Rusty Quill presents

Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror anthology podcast, and therefore may contain material not suitable for all audiences.

So listen to discretion is advised.

The cold wind pops in a soil fallow, no doubt the rips these weary balls.

A hearth heard song in my heart goes hollow, best not to walk these poor thorns.

Best take to the road, out of the shadow, best get home home, best not to leave them go to the storm.

Marcy slammed the door and bolted it behind her with a curse.

God damn that no count Jerry brotherton, she had never liked the man, had known him to be a coward down to his bones,

but how he got himself mixed up with the trouble fear of blivins had brought to her door this morning.

Marcy sighed, she might never know and however it happened Jerry brotherton was not her responsibility.

Stars alone knew she had enough people to worry about right now.

Most of them were safe under her roof, she sent one of the boys to fetch Vera's father this afternoon.

With that lot running loose around Baker's gap it wasn't safe for anyone to leave the property now.

She could only hope he'd made it safely to Blvd's farm.

Mars?

Ellie called to her, you should go check on Tish.

Her sister said softly and Marcy took the stairs two at a time to the second floor and turned for Tish's room.

She found Tish by the window she leaned out of with her shotgun, sitting against the wall in a pretty yellow dress hugging her knees to her chest.

Her blue eyes were getting puffy from crying and her black hair was coming loose from the elaborate twist she put it up in for the evening.

Hey, hey now, Marcy said gently, patting the air with her hands as she squatted down for all the world like she was trying to call my spooktores a gesture that usually irked Tish to no end,

but she painted no mind now which was a bad sign.

Talk to me, honey, what's going on?

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