging outside. I got to

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my feet and rushed to the door, reaching for the electric switch next to

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it. I flipped the switch up, then down, then up again,

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00:21:17.480 --> 00:21:22.400
but there was nothing. The storm
had knocked out the electricity. I rushed

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00:21:22.440 --> 00:21:26.519
back to bed with only the flashes
of lightning to guide me. There was

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a kerosene lamp and a box of
matches on the bedside table. I was

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00:21:30.640 --> 00:21:36.920
so shaken by the scream and Victoria
missing that I had trouble striking the matches.

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00:21:37.720 --> 00:21:41.160
It took me five matches before I
was able to keep one lit long

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00:21:41.279 --> 00:21:45.119
enough to light the lamp. I
then returned to the door and took a

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00:21:45.160 --> 00:21:51.480
deep breath to steady myself before I
pulled the door open. The light of

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the lamp could only illuminate so far, so I stepped out of the room.

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I was still at a loss of
who made the scream or what caused

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00:22:00.160 --> 00:22:03.920
them to make it. My intentions
were to make it to room six and

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00:22:03.039 --> 00:22:08.319
five to check on David Cartwright's family. I knocked on the door of Room

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six, where the teenage sons of
David were staying. I knocked on the

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door and it creaked open. I
called into the room hello. There was

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00:22:21.599 --> 00:22:25.960
no answer. I put my hand
with the lamp into the room and followed

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00:22:25.960 --> 00:22:30.559
it with my head. My dear
friend Robert. I wish I could forget

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00:22:30.599 --> 00:22:36.839
the sight I saw, but it
will haunt me till the day I die.

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The bodies of the two teenage boys
were laid on the floor at the

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foot of the bed, one on
top of the other. The foreheads of

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00:22:45.079 --> 00:22:49.799
each of them split open as if
by an axe. There were two streaks

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00:22:49.799 --> 00:22:56.519
of blood running from the bed to
the bodies. They were killed, then

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00:22:56.640 --> 00:23:00.960
dragged to the floor. I gasped. This was a horrific scene, but

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it couldn't have been the source of
the scream that I heard. It was

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00:23:04.759 --> 00:23:10.200
a woman's scream. I mustered up
courage to get past what I had seen

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00:23:10.519 --> 00:23:17.240
and continued to Room five. Once
again, I knocked in the door creaked

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00:23:17.240 --> 00:23:21.640
open. I repeated the entry I
used in room six, with the lamp

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00:23:21.799 --> 00:23:26.559
entering the room before me. The
sight of David Cartwright and his wife was

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00:23:26.599 --> 00:23:32.640
even more startling to me than the
sight of their sons. David was lying

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00:23:32.720 --> 00:23:37.240
face down on the bed with large
cuts all over him. He must have

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00:23:37.319 --> 00:23:41.680
been attacked by the same acts that
his sons were. He never stood a

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00:23:41.759 --> 00:23:47.480
chance. He was probably dead before
he could even wake up. His right

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00:23:47.599 --> 00:23:52.240
arm was either under him or missing
altogether. I couldn't bring myself to approach

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00:23:52.279 --> 00:23:59.079
him to find out. I couldn't
see David's wife until I moved the lamp

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00:23:59.119 --> 00:24:03.839
to explore more of the room.
There she was bent over the chair,

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00:24:03.759 --> 00:24:08.960
her back up in the air,
and the axe still in her the handle

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00:24:10.039 --> 00:24:15.799
pointing straight up. I gasped again, this time almost dropping the lamp.

287
00:24:15.440 --> 00:24:22.160
I turned and ran to the staircase. It crossed my mind to see if

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00:24:22.240 --> 00:24:26.519
Victoria was in Room four, but
the thought of finding her butchered by the

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00:24:26.559 --> 00:24:33.240
axe in there was simply too much
to bear, so instead I ran down

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00:24:33.279 --> 00:24:37.519
the stairs. When I was half
way down the staircase, there was a

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00:24:37.599 --> 00:24:45.000
lightning flash that revealed the contents of
the foyer to me. It was the

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00:24:45.079 --> 00:24:51.359
bodies of the Cartwright's lying on the
floor, with Victoria above Missus Cartwright a

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00:24:51.440 --> 00:24:56.039
knife in her raised hand. Her
back was turned to me. In that

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00:24:56.079 --> 00:25:02.200
split second, I saw the hand
come down, then it was dark again

295
00:25:02.960 --> 00:25:08.440
before I saw her plunge the knife
into the chest of Missus Cartwright. This

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00:25:08.599 --> 00:25:14.279
sight was too much, and I
succeeded in dropping the lamp. This time

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00:25:15.599 --> 00:25:18.920
it shattered and the kerosene splashed onto
the steps. The open flame of the

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00:25:19.000 --> 00:25:26.720
lamp caught the spreading kerosene and ignited. Victoria turned around, then ran towards

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00:25:26.759 --> 00:25:30.359
me with the knife in her hand. In a lightning flash, her face

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00:25:30.519 --> 00:25:38.160
changed from my Victoria to a man
with a disfigured face, A burned face

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00:25:38.599 --> 00:25:45.960
with feathers melted to it. My
Victoria was father bower in that flash of

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00:25:45.039 --> 00:25:52.119
lightning, but then it was back
to my Victoria when the flash was over.

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00:25:52.880 --> 00:25:57.720
But it wasn't my Victoria, because
whatever it was still came at me

304
00:25:57.839 --> 00:26:03.680
with the knife raise. I was
caught off guard and fell backwards, sliding

305
00:26:03.720 --> 00:26:07.160
down the stairs, but I was
able to gather myself enough to make it

306
00:26:07.200 --> 00:26:11.880
to my feet quickly. Victoria,
now standing in front of me, raised

307
00:26:11.880 --> 00:26:15.720
her hand, then brought the knife
down at me, but I caught her

308
00:26:15.880 --> 00:26:21.039
arm. The fire was beginning to
build on the staircase above us, but

309
00:26:21.160 --> 00:26:26.839
Victoria was too concerned with stabbing,
and I too concerned with us surviving for

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00:26:26.960 --> 00:26:33.480
either of us to notice she spoke. It was not Victoria's voice, though,

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00:26:33.200 --> 00:26:38.119
It was the voice of a demon, and it will haunt me until

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00:26:38.160 --> 00:26:42.960
the day I die. The words
that came from her made no sense.

313
00:26:44.880 --> 00:26:48.720
Elderkov seize you. The struggle took
all of my strength, but I was

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00:26:48.759 --> 00:26:53.079
able to push her to the side
into where the flames had spread. As

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00:26:53.079 --> 00:26:59.279
her night gown caught fire. I
ran for the front door and escaped the

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00:26:59.319 --> 00:27:07.160
house. I can only imagine Victoria's
fate being left in the house as it

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00:27:07.240 --> 00:27:15.079
burned. I stood in the road
watching the Hexagon house in engulfed in flames.

318
00:27:15.279 --> 00:27:21.359
As the sheriff approached, I told
him exactly what had happened, and

319
00:27:21.440 --> 00:27:26.160
he took me to the sanitarium.
I feared I would die in that place,

320
00:27:26.480 --> 00:27:30.039
screaming the words Eldri Kisov, seizes
you. But the sheriff returned for

321
00:27:30.160 --> 00:27:37.319
me and took me back to Black
Springs for a trial. I thought that

322
00:27:37.400 --> 00:27:41.319
it would be an actual trial,
but instead I was rushed into a court

323
00:27:41.440 --> 00:27:48.799
room and found guilty in less than
an hour of murdering seven people. I

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00:27:48.920 --> 00:27:55.960
now sit on death row. This
being my first correspondent since I last wrote

325
00:27:56.000 --> 00:28:04.000
you. You are the only person
that will believe me. Please help Henry

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00:28:04.039 --> 00:28:15.599
noble Man, my spookies, I
cannot lie. I love these Black Springs

327
00:28:15.640 --> 00:28:19.400
stories. They just pull me in
so intensely, And I really did enjoy

328
00:28:19.480 --> 00:28:25.799
doing a narration that was kind of
a old style voiceover. I enjoyed it,

329
00:28:25.839 --> 00:28:27.480
and I hope you did too.
And I hope William Spears, if

330
00:28:27.519 --> 00:28:32.160
you're listening to this right now,
I hope you create a lot more Black

331
00:28:32.200 --> 00:28:36.319
Springs for us to enjoy here at
Weekly Spooky. We've even had comments about

332
00:28:36.319 --> 00:28:41.480
it on our Apple podcast reviews.
People love the Black Springs. I also

333
00:28:41.519 --> 00:28:45.279
want to give you a quick reminder
that Kryptomus is just around the corner.

334
00:28:45.599 --> 00:28:51.240
In December. We'll be having multiple
bonus shows, bonus compilations, tons of

335
00:28:51.359 --> 00:28:56.319
chilling content to make sure your holiday
is the proper amount of spooky and cheery,

336
00:28:56.960 --> 00:29:03.000
because, as you probably know,
Christmas is the second scariest holiday of

337
00:29:03.039 --> 00:29:07.599
the year, right after the Big
h And I want to say a humongous

338
00:29:07.599 --> 00:29:11.559
thank you to our Patreon backers who
helped make this show happen every single month.

339
00:29:11.920 --> 00:29:14.160
There are eighty eight of you right
now, and I would love to

340
00:29:14.160 --> 00:29:18.720
see us finally break one hundred this
year. So if you want to check

341
00:29:18.720 --> 00:29:22.920
it out, go to Weeklyspooky dot
com and click on Patreon. And speaking

342
00:29:22.960 --> 00:29:26.000
of I want to say an extra
special thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters.

343
00:29:26.119 --> 00:29:30.359
These are folks who pay just a
little bit more to hear their names

344
00:29:30.680 --> 00:29:34.519
on the show, and they are
Johnny Nix, Bobotopia dot Com, Megan

345
00:29:34.599 --> 00:29:38.799
Hua, Julia Kersh, Brent McCalla, Steve King, Karen Wee, met

346
00:29:38.920 --> 00:29:42.039
Jack Kerk and Craig Cohen. Thank
you all so much, and if you

347
00:29:42.079 --> 00:29:45.599
want to join that list, just
go to Weeklyspooky dot com, click on

348
00:29:45.640 --> 00:29:51.599
Patreon and select anything at fifteen dollars
or higher. In your tears, we

349
00:29:51.720 --> 00:29:53.960
deeply appreciate it and we love what
we do here at Weekly Spooky, so

350
00:29:55.039 --> 00:29:57.599
any support makes a huge difference to
us. So hey, maybe share the

351
00:29:57.640 --> 00:30:00.599
show with a friend. Well,
anyway, my friends, I need to

352
00:30:00.599 --> 00:30:03.720
get out of here and get back
to work because we have something very special

353
00:30:03.759 --> 00:30:08.119
coming up very soon. So for
myself, for my executive producer Rob Fields,

354
00:30:08.119 --> 00:30:12.200
my producer Dan Wilder, and our
composer Ray Maddis, I will talk

355
00:30:12.240 --> 00:30:17.039
at you next time, and maybe
I'll start spilling some details on a new

356
00:30:17.079 --> 00:30:21.839
podcast I'm getting ready to launch.
Ooh, how mysterious. Till next time,

357
00:30:22.559 --> 00:30:26.920
Thank you for listening. We make
sure to find your way back next

358
00:30:26.960 --> 00:30:33.640
week. But for now, you
are safe, trust me.