Some stories were never supposed to be told. Stories that exist in the twilight, between science and the supernatural, between history and the form, stories that speak of terrifying things, stories that you want to hear,

stories that you need to hear, stories that will sink their teeth in and never let you go. My name is Mike Brown, and this is Pleasing Terrors.

Pleasing Terrors Podcast Episode 41

The Mermaid Returns Part 1

Projected Shadows

In January of 1860, in the small village of St. Nicholas Deo, in the Britannia region of France, workers engaged in the restoration of a century's old chapel, made an interesting discovery.

Beneath layers of white paint, they found a fresco depicting the marriage ceremony of a nobleman and lady.

Their further efforts revealed another fresco alongside it. The second image showed the husband giving his wife a set of keys. A closed door stood in the background.

The workers realized that these panels were part of a larger narrative, and that the rest of the story lay waiting under the white paint, one that had been lost for many years.

Some of the more astute workers might have recognized it as being very similar to a local legend. The tale was older than they knew, and existed in many versions and variations around the world.

They were part of a large family of myths, legends, fables, but most often were preserved as fairy tales. The gift of a key and a locked door.

It was a story about curiosity and disobedience. Any reader of fairy tales knows that such stories rarely end well.

On rare occasions, this story has undergone a startling metamorphosis, emerging out of the distant and dreamlike land of fairy stories, passing through the foggy uncertainty of legend, to appear with terrible clarity in our mundane world.

Usually, to the great misfortune of everyone involved. One such occasion occurred in 1859 in Charleston, South Carolina, a city that would spend many years trying to forget the horrors that resulted from a fairy tale coming true.

But the workers knew nothing about the events in Charleston and resumed their work of uncovering the third panel, searching for a story lost in the white.

It's 3 a.m. the devil's hour, and a lonely constable, Lieutenant Vanderherchen, walks a solitary patrol in Charleston, South Carolina.

This city has been swallowed by a heavy fog, and Lieutenant Vanderherchen wet and cold, and having long since lost sight of any familiar landmarks, wanders aimlessly through the night.

Seeing a light up ahead, he stumbles toward it, as a strange house begins to materialize out of the gloom.

It is tall and narrow, maybe a little over six feet wide, and is squeezed between two neighboring buildings.

It leans forward slightly towards the street, almost as if it's looking down at him.

There is a lantern by the door. It's dull red glow bleeds into the foggy darkness.

He finds no comfort here, because he knows where he is.

...