Aug. 28, 2024

Book Return - A Terrifying Book Unleashes Ancient Evil!

Book Return - A Terrifying Book Unleashes Ancient Evil!
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In the quiet of Battle Creek's night library, a mysterious book unleashes an ancient evil, leading to a terrifying encounter with a malevolent force.

Book Return by Douglas Waltz
Check out his book!

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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com

Executive Producers
Rob Fields
Mark Shields
Bobbletopia.com

Produced by Daniel Wilder

This episode is sponsored by 
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🎵 Music by Ray Mattis 👉 Check out Ray’s incredible work here !
👨‍💼 Executive Producers: Rob Fields, Bobbletopia.com
🎥 Produced by: Daniel Wilder
🌐 Explore more terrifying tales at: WeeklySpooky.com
WEBVTT

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A quiet night shift at a twenty four hour library

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in Michigan is about to get a lot more interesting.

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An accidental hole in the wall leads to a very

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unexpected discovery, a book so dangerous that reading from it

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isn't even the worry. Its simple existence is death.

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What's that? You want to be scared? Come with me.

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You will experience tales over our broad ghosts and death. Death.

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It is not recommended at the foot of the week

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at art listeners in the dark. It's more fun at

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that way. Way.

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This is Weekly Speaking, Hello, my Spookyes, it's Wednesday, and

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you know what that means. It's time for a little

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

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and we have quite the chilling show for you tonight

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as we head to Battle Creek, Michigan and a twenty

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four hour library that harbors some dark secrets. But before

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we get to that, I want to say very much

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how thankful I am to have you here listening. As

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we head into the Halloween season, we'll have lots of

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new spookies joining us, but you listening right now in

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the dead of summer, are truly the hardcore The die

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hard spookies like myself who revel in celebrating Halloween every

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single week. And I sure am happy to have you here,

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so thank you. And if you haven't yet, go to

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your favorite podcasting app like Apple Podcasts or Spotify, make

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of Terror. It's our little spot on the Internet where

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we hang out and share scary stories, memes, and so

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much more. Myself and many of the authors like to

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dot com and click on Patreon. For as little as

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one dollar a month, you get two bonus shows every

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single month, and I promise you they're a hell of

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a lot of fun and there's over five years of

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previous content for you to enjoy as well. Just go

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to Weeklyspooky dot com and click on Patreon. But now,

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my friends, as the sun goes down, I don't know

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about you, but I need a book, so let's all

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head to the library after these quick words. Book Return

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by Douglas Waltz. While I never would have referred to

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my position as night librarrian at the Battle Creek Public

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Library as a dream job, it did have its benefits.

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The majority of the denizens of the city, most popularly

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known as Serial City, had no clue. The library stayed

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open twenty four hours a day, which was fine by me.

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Few patrons meant less work. Luckily, I was something of

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a night owl to begin with. It was a frosty

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February twenty ninth when I arrived at the library promptly

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at ten o'clock greeted the last of the day librarians, Genie,

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who had worked for the library for some twenty five years.

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She gave me the same amused look every day when

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I came in the door. Genie was used to the

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eccentrics of the library. Founded by W. K. Kellogg of

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Kellogg's Serial fame. He was the one who said that

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the library should always be open except for Sundays. Even

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Kellogg knew not to mess with the church going folks

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of Battle Creek, Michigan. Genie left me to my own devices,

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and I went around the library tidying up, putting books

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back in their proper places. I went to check the

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return bin and found just a single book. It was

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a very old history book of the area, written by

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Jerome Blackwell, an infamous local author who wrote detailed accounts

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of the area in the late eighteen hundreds. It was

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odd to see it in the return bin. It belonged upstairs,

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in the stacks where we kept the reference books that

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weren't of available for checkout. How in the hell did

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it manage to get checked out. Someone probably snagged it

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and snuck it out. A lot of the books in

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the stacks didn't have the little device that would set

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off the alarm if you tried to take it out

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of the library. I checked to see if anyone was

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actually in the library and found Carl Eberhart sitting comfortably

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reading a magazine. I told him I had to head upstairs,

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and he nodded in response, without looking up from whatever

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he was reading. Even in the daylight, the upstairs was

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always a little creepy, poorly lit, with mountains of books

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on sagging shelves. The book belonged on the back wall,

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so As I made my way towards its place in

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the organized mess, my toe hit the edge of one

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of the bookshelves, propelling me forward and down towards the

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back wall. The hefty tomb in my hand struck the

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wall next to the back wall and went through the

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plasterboard like it was tissue. Dust filled my nostrils, as

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well as a terrible smell. For a brief moment, I

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thought I might have found a leaky sewer pipe, but

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when I used the light from my phone, I saw

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the hole was quite dry and the smell had started

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to dissipate. I saw something that looked like brown leather

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and reached in to see what it was. It was

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a large leather bound book, and I needed to break

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away more of the wall board to free it from

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its hiding place. It felt heavier than it should be

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for its size. I decided to take it downstairs in

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a better light to examine my find. Carl was still

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reading his magazine when I came back downstairs. I put

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the book on the front counter and reached under for

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a roll of paper towels so I could gently remove

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the dust. The book was in great shape for being

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stuck in a wall for so long, brown ornate leather

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binding and what appeared to be gold leaf with what

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appeared to be a single word embossed on the leather

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in Territus. My Latin was rusty, so I checked Google

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Translate on my phone. It meant destruction. That seemed to

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be pretty basic. What could a book name destruction be about?

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I started to carefully open the book when a voice,

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feeling like it was next to my ear, said, what's

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that there? I flinched at the unexpected noise and looked

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up to see that Carl had made his way over

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to the counter and was standing across from me. It's

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an old book I found upstairs. Pretty fancy, ain't it? Yes, Carl,

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it is pretty fancy. What's that word on the front?

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Ain't English? No, it's Latin. It means destruction. And you

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were going to open it? What the book? The book

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with the word destruction on the cover, and you thought

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it might be all right to open it? Well, I stammered,

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unused to this much of a conversation with Carl, who

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up to now usually communicated with a nod and a grunt.

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It's just a book, Ah, Yep, it's a book. But

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it might be haunted. I've seen that in a movie once.

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Of course, that book was nastier looking than this one.

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Had a face on it, a face on it, Carl,

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Are you referring to the movie The Evil Dead? Yeah,

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that's the one. Yeah, creepy movie. Guy had a chainsaw hand.

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That was pretty cool. Oh so you watched part two?

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Part two? They made more than one of those. Yes. Now,

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I am going to open this book and if that

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worries you, you can go home. Can't What do you mean, can't?

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The missus has a bunch of her friends over tonight

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for some book club. Carl looked at his watch. I

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got another hour before I dare show my ass at

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the house book club. That's nice. What book are they reading?

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Beats me? They usually use it as an excuse to

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drink a bunch of wine and gossip. I almost laughed

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at that. Well, Carl, I'm still going to open the book.

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I would expect that it's written in Latin, and Latin

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is not something that I'm fluent in. Okay, you're a funeral.

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I'm a head over to the liquor store and get

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a road pop. And with that, Carl abruptly turned around

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and left the library. I stood there for a moment

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watching him leave, before returning my attention to the tome

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on the counter. What did Carl know, I asked myself

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as I looked at the book. Hell, he didn't even

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know there was a part one for the Evil Dead?

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How does someone just watch the sequel to a movie?

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Probably had never even heard of Army of Darkness. I

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slowly opened book, the leather and binding, protesting at the movement. Suddenly,

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the book flipped open, and a swirling miasma of black

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and purple from the book sent me flying back into

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the shelf behind the counter where we held books for people.

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A bright light filled my vision when the back of

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my head connected with the edge of a shelf. Then

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everything went black. The next thing I heard was, of

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all things, Carl. I opened my eyes and everything was blurry.

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For a moment, my vision focused and I saw his face. Carl,

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I came back to see what happened when you opened

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the book? It seems you took a nasty fall. What happened?

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I told him about the explosion from the book, the

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weird colors, and how it made me fall back into

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the shelf. He nodded and smiled attentively as I told

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my story. Then he helped me up from the floor.

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I was amazed at how strong he was. He lifted

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me like I was a child, my feet coming off

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the floor for a moment. Well, you don't seem any

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worse for wear, my lad. He continued to smile at me.

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Then it clicked my mind, playing back what had just happened,

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Carl's speech patterns, his unnatural strength. Carl's smile faded. Oh my,

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I seem to have made a mistake, haven't I What

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gave it away? The strength? I suppose? Was this human

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a weakling? I shook my head. You don't talk like Carl.

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Carl had a seventh grade education before he dropped out

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of school to work on his father's farm. Ah. Well,

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I'm afraid that I don't absorb any memories when I

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inhabit a lesser form and you are. Oh, I go

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by many names. I prefer Ulupoka, ulupoca. That sounds like

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something from the Pasa Islands. Very good, my boy, Polynesian

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to be exact. And you ended up in a book?

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How exactly long story that I really don't have time

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to go into things to do? You see things to do.

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My mind was swimming with confusion. Maybe I was still

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unconscious and this was all just a bad dream triggered

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by my conversation with Carl. You're quite the little parrot,

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aren't you. I cause death, disease, and destruction wherever I go.

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My most recent attempt was shortly after the Christian missionaries

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arrived in the islands you know as Hawaii. Bastards managed

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to trap me in that damnable volume, and there I

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lay for what year is it? It's twenty twenty four.

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Carl's brow deepened, and I swore I could see sparks

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of red fire in his eyes. That has been a

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very long time. Shall we start with you? Excuse me?

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Karl grabbed me by the collar and flung me across

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the main lobby. I landed in the children's area with

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a massive thud. Lucky for me, we had these giant

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foam blocks the children played with, and Jeannie stacked them

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in a huge pile when she was bored. I landed

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on them, and the only thing that hurt was the

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back of my head from my previous fall. I quickly

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got to my feet and saw what had once been

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Carl turn into a huge monster hurtling towards me. My

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feet were frozen in place with fear, and I knew

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that I was doomed. Demon came a bellowing voice from

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the front doors, stopping Lupoca in its tracks. We both

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turned to see a tall, lanky man with long, crazy

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gray hair and a matching tangled beard that went past

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his chest. He wore a long black coat, and in

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his hand was a staff of carved white wood with

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a large, large green gem embedded in the top. And

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you are Ullupoca. Slash Karl asked. Who I am is meaningless.

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What I am is the instrument of your destruction, old man.

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Better men have tried, even the gods tried and managed

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to take my head. But still I am alive and

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here to wreak destruction on this poultry globe. Ullupoca turned

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away from me to move towards the old man. Then

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I realized who he was. It was Jerome Blackwell, the historian.

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No one had seen him in decades. Most people believed

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him dead, but here he was alive and well, confronting

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a monster I had unknowingly unleashed upon the earth. I

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name you, Ullupoca, and bring with me your final time

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on earth. He walked over to the counter where the

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book still lay open, and lifted it into his right arm.

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What are are you going to do, old man? Throw

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the book at me? Ullupoca thought that was funny and

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erupted into a huge bellowing laugh. No, ignorant one. The

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spell that bound you to this ton was broken when

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this idiot opened the book. It took me a second

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to realize I was the idiot, and sheepishly turned my head.

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Yet you believe you can destroy me me, Ullupoka, yes,

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wind bag I do you see the missionaries that bound

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you to this book managed to get one thing right,

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the book and you slowly become one in the centuries

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that you were together. One cannot exist without the other.

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A light of understanding burned in Ulupoka's gaze, and he

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hurtled towards Jerome to take the book, but to no avail.

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Jerome produced a lighter and set fire to the pages

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of the open book. The ancient parchman was desiccated. Little

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moisture existed in its pages. The book flared with a

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mighty wosh, and Jerome dropped it to the floor. Ulupoka

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slash Carl Let loose with an unholy scream and dropped

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to the floor. Jerome went to the counter and took

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the metal trash can that stood on the floor next

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to it, bringing it closer to the book still blazing.

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He carefully took the plastic garbage bag from the can

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and set it aside. Then, using his stick, he lifted

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the burning book into the can and dropped it in.

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He used his foot to put out the smoldering carpet

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and looked at me with a sigh. When the book

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is finished burning, stir the ashes, then dispose of them

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in multiple places. He turned to leave. Wait, I called

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after him. He turned back to face me. What happened here?

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You were irresponsible, was all he said. He walked with

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long strides from the building and was gone. I heard

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a groan that made me jump and realized that it

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was coming from Carl's prone form on the floor. Carl,

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is it you? Carl shook his head and slowly got

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to his feet, opened the book, did you? I had

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nothing to say. Carl brushed himself off, gave me a

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dirty look, and staggered out the front door. He stopped

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once to call me an idgit, and then he too

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was gone, I stood in the center of the lobby

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getting my bearings and then went in search of something

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to stir the ashes of the burning book. I hope

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you enjoyed that story as much as I did. Spooky's

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big thank you to Doug Waltz for tonight's story. Short, Sweet,

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and Spooky is what I live by. Hope you enjoyed

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this week's episode, and I want to let you know

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that this Friday, we're publishing a very special compilation of

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some of the greatest episodes of Weekly Spooky over its

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over five years, and this time around, we're focusing on

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the works of splatter Joe Solma. So tune in on

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Friday to hear six classic tales of terror of the

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Sickening variety, all courtesy of our good buddy Joe. Releasing

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this Friday right here on the Weekly Spooky Feed. So

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make sure you're subscribed. And I want to say an

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extra special thank you to our Patreon backers. We have

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over one hundred of you, and we really do appreciate it.

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You Spookies. Help keep the show going and going by

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00:18:37.160 --> 00:18:40.680
heading to Weeklyspooky dot com, clicking on Patreon, and for

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00:18:40.759 --> 00:18:43.279
as little as one dollar a month, getting two bonus

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00:18:43.279 --> 00:18:45.920
shows every single month, and I want to say it

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extra special. Thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters, folks

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who pay just a little bit more to hear their

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00:18:52.759 --> 00:18:54.519
names at the end of the show. And they are

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Johnny Nicks, Jenny Green, Amber Hansford, Brent mccallaugh, Karen we Met,

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00:18:59.240 --> 00:19:01.839
Jack Kerr, and Craig Cohen. Thank you so much, And

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if you want to hear your name at the end

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of the show in my silky smooth voice, just head

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00:19:07.119 --> 00:19:10.559
to Weeklyspooky dot com, click on Patreon and select the

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fifteen dollars or hire. Your support means so much to me.

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I can't thank you enough. But for now, my friends,

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it's time for me to get back to work. Thirty

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one episodes in thirty one days, plus my birthday is

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coming up on September tenth, so I've got a lot

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on my plate, so for myself, for my executive producers

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Rob Fields, Mark Shields and Bobotopia dot Com, my producer

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Dan Wilder, and my composer Ray Maddis. Well, I suppose

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all that's left to say is I will be talking

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at you next time. Thank you for listening.

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Make sure to find your way back next week, but

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for now you are safe. Trust me.