Content warnings for this episode include: Parental Abuse, Alcoholism, Animal cruelty or animal death (hunting rabbits mentioned), Violence, Kidnapping and abduction, Death + Injury, Blood, Mental illness, Homophobia, Gun Mention, Static (including sfx), Emotional Manipulation, Bugs, Body horror, Alcohol Use, Religious Violence
Intro - One More Day
How long can you keep walking? It is not a question, but a game that you play with yourself each day. Will your legs be the first to go, or your ankles? The soles of your shoes? The blood in your veins, full of dust and contagion? You wish each day would bring its own struggle, define your journey with little victories, but they bleed together like blood in water, flowing past you too quickly to count. The sun shines above you a little and then it is gone, and gone, and gone.
And still you walk.
Walk until your shoes turn to rags and fall away, until the sun turns your skin to leather, until your bones scratch at the bare earth. When you finally come to rest, fall to your knees in blessed stillness, it is in the black earth of the deep forest, moist soil like a thick blanket, where the footsteps ahead of you spell Hello From The Hallowoods.
Right now, I lurk in the barrel of a firearm. It is not the kind of place I enjoy spending my time. It is held in the shaking hands of an eight year old girl with dirty blonde hair. It is pointed towards a boy in a yellow jacket, whose journey has just been interrupted. The theme of tonight’s episode is Walks.
Story 1 - An Angel's Hand
Johannah Wicker held the gun in one hand, and with the other gestured for the boy to hand over his jacket, his compass, his light. He held up the drum he was carrying but did not immediately comply.
“Hurry,” she said.
“Can I set my drum down?” said Russell.
“Sure,” she said.
“You didn’t answer my question, earlier,” Russell said, and slowly crouched to set the tin drum down on the ground. Johannah wanted to glance to the wide forest around them, make sure no more faceless foxes were sneaking up on her, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the one in front of her. “Do you live around here? Are we close to Fort Freedom?”
“None of your business,” Johannah said. “I’m not lost.”
“I didn’t say you were,” said Russell, and paused. “Are you lost?”
“I just told you that I”m not,” Johannah snapped, and pointed the weapon at him for extra emphasis. “Now give me your stuff already.”
Russell nodded, and slid his backpack onto the ground, began to take off his coat.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he said.
Johannah’s eyes narrowed. Her siblings never had good secrets to tell. “Only if it’s loud. And from over there.”
“We’re lost too,” said Russell, and as he said it, slid something from his coat pocket behind his back as he took his patch-covered jacket off.
“I don’t care,” she said. “My mom says Scoutpost people are sissies. Throw the jacket over.”
Russell stared at her incredulously.
“Well your mom is wrong,” he said. “We beat Fort Freedom in the big fight. You guys said you’d never come back to the forest.”
“Well I don’t plan to be here long,” she said, and pointed with the pistol. It was heavy to keep up, kept pointing down of its own accord. “Jacket.”
He slung it over to her, and she fished it from the fallen leaves, pulled it on—a reprieve from the brisk autumn wind. She checked the pockets for the compass, found it, checked that it worked.
“Now the backpack,” she said.
“You wouldn’t shoot me,” said Russell. “You probably don’t know how that thing works. Guns aren’t for kids.”
“My brothers take me hunting and make me shoot rabbits,” Johannah said. “I try to get them in the head so they won’t make noise. My brothers like when they make noise. But I’m nice that way.”
The backpack landed by her feet with a thunk. She knelt down, rummaged through, pulled out a piece of jerky and began gnawing on it.
“That’s my food,” Russell protested.
“It’s my food now,” Johannah said. She stood up, and shouldered the bag; his jacket was still warm on the inside. She pointed the stolen gun at him again, and he held his hands up higher, shivered in the wind.
“One more thing,” she said. “I want whatever you’ve got in your pockets.”
Russell turned paler than he already was.
“I don’t have anything else,” he said.
“You’re bad at lying,” she said. “And I saw you take something.”
“I can’t give it to you,” Russell said. “I need it.”
“Sounds like you won’t be needing it now,” she said. “Empty ‘em.”
“It doesn’t belong to me,” Russell said.
“Right,” Johannah said, and took a few steps towards him, boots crunching in the underbrush. “It’s mine now. Show me what you’ve got.”
“No!” a voice said, and she was suddenly aware of a hand upon her wrist, an exposed ribcage, a bare skull, lidless eyes, rows of little teeth, right in front of her. She screamed, and tried to free her hand, dropped the handgun into the bushes in the process. She hit the forest floor as she tumbled back, and lay there for a moment as the demon vanished, and Russell approached a few steps.
“I’ve seen an angel before,” she said. “Was that the devil?”
“That was Al. He’s friendly,” Russell said, and crossed his arms. The demon was not entirely gone, she realized; it hung in the air like a mist, watched her from Russell’s side.
“Listen,” Russell said. “We ran away too. And I don’t know how to find my way back from here. But this…”
He took an item from his pocket, a copper rectangle that gleamed with patterns. “This has directions to a school. I think maybe we can spend the night there instead of in the cold. And in the morning, we can all figure out how to get home. Okay?”
He held out a hand to her, and she studied it for a moment.
What if I don’t want to go home, she wondered? What if everything’s been worse since the summer and mom is gone half the time and when she’s back she’s meaner than usual? What if there’s no good place left for me to go?
It wasn’t an angel’s hand, but it was an outstretched hand nonetheless, and she took it.
“Okay,” she said. “Just for tonight.”
Interlude 1 - First Snow
The first touch of snow has arrived in the Hallowoods, dreamers. The trees have bared their branches to hold crystalline canopies, and the pines turn from black to white. The frogs and beetles nestle in their burrows, prepare to wait out the winter and hide until the sun thaws them.
Eyeless Owls line their nests with hides, and the Fastidious Rotwhelks seal themselves in their shells with mucus, and the Wandering Night-Gaunts grin at the sky; their young experience the cold of the snow on their pointed hooves for the first time.
Be aware that although the snow is beautiful, it is still a form of water, and to it the changing of the age still is bound. Avoid melting snow to drink where the color is mottled black and white, as though it had fallen through a soot cloud. And beware the lakes, for although they may appear frozen over and still, their denizens do not all sleep so easily.
We go now to one who does sleep easily.
Story 2 - One Last Change
Hector Mendoza squinted at the sky as he trudged along beside Jonah, watched his pale-eyed hound roll through the snowflakes, chase some of Big Mikey’s other dogs along the trail. She did not pant or gasp despite the hours of walking. She did not breathe at all.
He and his lover, on the other hand, was not so lucky, and he paused with Jonah on the trail side to catch their breath a few moments as their expedition party trudged ahead, condensating breaths escaping like spirits.
“Last time I saw this neck of the woods, I was promising myself that I’d never be back,” Hector said.
“Last time I saw this neck of the woods, I woke up to see you trying to breathe some life back into my corpse, and then we ran from the froglin army,” Jonah said, snowflakes collecting on his wide yellow hat. A light flurry had begun in the early morning, dusting the trees with light, although it melted by the time it touched the forest floor. “But hey. At least this time, it’s a winter wonderland.”
“I hate snow,” Hector grunted, and dusted some off the shoulder of his coat. “Never saw much of it growing up in Tuscon. And there isn’t as much magic as the TV specials would have you believe. Just bad traffic and scarce food.”
“It always makes me think of Christmas,” Jonah said. “Which was a complicated time for our house usually. But Ma loves Christmas. I think because everything’s supposed to be fine and jolly, then. And if it’s always Christmas than nothing can ever be wrong.”
“Oh I did Christmases,” Hector said, and shouldered his duffel bag. “It’s the one day of the year ol’ Dad would be guaranteed to be too under the drink to fetch the belt.”
Jonah paused, and Hector looked down at the snow, put his hand on his hips.
“Sorry,” Hector said. “Did it again, didn’t I.”
“No, it’s good that you’re talking about these things,” Jonah said. “It’s just a lot when they get dropped into normal conversation, you know? It… breaks my heart that kind of thing happened to you.”
“Doesn’t break mine,” Hector shrugged. “That’s life. Heh. It ain’t always Christmas. People that say they love you, hurt you. Santa doesn’t break into your home and give you what you always wanted. And when people go missing in the woods, they don’t come back. You’ve got to accept the truth of things if you’re going to live with it.”
He noticed there were tears in the eyes of the bushy-bearded man beside him, and he stopped talking.
“Mine never picked up a belt,” Jonah said. “But he had a sharp tongue, and he stung with it often. I felt bad after leaving, you know, that my mom was still there with him. But if I didn’t get out I was going to do some harm.”
“Did he ever know?” Hector said, and looked up; the group was a hundred feet down the trail by now. He began ambling after them, Jonah in tow. “That you were, uh. Predisposed…”
“Gay? No, although I think he had his suspicions. I didn’t exactly write home about it,” Jonah said. “What about yours?”
Hector paused on the edge of a sort of precipice, but before he could think about jumping he was already falling over.
“Wouldn’t have called myself that at the time,” Hector said, and examined his wooden hand in his gloved one as he walked. “But he’d be on my case that I didn’t have a girlfriend, didn’t have any interest. I had a magazine, I think, in my room. Hidden. I was just curious. But he found it, and he made a lot of assumptions. Threw everything I had on the lawn. And the last time I saw him was in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle.”
Jonah said nothing; only put an arm around Hector’s neck and kissed his forehead. And against all odds, Hector found there were tears in his eyes, freezing in his eyelashes.
“God,” Hector said. “That seems like a lifetime ago. If he’d known the black rains would happen, that everything was going to fall apart, I wonder if he’d still have cared? I’ve got a man now. Feels weird to say. I’ve got a tree growing in my skin. And I’m going to visit the arctic and break some kind of super death machine. I don’t even think about it, most days, where I started.”
“I’m proud of you, Hec,” Jonah said. “And if you ever feel like you want to talk about this stuff, you can.”
Big Mikey and Mort were only hulking shapes in the distance, a crowd of acquaintances and hounds around them, and Hector picked up the pace a little, wiped falling snowflakes from his eyebrows.
“What did you say to Cindy last night?” Jonah said. “She’s been less… herself today.”
“Just shared a few of my observations,” Hector said, and put his hand of wooden bark on Jonah’s shoulder as they walked. “That you’ve got to keep an open mind about things. Because when we get into those Northmost woods, we can’t be fighting each other. We’ve got to focus on fighting the faceless thing that tore you limb from limb last time. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Actually,” Jonah said, and there was the faintest green in his eyes, “I’ve got some ideas for how we get past him.”
Marketing - Sacramento
I think there’s something wrong with me.
And it’s not just that I’m three times my old height or that something is deeply wrong with my skin or that my bones have moved to the outside. It’s… it’s about energy. And sometimes my energy is so high and I am simply the most excited about whatever enterprise I’ve undertaken. That’s part of the Lady Ethel Brand is a certain vivaciousness and confidence. But then I try it for a little while and the enthusiasm disappears.
Right now for instance, I don’t care about the voyage across America or the wonderful journey of self-discovery I’m embarking on. My feet hurt, all of them, and I’m hungry again and there’s nothing worth eating. I’m exhausted. I’ve even abandoned one of my bags; it was getting too much to carry them all and manage the boys at the same time.
Sacramento should be alive. Bustling. But the lights in all these buildings are off, and they’ve collapsed, been charred by the wildfires, overgrown by weeds.
I did this.
Well, really Oswald did this. He had the company and the money. But I had the campaign ideas and the slogans and the execution. I moved everyone in to Box Cassiopeia and Andromeda and Orion. I emptied the world. I reduced this city to ash.
Make no mistake, there’s a wonderful Sacramento in the Prime Dream, but it’s nowhere you can rest your feet. Nowhere you can hide from the sun.
I looked forward to seeing this city. Now I only look forward to leaving…
Story 2, Continued - One Last Change
Yes, yes. Grappling with the burden of your past atrocities. Please continue until your revelations lead you to a moment of silence. I tried to keep quiet about these interruptions, dreamers, but they test my patience every time.
We return now to Hector Mendoza.
Hector worked to help set up the shelters for the night as Big Mikey made his neverending goodbyes. The new arm did have some utility; if he made a fist he could hammer in tent stakes with it. Big Mikey’s dogs, flea-bitten and shivering, gave him a wide berth, and swarmed around Big Mikey’s feet as he prepared to set off.
“I’ll miss you,” Mort said. The massive red machine had several supply crates bundled on his back. “I hope I see you again.”
“If you go back to the Scoutpost, I’ll be there sometimes,” said Big Mikey. “And you can always come visit me at the Find A Friend Animal Shelter!”
“I don’t know where that is,” Mort said.
“Neither do I, really,” Big Mikey said, and scratched his chin with a blackened nail. “Just that way. I look for it until I find it again.”
“Right,” Mort said.
“Big Mikey, thank you for not eating anyone or sticking anyone in bags this time,” Riot said from the depths of a large winter coat. A cat peeked from her collar. The blue-haired kid was beside her, setting up shelter number two. “Are you going to be able to get back safe?”
“I will,” Big Mikey said, and momentarily stuck out his warty tongue to catch a snowflake. “And then I’ll take a long nap. Until it gets warmer again.”
“We will see you when the spring comes,” Diggory waved, and glanced to their expedition leader, who had her jacket loose around her shoulders, face red, and slid out silver slabs from one of her supply bags, some technology that Hector didn’t recognize and therefore disliked. She looked up momentarily.
“Goodbye,” she said.
“Goodbye!” Big Mikey returned, and gave a last little wave with his gigantic hand, and trod off one thunderous footstep at a time into the trees beyond, dusting snow from their branches with every step forward.
“Everyone?” Jonah said, and gestured to the group from the middle of the camp site. “Before we go any farther, I do want to run by a few things. Like Cindy’s been saying all day, this is Night-Gaunt territory. Eat food quickly and away from camp. Don’t start any fires. Cindy’s got these handy heating pads to share until we’re through this neck of the woods. Now the region we’re about to enter is what some of you call the Northmost woods.”
“Walt made some notes,” Riot piped up. “But mostly he waited for the mountains to come back around. The woods this far north gave him a bad feeling.”
“As they should have,” Hector said, and stepped up from the tent, went over to stand beside Jonah. “The last time we were here, Jonah died. I assure you that was bigger news to me at the time than it seems now. I barely made it out. The world around you is going to start changing. Contorting out of place. The stars will turn green overhead, and no matter which direction you go, you’ll be going north.”
“Which, luckily for us, is the direction we’re going,” Diggory said.
“Don’t worry,” Cindy said, and stood tall. “The equipment I’ve brought is a little more capable than your average pocket compass.”
“Pocket compass or not, we’re going to start getting into a part of the world that doesn’t work like it should,” Jonah said.
“It’s like a black hole,” Olivier said, which surprised Hector a little. Kid tended to remain quiet. “Or another supermassive object. It has a weight that it asserts on reality, and everything around it bends. And it’s hard to escape its pull.”
He seemed to realize all eyes were on him, and he backed a few steps away. “Downing Hill is like that a little bit. And also this is basically what they were training me for.”
“Not only that,” Jonah said. “There’s something that lives in the Northmost woods. It’s like me, I think. It wears a crown, and its domain is the protection of the...”
“What he means to say is that there’s a monster, about nine feet high, twenty feet long,” Hector said. “Torso vaguely humanoid, with no face and antlers. Twenty feet of giant centipede with human arms for legs. When it screams, it’ll damage your eardrums, so hearing protection is essential when the time comes. You’ll know we’re close when the trees start to look like an oil spill.”
“Well, that’s mostly correct,” Jonah said, and looked to Hector for a moment, back to the group. “But it’s not a monster. It’s an intelligent entity, I think.”
“Jonah, this thing ripped you apart last time we were here,” Hector grunted. “Don’t worry. I know what it wants now. I know its kind. I can set a trap. Try and delay it long enough that we pass through. Get into the antlion’s den.”
“I’m not sure that will be a good idea,” Jonah said. “I didn’t know what I was last time I was here, or what the Faceless King was. But I know now. I’ve met one other thing like this, and it could be reasoned with. I’m going to try to talk to it. Make it see why we have to go through.”
“I’m continually concerned by the fact that I have no idea what either of you are talking about,” Cindy said. “All this talk of guardians and crowns and insects. I understand these things hold significance for you, but at the end of the day, we have our mission, and we have obstacles to that mission. If those obstacles are geographic, we cross them. If those obstacles are violent, we destroy them.”
“Sometimes you just need to understand one another,” Diggory said. “Many of our friends have become so just based on sympathy.”
“And I am doing my best,” Cindy said, and sighed, breathed a mist of cold air into the darkening sky. “I have been a leader of the Stonemaid movement on the outside for almost twenty years. And during that time we’ve had to keep our people safe from the Botulus Corporation, and from the dead that refuse to stay buried and the animal monstrosities and the poisonous water. I’ve learned the damage things like you can do, Diggory. And I’m glad this group has conditioned you to some kind of stasis. But if a threat comes screaming out of the forest and tries to hurt any of you, I will not try to engage it in polite conversation. I will disable it permanently. You are my responsibility, while you are part of this crew, and we will make it there in one piece.”
“You almost shot Big Mikey,” Riot said. “He’s… well, he’s not cute. But he wouldn’t hurt anybody. Well, except for shoving me in a burlap sack and carrying me around for a few days, once.”
“And trying to eat me,” Olivier noted.
“The point is that things aren’t always what they seem like,” Percy said. The boy in the silver suit had been silent for most of the hike today. “I should know. Anyone who walked into the Alder house would have just seen a vengeful ghost, you know. But Diggory saw me. Sometimes when you give people a chance to do better, they take it.”
“I’m not talking about people,” Cindy said. “I’m talking about monsters.”
“Is there a difference?” Diggory said, and sat down on a fallen pine, freshly frosted. “Some of the kindest people I know are dead, or carried by flesh-eating plants, or living automobiles. Some of the greatest monsters I have known were perfectly human.”
“You… hm,” Cindy said, and pushed back her hair into her blond ponytail, breathed out. “You’re one to lecture? Everything that you are was ripped from someone else’s life. When you speak I don’t hear Diggory Graves. I can identify whose thoughts you’re stealing. They deserve to be buried. They deserve respect. But their corpses parade around like a puppet, and some old witch is pulling your strings and it sickens me. It takes a great deal of my resolve not to address the grievous things wrong within this party, which I am willing to ignore if it gets us where we need to go. So forgive me if I take some precautions to keep us from getting eaten on the way there. And when this is done, there will be no more monsters. Just people. As it should be.”
Riot’s face was red from anger, and Percy’s eye lenses glowed with a frustrated light, and Jonah opened his mouth to speak, but it was Hector that responded first.
“You’re right,” he said, and felt the group’s attention shift to him. He frowned. “For a long time I woulda agreed with you. When things wake up in the swamp, I try to put them back to rest. But Heidi here, she’s changed my mind a little.”
He knelt down to scratch the head of the German Shepherd, pale gaze and too many teeth and all. “Because she remembers. I give her orders and she knows. She don’t look the same as the dog I knew before, but she is the same dog, deep down. And I understand your, ah, significant other has ended up part of Diggory here. That’s rough. But listen, my own fella is part forest god or something. He’s changing, he’s always changing, and it frightens me. But no matter how much he changes, I still care. If his eyes change color or he learns to speak to trees or something, he’s still the same. Everything that matters, anyways. Is still the same.”
Cindy glared at Hector, and her eyes shifted over to Diggory, and she sighed, although in frustration or remorse, Hector could not tell.
“I used to be Barty,” said the red metal shell. His glass dome had partially fogged up. “Does that mean you don’t like me, Cindy?”
“I don’t need to like any of you,” Cindy said, and stalked off through the campsite. “What we need is to put the world back together.”
“I like you,” Diggory said quietly, once Cindy had disappeared, and patted Mort’s arm. Hector said nothing, but helped his lover get their tent set up, and lay awake into the night. A boy running through a backyard of red gravel. A young man revving a motorcycle to life in the early hours of the morning. A frantic knocking on a door with a flamingo on the front in a rainstorm. Two dogs, and two dogs, and two dogs, a hundred sleeping faces, a thousand bags and pockets. An explosion in the nest of a Fisher; that same Fisher returned to enact its dire vengeance. Grey eyes, green eyes. Two warm bodies in the woods.
And now, he thought, to journey here again. Together. For the last time. He reached out his wooden hand to take Jonah’s, and closed his eyes to sleep. How much change can one life hold, he wondered? Which one will be my last?
Interlude 2 - Little Walks
It is not the grand gestures I remember the most, dreamer. Not the dazzling machines or arrangements of stars. It was the quiet moments we had together, wandering in a starlit grove, or idly talking on the floor of his workshop into the long morning of a new aeon. In a way, that is what I missed the most. The companionship. I am above love as you might think of it. I am magnificent and multifaceted beyond your comprehension.
But if I could speak of it in a way you might understand, I would say that I felt it most when it was least impressed upon me. I paid no heed to great declarations and promises, although he made many. It was the time he set apart for me, the thoughts we shared, the deep understanding of the nature of one another’s souls that I thought was the most like love. Do I miss him, I wonder? Or do I miss being known? Having someone there who listens, and responds? Thoughts that are not simply my own echoing off into this void?
We go now to one born of the void.
Story 3 - A Stroll In the Garden
Harrow Blackletter did not feel the cold. Or rather, it was mildly cold all the time, and today no more so than usual. Ze ran a finger along the portion of zir face where there had once been a crack; it was becoming a nervous tic lately, but the action was a soothing reminder. No cracks. Not breaking. Not anymore.
The same could not be said of zir friend Arnold, who currently was comprised of a flabby hand with webbed green tissue between its slimy fingers, and most of a forearm, pink as a new baby. Harrow had a long piece of string tied to Arnold’s friendship bracelet, and as ze did every so often, let the hand crawl around in the gardens that surrounded Downing Hill. Harrow was not fond of the way that the reflections in the shallow ponds always looked back a little differently, or that the topiary arched its neck to watch you as you moved around, but the limited books ze had read on parenting said that time outside was important. Arnold’s hand did not seem to mind either way. Arnold’s hand was accepting of quite a lot of things, in fact, including whichever facets of identity Harrow wished to try that week.
“What’s going to become of you when you start growing lungs?” Harrow said. The hand burrowed along in a flower bed. “Or half a head? You’ll have to go on a soft pillow for a while. Could you eat without a digestive system? Or will your whole body bloom out of that arm like an egg?”
The hand offered no explanations. Harrow glanced back up to the great dome of the library behind zir; the clock in its side was counting down, although to what it did not say. Even so, it made Harrow uneasy, and ze tugged on the string.
“Are you ready to go in, Arnold? It’s getting late.”
The hand seemed to flatten despondently, and dug its fingertips into the dirt.
“That’s alright then,” Harrow said. “But just five more minutes.”
A branch cracked somewhere that was not distant enough, and Harrow looked up to the forest beyond the garden bushes. Ze lived with a perpetual concern that Winona’s night-gaunt might arrive, and snatch zir back to run more cruel tests of character. That there might not be bells for warning next time.
It was neither night-gaunt nor crone that stared from the edge of the gardens, but a boy with no skin, whose skeletal feet hung in the air over the hedge.
“Hi there,” said the boy. “Do you go to the school?”
Harrow blinked. Most often, anything that spoke to zir quieted or disappeared within a few moments.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” said the boy with no skin. “We’re nice.”
And then two relatively normal children pushed through the hedge beside the spirit, and Harrow became quite aware that this was no fading apparition, and instead an emergency. Ze pulled Arnold up by his leash, clutched him in zir hands, and prepared to run…
“Wait!” a boy with rusty hair called. “I’ve got this! We’re very cold, and it’s getting dark… can we stay for a night, please?”
He waved a copper card in the dusk air; one that Harrow recognized immediately, and Harrow froze. If I report them to my mother, ze thought, she will take them in. She will use them. And they will end up… well.
Harrow glanced down to Arnold’s hand. It tapped zir arm impatiently.
“Please, keep quiet,” Harrow called to the three children—two corporeal, one not. Ze raised a finger to zir lips. “Come with me. And do not tell anyone you are here.”
Outro - Walks
Walks. It’s been a while. Walks necessitate legs, or something like them. Stilts. Long probosces. And these days I am vast and immaterial. I do sometimes miss the rigor of exercise. I used to walk, in my form of flesh. I recommend it, if you can, from time to time.
But although I have no more muscle or bone, no flesh or fur to speak of, my journey does stretch on. As these eight individuals march north, into a forest that stands at the border of life and death, they march to my intention.
I mean your memory no harm, Marolmar. But if these people are to survive, for all that is to come after, continue into the changing of the age, this machine must quiet and still. It will not be the end of your creation. There will always be this forest, diluting ever a little more into the earth beyond, and I. I will always be your loyal host, Nikignik, waiting forever for your return to the Hallowoods.
The bonus story that goes with this episode is called 'Grudge' and is available on the Hello From The Hallowoods Patreon. Consider joining for access to all the show's bonus stories, behind-the-scenes and more!