 Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. Welcome Weirdos, I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore, the strange and bizarre, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. Coming up in this episode... Walpurgis Night was when according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked when all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. Bram Stoker from Dracula's Guest Walpurgis Night is something most English-speaking listeners won't even know about, probably because we're too busy celebrating Halfway to Halloween or Half-Owen for short while Walpurgis Night is being celebrated in Germany. There they celebrate not Halfway to Halloween but a kind of second Halloween which they call Walpurgis Nacht or Walpurgis Night. Plus, later in the show, I'll share a story that was intended specifically to be read on Walpurgis Night. It's called The Black Bargain from PJ Hodg. If you're new here, welcome to the show. While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, my newsletter, Twitter contests to connect with me on social media. Plus, you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression or dark thoughts. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness. There is a mountain very high and bare, whereon it is given out that witches hold their dance on Walpurgis Night. 1. Jacob Grimm, 1883 In the Germanic countries of Central Europe, there is what is essentially a second Halloween, Walpurgis Night, or as it is often referred to in its German form, Walpurgis Nacht, falling exactly six months from All Hallows Eve or Sauen. Many of the ancient cultures divided the year into just two seasons, summer and winter. The dividing line between the two seasons were Beltane and Sauen, with Beltane being one of eight solar subots in the pagan calendar, its date based on the sun. In Britain, Wales, Scotland and Ireland, Beltane often begins at sunset on April 30th and continues through May Day or May 1st. Since the medieval era at least, it was believed that the veil between the world of the living and the dead is thinnest on both the night of Halloween and the night before Beltane. As a result, not just the ghosts of the dead but fairies, shapeshifters and in regards to Walpurgis, witches were at their most powerful and could most easily cross between the two worlds. Despite sharing the same date and many customs, there is a distinct difference though between Walpurgis and Beltane. At its most basic, Beltane is primarily Gaelic and celebrated on May 1st, whereas Walpurgis is Germanic and often celebrated the night before Beltane or April 30th. If you were able to go back in time, however, you'd realize you're dealing with rural customs and areas quite often cut off from much contact with the outside world. From that perspective, you'd likely see very little difference between the two holidays. The primary difference between the ancient times and more modern history is Walpurgis has developed a distinctly witchy flavor. Walpurgis in the Middle Ages concerned itself with protecting yourself from or driving away witches. Today, as the fear of the craft fades slowly into the past, it's all about celebrating witches. Walpurgis celebrations have continued unabated throughout Europe, in its homeland of Germany, as well as the Netherlands, the Czech Republic, Sweden, Lithuania, Latvia, Finland and Estonia. Germanic folklore is ripe with tales of witches and there is the holiday also known as Hexnot, which means witch's night. In Sweden, which has a particularly vibrant association with the holiday, it's known as Valborg and heavily tied to a celebration of the end of winter and the beginning of spring. It has very little to do with religion and everything to do with the arrival of spring. In Sweden, typical holiday activities include the singing of traditional spring folk songs and the lighting of bonfires. The first May is a great popular festival in the more Midland and Southern parts of Sweden. On the eve of the festival, huge bonfires, which should be lighted by striking two flints together, blaze on all the hills and knolls. Sir James George Frazier, The Golden Bough. There is a practical reason, as well as religious or reasons dealing with folklore, for celebrating on this day. During the Middle Ages, the legal or administrative year ended the last day of April. As a result, it was treated as a community-wide holiday, celebrated with bonfires, trick-or-treating for the children, as well as traditional dances and songs relating to the beginning of spring. In Sweden, the bonfires can only be traced back to the early 18th century, but they are in all likelihood a continuation of ancient ceremonies, the original purpose long since forgotten. Both Beltane and Salon relate to agriculture, but these two specifically deal with herding rather than growing crops. It was at this time that the animals were let out for grazing or brought closer to home for the winter. Bonfires were then added as a benefit of frightening away predators. Trick-or-treating in a fashion was once celebrated on Valborg in southern Sweden. Though no longer popular, children went to the woods and collected branches of greenery to decorate the village houses when they were paid in eggs. In Finland, Walberg is referred to as Vapu or Vappen and borrows the Germanic tradition of celebrating witches. It is one of the four biggest Finnish holidays and is the biggest carnival day of the year celebrated in no small part by excessive intake of alcohol. Estonia, too, once looked on while purchase as the date when witches gathered and referred to it as Volbryu. It proceeded the day of Kavadpua, which was celebrated as the arrival of spring, and I am sure that I am butchering these names. Then again, I am not Estonian or Swedish, but you get the idea. Anyway, Volbryu still sees carnivals celebrating and drinking, often by people dressed as traditional witches. It is worth noting that unlike many of today's modern witches and pagans, there is no desire to pretty up the witches. Instead, the tendency is to go with the old stereotype witch as the hag. These are countries where witches were once feared after all. In the Czech Republic, winter is brought to an end on May 30 and a festival whose name translates to burning of the witches. Witches made of rags and straw are burned, sometimes just a broomstick, though in the modern era it is more of an excuse to get drunk around the fire. When a burst of black smoke is emitted from the blaze, a cheer goes up as the witch is said to fly away. As the fire dies down and midnight approaches, it is off to the woods to search for cherry blossoms. It is thought that a young woman kissed under a cherry tree that night and ideally, through the next day, if one has the stamina, will keep both the tree and the young lady from drying up. To Czechs, it is a day all about love. The first known mention of S. Walpurgisnaught or S. Walpurgisabend is to be found in the Caledarium perpetuum of Johann Kohler from 1603. It was also mentioned in the writings of Johann's Pretorius in 1668. Translated into English and stripped of its Catholic connotation, S. Walpurgisnaught becomes Walpurgisnight. If you want to get technical, the holiday is called Walpurgisnaught, which is used in both the Dutch and German language. In English it is translated to Walpurgisnight, as it is the eve of the feast day of S. Walpurgia. S. Walpurgisnaught, I am sure you are wondering who was that? Well, S. Walpurgisnaught was an English nun born in Devonshire in 710, sent as a missionary to Germany to start churches. She died in Heidenheim on February 25, 777, as best as we can tell. As Walpurgis' feast was held on May 1st, she became associated with May Day, especially in the Finnish and Swedish calendars. The eve of May Day, traditionally celebrated with dancing, came to be known as Walpurgisnaught. She is the patron saint of Eichstadt, Odenarda, Ferns, Antwerp, Ronogen, Weilberg, and Zutphen. She also might be of assistance against hydrophobia and in storms and also by sailors, if you are into that kind of thing. She first seemed to have landed on the European continent in Mainz under the care of her uncle, St. Boniface. Named the best of Heidenheim, she was aided by her brother, St. Winnibald, who governed an abbey in the same town. I think you have trouble living up to the expectations of your family. Try competing with your brother, who is a saint. When Winnibald died, she took over the monastery that he governed as well. How does a Catholic saint become the namesake of a holiday dedicated to witches? Well, it is in part because of the name Heidenheim. The abbey itself was called Heidenheimer Kloster, which translates to heathen home cloister. Heidenheim, it seems, was named after a holy spring there, Heidenruinen, which was famous for having been where many heathen or pagans, as they like to call themselves now, were baptized. The name stuck, even if the meaning for the name was lost to time. She became associated with May 1st because she was canonized as a saint on that day. The reason she became a saint was in no small part due to a strange occurrence on her burial. Her rock tomb began oozing a healing oil and it was declared a miracle, so much so that her body was chopped up and sent all over France and Germany to spread the miracle. People still clinging to their pagan traditions were already celebrating May 1st in their heathen manner. This was of course frowned upon by the Church, but under the auspices of celebrating St. Walburge's feast day, the celebrations were able to continue. If one inspects the stone carvings found in chapels dedicated to Walburge, you'll find certain recurring symbols, typically a bundle of grain and a dog. Nine nights before 1st of May is Walburge in flight, unceasingly chased by wild ghosts and seeking a hiding place from village to village. People leave their windows open so she can be safe behind the cross-shaped window pane struts from her roaring enemies. For this, she lays a little gold piece on the windowsill and flees further. A farmer who saw her on her flight through the woods described her as a white lady with long flowing hair, a crown upon her head. Her shoes were fiery gold and in her hands she carried a three-cornered mirror that showed all the future and a spindle as does Berkda. A troop of white riders exerted themselves to capture her, so also another farmer saw her, whom she begged to hide her in a shock of grain. No sooner was she hidden than the riders rushed by overhead. The next morning, the farmer found grains of gold instead of rye in his grain stock. Therefore, the saint is portrayed with a bundle of grain. E. L. Ruchels, 1870 This is, of course, less like a matriarchal Catholic saint and more like the tale of a Germanic goddess. The connection grows when one looks at the dog symbol in relation to Walburge. German goddesses were often associated with dogs. The Hilster, which is something quite like a witch's familiar, was thought that speaking the name Walperge could tame an angry dog. The wind hound is frequently tied to fertility and abundance in the homin' fields and in some places is called the Nourishment Hound or Narangshund. The wind hound also rears its canine head, particularly during the spring fertility festivals. The spindle and the grain noted in Ruchels' writings are both associated with Germanic gods and the celebration of the coming of spring. This miracle reminded men of the fruitful dew which fell from the mains of the Valkyrie's horses, and when one of the days sacred to her came on May 1, the wedding day of Frau Holda and the sun god, the people thought of her as a Valkyrie and identified her with Holda. Like a Valkyrie, she rode armed on her steed. She scattered, like Holda, spring flowers and fruitful dew upon the fields and veils. Even the sly musing from her tomb becomes an association with pagan goddesses, as it tended to remind people of the dew which dripped from the mains of the Valkyrie's horses. May 1 was also the birth date of Holda, whom Jacob Grimm claimed was a Germanic goddess, though that might be a bit of a stretch. There is no denying Holda's connection to the supernatural. Her art was spinning and weaving, which formed another connection to Valperja and the spindle. Spindles and thread were often thought to be essential ingredients for love spells cast during the heathen May celebrations when love and fertility seemed to be on everyone's mind. Holda also rode through the knights, albeit on distaffs, which was much like a witch's broom. She was believed to have presided over all female spirits, who became known as Holden. According to the canon Episcopi, the Holden would slip out through closed doors in the silence of the knight, leaving their sleeping husbands behind. They would travel vast distances through the sky to great feasts or to battle amongst the clouds. The Catholic Church, of course, frowned on such behavior and made it known that flying through the knight on broomsticks was not only forbidden but punishable by penance of a year. The 9th century canon Episcopi came down on ladies who claimed to consort with a crowd of demons. In the later De Arta Magica, the Church went even farther. Have you believed there is some female whom the stupid vulgar call Holda, or in some manuscripts, Strigum Holdum, the witch Holda, who is able to do a certain thing, such as those deceived by the devil affirm themselves by necessity and by command to be required to do, that is, with a crowd of demons transformed into the likeness of women on fixed knights to be required to ride upon certain beasts and to themselves be numbered in their company? To go even farther down this path, farmers who had yet to plow their field by May 1st were often given a straw doll called a Walperja. This was an identical practice connected to not only Holda but another goddess as well, Birchda. Only theirs were given out during Yuletide and women. And so it seems that Walperja became merged with Holda, which isn't all that surprising, and the B in her name, Walperja, was changed to P, Walperja. Germanic goddesses were often known by different names in different places. The Catholic Church even went as far as to associate Holda with Diana. On Walperja's night, as on Halloween, strange things may happen to one. Joki tells a story of a Walperja's night dream that is more a vision than a dream. Led to be unfaithful to his wife, a man murders the husband of a former sweetheart. To escape capture, he fires a haystack, from which a whole village is kindled. In his flight, he enters an empty carriage and drives away madly, crushing the owner under the wheels. He finds that the dead man is his own brother. Faced by the person whom he believes to be the devil responsible for his misfortunes, the wretched man is ready to worship him if he will protect him. He finds that the seeming devil is a reality, his guardian angel, who sent him this dream that he might learn the depths of wickedness lying unfathomed in his heart, waiting an opportunity to burst out. For you see, pastor, within every one of us, a spark of paganism is glowing. It has outlasted the thousand years since the old Teutonic times. Once a year is flames up high and we call it Saint John's Fire. Once a year comes free night. Yes, truly, free night. Then the witches, laughing scornfully, ride to Blocksburg, upon the mountaintop on their broomsticks, the same broomsticks with which at other times their witchcraft is whipped out of them, then the whole wild company skims along the forest way and then the wild desires awaken in our hearts which life has not fulfilled. Sutterman, Saint John's Fire In our pagan past, there were certain days and nights where the normal restraints of society were loosened and people were freed to revert back to nature. Some celebrations loosened the libido. Some broke down social barriers that separated the various classes of society, such as the Roman setranalia, Walpurgis night, and Beltane was such a time as well. Is it now? Certainly in some quarters, yes. And perhaps that's how it's always been, for Walpurgis, though a night celebrated together, was also a night celebrated in isolation and secrecy. Is it any wonder that sexual fascination has taken hold with these holidays for nothing is known of the facts of the past? Just whispered rumors that might have never been anything more than suppressed Victorian sexuality run amuck in the mind. It was common practice for the church to attempt to plaster over society's pagan roots, so Beltane became a feast day for Walperja, a Christian saint. In the same vein, pagan sites were rededicated to Walpurgis. There are a wealth of sites in the Netherlands, Belgium, Saxony and other regions of northern Germany dedicated to her. Temples, wells and springs, features of the landscape like mountains and hills, as well as trees associated with heathen worship. But rather than the saint making these days and sites more Christian, Walperja became more pagan. According to Roshals, the greatest number of the oldest churches in lower Germany are dedicated to this same saint. Jacob Grimm wrote, The witches invariably resort to places where formerly justice was administered, or sacrifices were offered. Almost all the witch mountains were once hills of sacrifice, boundary hills or salt hills. The witches excursion takes place on the first night in May. They ride up Blocksburg on the first of May, and in 12 days must dance the snow away, then spring begins. Here they appear as elf-like, god-like maids. In the book of A Har's Journey, Heinrich Hein wrote in 1826, The mountain somehow appears so dramatically stoical, so understanding, so tolerant, just because it affords a view so high and wide and clear, and should such mountain open its giant eyes, it may well see more than we, who like dwarfs just trample on it, staring from stupid eyes. The Har's Mountains lie between the rivers Wesser and Elba in the center of Germany. Of those wooded hills, the tallest peak, standing at just over 1,140 meters tall, is Blocksburg. How it came to be called the geographic epicenter of Walperja's Nacht is a tangled tail. Witches were associated with Blocksburg since Charlemagne was emperor, though in truth, they were likely just people celebrating the old religion, worshiping the pagan gods which held sway before the coming of Christianity. The remote, rugged location afforded privacy, which was important during the years when worshiping the gods of your choice could get you burned at the stake. Blocksburg is snow-covered for much of the year, melting off in May. It is perpetually shrouded in mist and fog, up to 300 days out of the year. With frigid temperatures, it is not a hospitable place. Today, trails wind through the forest and up the mountain. The winds have caused the trees to twist and grow gnarled and moss-covered. Strange rock formations break through the forest and have such poetic names as the Devil's Pulpit and the Witch's Altar. And then there is the specter of the Brocken. Walking on the mountain, when the sun begins to set, your shadow becomes magnified and is projected onto the low-lying clouds or mist with a rainbow or halo around the head. The first victim was a climber who lost his balance when he became frightened of a haloed figure coming towards him from the mist. He literally died from being afraid of his own shadow, falling to the rocks far below. Old pagan myths say that on the night of April 30th, a devil named Wotan married his love Freya on the Brocken in Shirk, on the slopes of the Brocken on the night before Beltane. This myth and others became the seeds of scenes from the musical drama Faust, written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Through Goethe's poetic use and incorporation of these myths into his famous play, this myth remains today. There are two scenes of interest here, in Faust, part one, while purgis knocked and in part two, classical while purgis knocked. Now to the Brocken, the witch's ride. The stubble is gold and the corn is green. There is the carnival crew to be seen, and Squire Urianus will come to preside, so over the valleys our company floats, with witches affording on stinking old goats. Goethe may have gained inspiration from two rock formations on the Mountain Summit, the Devil's Pulpit and the Witch's Altar. Goethe was drawing on folklore and legends for these scenes, and they give us a glimpse into a world where witches and demons were feared by everyday people. His sources spoke of a bevy of witches who came by night to the top of the Brocken to celebrate and show their devotion to Satan in ways incredibly sexual, which culminated in each kissing the ass of a goat. Goethe tempered the legends quite a bit in the end, downplaying the sexuality considerably, and Goethe wasn't the only writer of the age to tell the mysteries of while purgis night. Bram Stoker, who wrote Dracula, the book that spawned a zillion films, also wrote a short story along the same theme, Dracula's Guest. In the story, an Englishman en route to Transylvania arrives in Munich on while purgis night. The owner of the inn where he stays warns him against going out in the evening, advice the gentleman ignores. He abandons his carriage and sets off on foot toward an abandoned village, believed to be unholy. While purgis night, when, according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad, when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked, when all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. It took all my philosophy, all the religion I had been taught, all my courage not to collapse in a paroxysm of fright. Bram Stoker, Dracula's Guest and Other Weird Tales Like Mayday celebrations, dancing or even leaping about, particularly in conjunction with fire, is one of the staples of while purgis night. The lady of the house would customarily leap over her broom. Grain would grow as high as the farmer could jump on while purgis night. In addition to leaping over or dancing around, while purgis night fires had other uses, it was considered good luck to burn anything that had worn out over the previous year in that night's fires. Straw men were made and endowed with things like illness and disease, melancholy, even downright bad luck and burned in the fires as well. If you want to avoid bad weather and ensure good crops, you might put out bread with honey and butter tonight, or the Anken Schnitt or the Windhound. There were many things thought to go bump on this night, in addition to witches. To keep them at bay, children would gather greenery from ash, hawthorn, juniper and elder, which was then hung around the house and barns. Ironic that this was once done to appease the goddess, then later to scare away the witches. On while purgis night, precaution must be taken against witches who may harm cattle. Blast bells were hung from cows' necks. The stable doors are locked and sealed with three crosses. Not everyone wants to miss out on the witches though, but on your clothes wrong side out and walking backwards to a crossroads might make them visible to you. So would wearing a wild radish around your neck or on your person. Love potions were thought to be exceptionally potent on wall purgis night. Divination worked better as well. Sleeping with one stocking on, you checked it the next morning and if you found a single hair, the color would indicate the hair color of your eventual spouse. Keep a linen thread near a statue of the Virgin Mary on wall purgis night and at midnight unravel it and recite the following. Thread I pull thee, while purge I pray thee, that thou show to me what my husbands like to be. They judge of his disposition by the threads being strong or easily broken, soft or tightly woven. Due, on the morning of May 1st, makes girls who wash in it beautiful. The fair maid who on the 1st of May goes to the fields at break of day and washes in dew from the Hawthorne tree will ever after handsome be. Encyclopedia of Superstitions Speaking of garments and material, clothes worn on May day made from threads spun on wall purgis night would bring luck in the next day's shooting competitions. To those he holds in high regards, the devil turns his ammunition to free kugelen, which are bullets that always hit their mark. Now George was a good straight boy to begin with, but there was bad blood in him. Someway he got into the magic bullets and that leads straight to devil's work, just like marijuana leads to heroin. You think you can take them bullets or leave them, do ya? Just save a few for your bad days? Well now, we all have those bad days when you can't shoot for shit. The more of the magics you use, the more bad days you have without them. So it comes down finally to all your days being bad without the bullets. It's magics or nothing. Time to stop chipping around and kidding yourself kid, you're hooked. Heavy is lead. And that's where old George found himself. Out there at the crossroads, molding the devil's bullets. Now a man figures it's his bullets, so it'll hit what he wants to hit. But it don't always work that way. You see, some bullets is special for a single aim, a certain stag or a certain person, and no matter where you are, that's where the bullet will end up. And at the moment of aiming, the gun turns into a douser's wand and points where the bullet wants to go. George Schmidt was moving in a series of convulsive spazes, like someone with an epileptic fit, with his face distorted and his eyes wild like a lassoed horse bracing his legs. But something kept pulling him on, and now he's picking up the skulls and making the circle. I guess old George didn't rightly know what he was getting himself into. The fit was on him, and it carried him right to the crossroads. Crossroads from the Black Rider, written by Tom Waits and William Burroughs. What does this all mean? In days of old, winter was a damned hard season to survive. A good crop or the goodwill of your neighbors was essential. If you had neither, less work in the fields and pastures during the snows left you working to stay alive. It's no wonder people went a bit bonkers come the arrival of spring. While Purgeous Night was the kissing away of all of that in preparation for the celebrations of Beltane, it was the last gasp of darkness over the land before the light started shining a bit more bright. Both while Purgeous Night and Beltane contained an element of raw, unbridled sexuality. It was the ideal time to mate, after all. A woman who found herself with child conceived during this time would only be five months along at the beginning of October, when the crops were brought in, which meant you didn't have to struggle through a summer's worth of work laden with child. Fertility celebrations are often thought of as a time for licentiousness of all sorts. Excessive drink goes along well with unbridled sexuality and so, even if the sexual overtones are downplayed, while Purgeous Night is still celebrated in many places as a time for drinking. Goddesses revered for their abilities to aid in fertility were celebrated at this time. The fertility of the crops were magically transferred to people or perhaps it was the other way around. The arts of the cunning women or wise women of the forest were especially potent during this time. Their magic often revolved around love, sexuality and fertility and this is the ideal time for it as seeds begin to sprout, animals started to mate, and the world around them passed from the darkness of winter into the light of spring. One of the drawbacks of having an illiterate populace is that people tend to learn by oral tradition. Storytellers in other words, as anyone who has studied the history of oral tradition or even had a grandfather who was fond of tall tales can attest that while poetic in a sense, oral tradition begets a range of themes. We see the importance of an event in different ways, based on our own loves, fears and prejudices, and so depending on who tells the story, we can get the same story told in a variety of ways, which should parts a variety of meanings. As the old gods faded into the background, the collective memory of the people called out by nature for substitutes. The church provided these in the forms of saints and their holy days, and so on a day once celebrated in the name of a goddess, we find the same attributes of that deity transferred onto a Catholic saint, mainly because their holy day shared the same date. We find that Saint Walburga takes on the mantle of an ancient deity, be it Nehalenia, Nerthus, Holda, Birchta, and over time becomes along with Walperge's night the celebration of the witch. The woman behind the saint is forgotten, except for a handful of anecdotes and historical records lost to time. When the pagan goddesses were shoved back even farther and to disrepute, those who still worshiped the old ways had to go further afield to celebrate. And Walperge, an English woman who went to Germany to do God's work, takes on the memory of Holga, a Germanic goddess, and is branded as a witch. Up next, I'll share a short story from PJ Hodge called The Black Bargain. It's a dark tale specifically written for Walperge's night, when Weird Darkness returns. Please drop me an email with the subject line Hope and tell me about it. Feel free to remain anonymous if you wish. I want to know if the Hope in the Darkness page is making a positive impact on you or someone you know. Just drop me an email at Darren at WeirdDarkness.com. Darren is D-A-R-R-E-N and please put the word Hope as your subject line so I'll recognize it when it comes in. Thanks. There was something evil about the house. To the young man in the gray suit standing at the end of the circular drive, it towered gaunt and unfriendly against the darkening sky. He fingered the crumpled letter in his pocket and slowly made his way up the gravel path through the tangled mockery of a garden. Wonder if the old girl was having me on? He almost spoke the words aloud. No lights, no curtains at the gaping windows. Why, the whole place seemed derelict. Yet this was the address and that name of hers had sounded kind of familiar, but where had he heard it before? The thoughts darted uneasily through his mind as he moved along the drive. Must have known me, though, but who doesn't? The newspaper saw to that, all right. Strange how the dusk made such weird shapes of the overgrown hedges and bushes. Not that he was the nervous type. She probably lives around the back. What was it she said in the letter? Come to the house? Last day in April? Perhaps we can be of mutual assistance to each other? Why should she want to help him? And why the end of April? Still, what did he have to lose? She replaced the telephone receiver and sat back in the wing chair, listening. It was quiet in the front room and dark, but that helped her to hear better. Yes, he was coming. Mr. Freddy Jacks, last address, Wandsworth Prison. She smiled to herself as she thought how simple it had been to trace him. The newspaper reports of his favorite haunts, the pictures of him, she would have known him anywhere. The same thinning hair, the neat mustache that hid the full pink mouth, the pale, lashless eyes and pointed chin. The resemblance was remarkable and so fortunate. It dispelled any little qualms she might have had. The bell jangled through the silence. Let him wait. Leisurely she rose and lit the gas brackets above the mantelpiece. Then she crossed to the desk and made sure that the envelope was in the drawer, also the box of sleeping pills. Satisfied, she absentmindedly fondled the ring on her finger. Seemed ashamed to waste it on him, but it wasn't for long. It wouldn't do if he went away. Ms. Carla Friends. He found it hard to distinguish the small figure on the dim doorway. Good evening, Mr. Jacks. I've called about your letter. Awkwardly he fished in his pocket and produced the scrap of paper. Yes, won't you come in? She led the way into the cluttered, oppressive living room. You live here alone? He glanced around at the strange muddle of furniture. It looked as though she ate, slept and cooked in the same room. I have done so for many years. She sat behind the desk, her eyes drinking in every detail of his face. I didn't see any lights as I came along. I like to light up as late as I can. It saves fuel, but you can't be interested in an old spinster's economies. Her face wrinkled into a grin and he thought with a start how unreal everything was. Even this old crone with her thick raven hair and garish makeup gave him the willies. How did you hear about me? He spoke truckinately to disguise the queasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Why hadn't he gone round to see Harry instead of following up this old shrew's crazy letter? You're a famous man, Mr. Jacks, or should the word be infamous? Take a pic. It's old history. He shifted uncomfortably under her bright gaze. How long did they give you? Was it six or ten years for fraud and the intimidation charges? Why ask me? You seem to know all the answers. It's just that I want to be sure of my facts. Now I'm certain in your present circumstances that a little financial aid wouldn't come amiss, would it? She watched the greed and then fear flickering his eyes. Why pick on me? There are plenty of kids songs for your charity. But it wouldn't be charity. Oh no. You see, a long time ago, your father and I were known to each other. He may even have told you about me and my family. He used to call me Sinti. So you were in old flame and my father's? Relief flooded through him at the normality of the thing. Not that he could remember anything about the old hag. It used to be a full-time job keeping up with his father's love life. It would give him quite a shock if he'd lived to have seen this moth-eatin hag. Well, he was quite a lad, wasn't he? Under the well in her desk, her hands became claws, nipping at her own flesh, but she forced herself to meet his knowing leer. That's why I thought we might assist each other. Would you be interested? If so, I have a little proposition to make. Let's hear it first. I'll decide later. The expressionless voice ended. Jack stared at her in horror. What do you mean? Why not? What would it mean to a man of your caliber? No violence, just a gentle sleep induced by my sleeping pills, with a neat application by you of a soft cushion firmly applied. His mouth felt quite stiff and dry. And what's my share of the kitty? A heap of wool and old newspaper? He tried to force a laugh. What a situation to tell, Harry. Barmy wasn't the word for it. She oughtn't to be allowed out. Not if you're careful. She opened the desk drawer and laid the bulky envelope and key in front of him. Shall we say, the five hundred pounds for services anticipated, and for services rendered the key to my coal-seller where you'll find the total sum of my worldly goods? He was beginning to be convinced. How much is in the cellar? It's hard to say, but ample reward for your task. Give me some idea. Moistened his lips. Five thousand? Perhaps a little more? What do you say? Show me the contents of that. She pushed the envelope across to him and watched him thumb the notes. Five hundred, all right. All right, it's a deal. Spencer found suffocated in empty house. My person or person's unknown. Nobody saw me come here. Nobody would connect me with you. Just one thing puzzles me. What makes you want to quit this happy world? I'd like to know for the record. There are a number of reasons, but to satisfy your curiosity, I'll quote loneliness as an adequate motive, but you couldn't possibly understand. Then why not do it yourself? Why bring me into it? And risk by chance of... She fell silent for a moment and a pained look came to her eyes. Maybe I'm old-fashioned. I'd rather lead that to you. Kind of quibbling, aren't you? Well, when do you want it? A matter of fact, the words sounded. This was all so deliberate. No chance of saying it happened so quickly. None of the excitement to blunt the edges of the crime. I'm ready when you are. I shall take a normal quantity of sleeping pills just to allay suspicion. They work very quickly, and I shall be quite unaware of what you're doing. She laid the box of tablets on the desk, conely. But first, you'll burn my letter, and then perhaps you'll fetch me a glass of water from the kitchen. She listened as his retreating footsteps sounded more and more faintly, and at last died away altogether. Then she thumbed the ring, and with it came the wind. It was powerful and mercilessly cold, forcing open the pale wooden shutters. The claws were the first to go. Then the rest of her. To assure himself that he was not in the least nervous, he began to whistle, filling the glass with speed. As he returned to the living room to his surprise, he found the door wide open. I'm sure I closed it, he said to himself as he stood outside the room. Yes, I'm certain I did. He listened before entering. It was not the faintest sound from within. Stepping into the room, he became aware of a dramatic change in temperature. All at once his heart began to beat violently. Then it almost seemed to stand still, for the old lady was missing. The room empty, and now an unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps was coming from the cellar below. A few moments more, and they began to ascend the stairs. The lights flickered before the house plunged into darkness. He stood, almost paralyzed, while the footsteps came steadily on until they reached the top of the staircase. He could hear choked, uneven breathing, like that of some animal. He tried to call out, but his voice would not come. Meanwhile, the thing, whatever it was, was evidently coming in his direction. He moved noiselessly backwards, intending to slip into one of the empty rooms, but to his horror, he found no matter how hard he tried, he always found himself back in the same room, the very room he wished to avoid. For the next minute, the nameless horror had followed him, and he heard the door shut, and the key sharply turned. He heard this with a mingled sense of terror and relief. At least his unseen companion was human, surely. He hardly knew what he feared. He guided himself stealthily and silently past a small table, which seemed to occupy the center of the room, against which he had brushed when entering and squeezed himself into the furthest corner. Then he heard the thing fling itself down on the floor, where it seemed to lay for some time quite still. At last, the throbbing silence was broken by a low, nickering laugh. Jack's blood ran cold, for he knew he was shut up with something that was mad, either the woman herself or perhaps something of her creation. He hardly dared to breathe. All at once, the things began to cry and wail, shaking the house. Presently, it began to speak again in a low, unnaturally quiet monotone, every now and then broken by a horrible laugh. Jack's crouched in his corner, disturbed by the hard leaps of his own heart, and again the loathsome voice broke into whispered words and cackles. Suddenly, it stopped and seemed to listen. Jack's listened too. In spite of himself, Jack's uttered a low, half-articulate cry. The thing made a swift movement towards him. I shall play the hurting game this time, it hissed. Jack's could hear it feeling around the walls with eager, cruel fingers, could hear its panting breaths. Noiselessly, he crept backwards as it came nearer, his arms held tightly against his sides so that his clothes might not rustle. A loud crash of glass breaking came from one of the empty rooms, then the sound of voices and footsteps. All at once, the creature uttered a terrible scream. No! Merciful Heaven! It's on me! It chokes me! It chokes me! God help! There was a sudden wild rush across the room, a rasping sound as the window was flung open, a heavy sickening thud in the court below. And silence. And after what seemed half a century, at least, someone forced open the door, lights blazed through the darkness, and the confused sound of men's voices were heard. Is this where he fell? asked the officer. Yes, I guess so, he answered briefly. For the sight in the courtyard had not been a pleasant one. And, as one of the officers had noted, his features were that of a man terrified, and his hair matted, coated with what appeared to be a great amount of cuckoo spit, still foaming and popping. It was lucky they had followed up that stray phone call half an hour previously. On Harry Jacks, they found the money. It was one of those watertight cases. But they never discovered the old lady's black box. She'd hidden it too well. If they had, they would have found that her treasure consisted of three yellowing newspaper cuttings whose headlines read, Gypsy Family Claim Harassment, Mayor Jack's Forces Eviction, Gypsy Mother's Suicide. No wonder Franz lay smiling to herself on the sofa. Her black wig had tumbled to the floor, and her old, gnarled head drooped against the cushions. But what did that matter? She had waited a long time to perfect her craft. Thanks for listening. If you like the show, please share it with someone you know who loves the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters or unsolved mysteries like you do. And please leave a rating and a review of the show and the podcast app you listen from. You can also email me anytime with your questions or comments through the website at WeirdDarkness.com. That's also where you can find all of my social media, listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, shop the Weird Darkness store, sign up for the email newsletter to win monthly prizes, find other podcasts that I host, and find the Hope in the Darkness page if you or somebody you know is struggling with depression or dark thoughts. Plus, if you have a true paranormal or creepy tale to tell, you can click on Tell Your Story or call the dark line toll-free at 1-877-277-5944. All stories in Weird Darkness are purported to be true unless stated otherwise, and you can find source links or links to the authors in the show notes. Happy All Purchased Docked, everyone, was written by Todd at gothichorrorstories.com. And the fictional tale The Black Bargain is by PJ Hodge, posted at freakyfolktales.com. Weird Darkness is a production and trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright, Weird Darkness, 2022. And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light. Isaiah 8, verse 19, When men tell you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter, should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living? And a final thought, it's okay to dislike someone, or even dislike someone for no reason whatsoever, but it's not okay to disrespect, degrade, and humiliate that person, no matter what the reason. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness.