Rusty Quill presents

Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast,

and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences.

So, Lister discretion is advised.

As autumn drew to a close and the winter of 1927 bore down on Baker's gap,

the house that was once called Pleasant evenings stood a bastion against the cold.

It was a much different sort of place than when its doors had opened more than a decade before.

The ornately carved and plushly of holstered devants and its parlors,

pretty to look at and find for brief entertaining, but too impractical for the needs of the Walker House,

and long since been traded for the sort of sturdy comfy chairs that stand the test of time.

The delicate stained glass lamps that once set a relaxed mood with a glow of rainbow colors

were all gather and dust in the attic.

Halls that once rang with music played on the vitro-liphonograph shipped all the way from Camden, New York,

and the laughter of working girls and the gentlemen and some ladies too,

who came discreetly to call on them.

Now stood quiet, almost meditative in the gathering twilight.

And on most days, Marcy Walker felt all right about that.

She did good work here.

When the women and children she helped find their way to new lives passed through her doors.

Most days.

But on other days, days like today, when Ellie was up at her place in Esau County

and Melvin had driven Dougie back over the mountain to boom, and of course,

...