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Right about now.

Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast,

and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences.

So listening to discretion is advised. In his private office inside Penderan Hall,

Heyman Locke sat at the massive Edwardian desk he had inherited from his father,

hands folded before him on the rich leather blotter,

and watched.

The de facto head of Locke Rail's eyes were open, but he was not looking at the immaculately finished wood paneling on the walls, or the priceless Persian rug that covered the floor,

nor the portrait of Jameson Locke that hung on the southernmost wall of the room.

Haman's eyes were elsewhere, lost in the shimmering glow of his gift.

Today, they peered through the eyes of a security drone in the Arbiter's instructional chamber. Seeing through the anonymous automaton's that staff

locked rail security division was an old bit of mindwork that Haman had learned in his youth

from his half-brother Mordecai. What he had once

thought of as a childish trick came in quite handy for keeping tabs on what was going on in the

many departments of Lockrail. And since Solomon had returned to the fold, he had frequently

employed it to observe his son's lessons. At the moment, Solomon and his half-brother Bonaparte were sharing a moment of generational

camaraderie, nephew and uncle, clinking bottles, and worrying about the future.

The images came through the drone's eyes and flickering black and white.

The sound tinny and far away like the voices of the

...