Episode 27: Schism

Narrator: Welcome to Ghost Wax, a Far and Tall Tales Production. The following story may contain graphic content. Listener discretion is advised. 

[Intro Music]

Episode 27, Schism

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Voncid: Justin, are you still with us?

Justin: Heh. I think you of all people would know if I wasn't.

Voncid: Fair enough. Are you feeling calmer now?

Justin: A bit. I feel a little more... comfortable in my body, at least. Maybe comfortable is the wrong word. Accustomed? It's still strange that my heart isn't beating.

Voncid: You have been through so much, and now all this. It is completely understandable.  Do you think you are ready to continue your tale?

Justin: My “tale”. Heh. Yeah. Yeah, sure.

Voncid: All right. When you left off, you and your friends had just found-

Justin: Terri. Yeah. Totally skinned, not that we checked. Seemed like she'd been intact when she slid off the roof, but then she hit the ground, and... Well, that was it. 

We all booked it for the front yard, to get out of there. Both vehicles were well buried in snow but that wasn’t going to stop us. I knew where Randall kept the plow attachment for his truck, in a little shed, no more than a dozen yards from where we were parked. We didn’t like splitting up, even for a moment but it felt like every second counted. 

Sounds of wind

So Carl and I ran for the shed while Wendy dug out the truck. We got the plow out, no problem. It was heavy, but our adrenaline had kicked in and we practically ran it back to Wendy. She was there, thank god, but she was panicking. She couldn’t find the truck. She’d dug into the larger mound, but it was just snow. By the time we got back, she’d gotten a good three feet into where the hood should be. No truck. Carl and I dropped the plow and joined her. We dug until the pile of snow was gone. And nothing was there.

We started digging for the Volkswagen... not sure why, even if we found it, it would never be able to drive out. But we had to try. And, sure enough, no car. Just snow, top to bottom. 

We went  back into the cabin, to regroup or just because we couldn’t think of anything else to do.  I insisted we bring the plow with us. I was a bit hysterical by then, I think I just wanted to hold onto something. To make sure it wouldn’t disappear. And it was heavy, a good thing to use to block the door. 

We got inside, barricaded the door. We tried the phone, nothing. Carl checked his watch, and cursed It was almost 3:00. Which was impossible- the sun had just come up. And the snow had started again. Carl got resolute, then. Said enough was enough, he was hiking into town. It was less than a half-mile to the road, and from there only three miles to town. With any luck, the main road would be plowed, we could make the whole trip in a little over an hour. We agreed, and armed up. Carl with his poker, Wendy with her knife, and me my table leg. We opened the door to head out, and the two snow piles were back. The truck, and the car, right where they had been. No signs of digging, no tracks on the front steps at all. The plow was still just inside the cabin, but there were no signs the shed had been disturbed. 

For some reason, that’s what broke me. Not the deaths, not the disappearances, but those fucking piles of snow. Like all that we had done had no effect on this world. I dropped my club, and refused to go. We argued, for a little while, but I stopped it with some BS excuse about staying in case Randall came back. Which was ridiculous, we all knew Randall was gone. But they accepted it. Or just didn’t want to argue.

I could see disappointment in Wendy’s eyes, and part of me knew that I’d blown my chance with her but most of me did not give a shit, and was pretty sure I’d never be horny again. So off they went, weapons in hand, and left me on the porch. I watched them until they disappeared around a bend in the road. They never looked back. 

I don’t know why I thought they would. 

I went back inside and started barricading as best I could. Plow in front of the door, propped larger items as much in front of the picture windows as I could..dining table, the couch, and the back... the back, door. The cabin has a back door. Of course the cabin has a back door. But I hadn’t remembered it until now. We hadn’t watched it last night. We never considered Terri might have left that way. I’d never tried to go in that door the whole trip. Even before... before the first body. We’d never used it, or thought about it but there it was. Mocking me. I blocked that door the most. 

I piled things in front of it, furniture, pictures off the walls, whatever I could tear loose. I knew what I was doing didn’t make sense but, insane as it sounds, I didn’t trust that door. Which just shows what I know, because that door was never the problem. I’ll bet that if I checked later that door would have been gone. I think it was only there to get me to use up all the furniture. Maybe I was right, and covering that door changed the plan. Either way, it didn’t help me. By the time I was done night had fallen completely, and it was pitch dark out. It might have been snowing again, but I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. I sat on the floor in the main room and fed the fire. The big picture window was behind me partially covered, but mostly showing darkness. The plow was still a giant doorstop on the front door. It was Sunday, I was almost certain it was Sunday. Tomorrow, after I didn’t show up at work, I’d be reported missing. Friends knew I was coming here. The sheriff knew we were here, already had a report from us. Help would come. I just had to hold out until it did. 

As if on cue, I felt it. My head whipped towards the front door. The Presence was back. It was worse this time. I don't think it was any different, but I was alone. Its probing, its searching, it was only for me. Time seemed… slower. My mind wandered. 

I remembered Carl's face, the panic on it when he ran out of the woods. I remembered Wendy's scream when she saw McGurdy's body. I hoped they were all right. I hoped Wendy was safe with Carl, after what he did. Which... what did I mean by that? I thought back to the woods, to walking out with Phil and Carl and I remembered something new. I'd reached the sound of the thumping. Carl kneeling over Phil, lifting his head and slamming it down over and over again, until his skull caved in and burst. Phil seeing me his eyes, imploring me for help, reaching one hand out towards me. But that, but that wasn’t, that wasn't what happened. I hadn't seen what had happened, I hadn't. I snapped back into the present, and the Presence felt... stronger. More certain. I forced my attention back to it, and it seemed to recede again. But now I knew how much danger Wendy was in. If Carl could do that, to someone he loved, what would he do to her? 

My mind wandered again, remembering. Reaching the sound of the thumping. Phil kneeling over Carl, lifting his head and, slamming it down over and over again, until his skull caved in and burst. Carl seeing me, his eyes imploring me for help, reaching one hand out towards me, but that was impossible. Carl, Carl was the one that had survived. I hadn't, I couldn't have seen him killed. I came back to reality again, and the Presence felt huge. It was still crouched just by the front door, and now it was spilled into the entire cabin, its edges inches from me. I tried to force it back with my will, and it worked a bit, but not enough. It was still so close to me. 

I tried to stay focused, I tried, but I couldn’t get the memories, the contradictions, the lies out of my head. Reaching the woodpile. Carl grabbing me, throwing me down, kneeling over me, slamming my head down over and over again. The rough feel of the split logs, scraping my scalp, catching and tearing my hair. Seeing Phil at the edge of the woods, looking at him imploringly, reaching one hand out towards him. Until my skull gave way, cracking and caving in, and I snapped back to reality again, instinctively grabbing both hands to the back of my head. It-it was solid, of course that hadn't happened. Even though I could feel the blood and fluids spilling down my neck, feel razor shards of my skull cut into my brain. It hadn't happened. It hadn't. It took all of my will to pry my hand from the unbroken skin at the back of my scalp and remember the Presence. 

It was back by the door. In triumph? Failure? It was still there, still... malicious. But it hadn't taken advantage of my distraction. Which was good, because my focus was gone. The room, the world, seemed to be spinning, flickering in and out of existence. The fire had died down, then was fresh and blazing, then was down to cold ash. Rugs changed locations, and patterns. Photos leapt off walls, shattered on the floor, then leapt back up with new photos in them. People I didn't recognize, people I did but in places I didn't know, a photo of me and Wendy at our wedding. One moment, the room returned to perfect order, all the furniture in its place. The windows filled with bright flickering light. I stood, and walked up to them looking out over the lake. Every other cabin on the lake, all of the vacation spots and McGurdy's home, were engulfed in flames. Reaching halfway into the sky. I looked up, and the stars themselves were dancing. Changing into constellations that I recognized but couldn't name. 

I blinked and it was all back to how it had been. My nose was an inch from the table I'd set up against the window, its legs on either side of me. And I felt the Presence again, but not by the door. It had circled the cabin. It was right outside the window, inches from me, reaching in. I dropped into a crouch and focused, my will was like a spear. I felt it push back, slowly moving around the house until it was by the door again. Where it stayed. It certainly knew that I was in here now but, more than anything else, it seemed... amused? 

Tears welled in my eyes. It-It felt hopeless. Then, another jump in reality. The strangest yet. It was daytime. Full-ass daytime. Sun blazing in all the windows, and the Presence was gone. I didn't think, I just ran. Out the door, looking around for a way out. And the vehicles were there. The mounds of snow had melted, enough to see hoods and side mirrors poking out. I ran for the truck, digging the driver's side door out with my hands, desperately clawing away enough snow to open the door. Randall was inside. He was uh, he looked like he'd been in a car accident. His chest was... impaled on the steering wheel, ribs shattered and wrapped around it like they were locked in a passionate embrace. Like kissing teenagers with their braces stuck together. His face was pressed up against the windshield, his neck bent all the way backward at a crazy angle, blood and viscera caked and dried across the dashboard and the seat. But the truck was... fine. No dents. No scrapes, outside or in. The windshield wasn't even cracked. It looked like Randall had been in a horrible accident, but the truck hadn't. I froze, staring, and suddenly it was night again and I was holding the door handle poking out of a perfect mound of snow. I ran for the cabin door, surrounded by the sound of screaming and cries for help and-and hysterical laughter. All of it, mine. As I ran, the other voices vanished, one by one, some screaming as they were picked off. I made it to the door, closed it behind me, moved the plow against it again, and felt the fingers of the Presence, groping for me again. 

This time, I didn't hold still, didn't try to get it to pass me by. It-it was all too much. I didn't think help was coming anymore, didn't think it could. I strode across the cabin, into the kitchen, and picked up a knife on the counter, the knife I remembered seeing in Wendy’s hand, and turned back to the door. All that mattered now were answers. What was the Presence? What did it want? I'd given up on figuring out what was going on but if I could get answers to even one question, take control of even one thing, that might be enough. I turned, knife in hand, and walked back to the door. The plow was already pushed to one side, sure, why not. Knife raised in one hand, I grabbed the door handle with the other and, pulled it open, and in the doorway... was Wendy. Standing, one hand raised to knock. Behind her, in the driveway, was a Snowcat with flashing police lights on top of it, a figure leaning out each side. I was wrong. Help had come. You have to understand, when I opened the door, I was already swinging the knife. I didn't mean to stab Wendy. I'd barely seen her when the knife hit her in the neck. Her expression went from relief to... surprise. Not fear, not betrayal, just surprise. And then... it was all just pure adrenaline. The second time I stabbed her was that, automatic, shock. Just pull the knife out and drive it back in, no thought involved. Maybe the third too. After that, though... after that I was stabbing on purpose. By the time she hit the ground, stupid expression of surprise still on her face, I'd stabbed her eight times and she was starting to go cold. The knife was stuck, wedged in her ribs, and there was noise from ahead, from two little things making noise from their faces and noise from their hands. tiny pieces of hot metal roaring at me from their hands, coming at me so, so fast, and I took their heat as they came and they fell cold and slow into the snow in front of me, and I leapt, leapt like a tiger, and the shape on the right crumpled under me, and as my hands closed on its loud head I realized that I wasn't going to get any answers, but also that I was asking the wrong question. I'd wanted to know what the Presence by the door was, but I should have been asking what side of the door it was on. And the thing beneath me  was loud so loud and so warm, and I closed my hands in its head and it got quiet and I took its heat and I looked up and the other figure was running away, but it was leaving footsteps and an empty gun and terror piss and I stood and strode after it, and I didn't have to hurry I could savor it and I let the figure be every figure and I took their heat and their noise one by one as they crumbled and went away until it was only the one and then I had it. And then I was out of figures to find and it got dark, and cold so cold, and then you were here and brought me back Reclaimer and you are fewer so much fewer than the others but you still have copies who have heat and I want it!

Voncid: That's enough of that. Olivia now.

we hear the sounds of powerful magic, wind and storm trapped in a small room

Olivia: I bind you, beast. I bind you by these signs. I bind you by your name, Justin Hawkins.

Justin: laughs

Olivia: Not enough? No, of course. One name is not enough because you have so many now.  Greedy thing. So many pasts, presents and futures taken. I bind you by your names. Justin Hawkins, Wendy Broger, Phillip Canson, Carl Knutson, Randall Thomas-

Justin: groan

Voncid and Olivia together: Terri Stephens, Edgar McGurdy, Sheriff Donald Johns, Deputy James Johns.

The sounds swell as the chanting continues and then dies down. Until it's still.

Luca: It doesn't look... complete.

Voncid: No. We need more names. 

Olivia: Get everyone in Research awake and working. We need as many names of as many individuals who ever resided at or near that lake as you can find. Any owner, any tenant, anyone who ever visited or lived there, regardless of whether they died or not. Hell, get me names of pets that went missing, we are going to scattershot this. Quickly.

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Voncid: There. The binding is still not perfect, but seems strong enough.

Luca: So many.

Voncid: Yes.

Luca: And every name that we saw a reaction from…

Voncid: Was someone this thing, was at some point.

Luca: I don't understand.

Voncid: I said that my predecessor on this case, Ida… she had many theories about what had happened. There was only one that truly chilled me, and nothing we have seen today can disprove it. Quite the opposite, it seems to lend that theory credence.

Olivia: Schisms.

Luca: What?

Voncid: Typically reality proceeds on a straightforward path. Infinite possibilities, that winnow down into a single actuality, that eventually decays to memory. But on occasion, a schism occurs- more than one possibility remains, and becomes tangible. Thus in conflict, all but one are destroyed. Usually, this is on a small scale, a single molecule of air moves both left and right, so while the elimination of one is violent, it is small and goes unnoticed. But there are more significant possibilities.

Olivia: Most often it would just be ripples, if so proper schisms would be like... meteors. Millions have occurred throughout history, thousands more occur every day, but most are single specks of dust that are never seen. The ones that do real noticeable damage number in the dozens total. But, if a hunter learns how to consciously cause schisms... well. It could target a human prey, cause a break that creates dozens of possible outcomes and therefore dozens of copies of that prey, then kill and consume all but one and leave that one to proceed in the world. It could kill one person hundreds of times, but since none of those times become reality and remain true, no one even knows a hunter was there.

Luca: So why did everyone die this time?

Voncid: Perhaps this hunter was a juvenile, with imperfect control. Or perhaps it was starving. Either way, it didn't stop, got carried away, turned on itself in the end and thus left us evidence to find.

Luca: Shit.

Voncid: Perhaps this happens every day, everywhere. Have you ever had a dream that something is chasing you, tearing you apart, killing you, only to be relieved upon awakening? 

I have.

I hope this is just speculation… 

Olivia: What are you writing?

Voncid: A label for this recording.  

Luca: The Cold Case?

Olivia: Cheeky. Well, get a team in here to seal off this examination room.  If we learn nothing else from this subject, perhaps we can at least learn how long it takes for it to starve to death.

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Narrator: Thank you for listening to Ghost Wax, a production of Far and Tall Tales. Find us at farandtalltales.squarespace.com. Ghost Wax is an independent podcast so if you liked this show, please rate and review, and consider joining us on Patreon at Patreon.com/farandtalltales

Also give a listen to our fantasy role play show Could've Been Heroes for something completely different. 

Ghost Wax is written and directed by Robert Knutson 

Production and editing by Aaron Schoenrock

Our theme song is by Beau Hoover.

This episode was written by Brian Watson Jones and features 

Robert Knutson as Voncid

Aaron Schoenrock as Luca

HJ Raider as Olivia

And Scott Reef as Justin Hawkins