Evil In The Embers

Live from Liverpool, the dark paranormal season 17. Hello everyone and welcome to the finale of season 17. I cannot believe we've got here already but here we are. And a huge thank you to everyone who's reached out throughout the entire season. We could not have made this show without you, that goes without saying it's your experiences. Now last week we had one of genuinely are most inquired about shows and people clamoring to get to this episode. And rightly so, there is a reason why I formulated it like this, it's not coincidence. When the first one came through I just hoped the following email would come through knowing it would make a fantastic end of a season. And hopefully you will agree because both of the episodes, both episode 9 and what you're about to hear would make fantastic stand alone episodes, but they're not. The two episodes combined and viewed through completely different lenses. Last week of course we had Emma's point of view and her experiences with what she called the Hollowide Jester. Something which the name itself, send shivers down the spine I'll be honest. And this week do we answer every question that was lingering from Emma's email, I'll be honest, no we don't. But what we do find out is more than enough to I think cause a few sleepless nights. Now as usual on a finale we get to the main story a touch later as we give you details about the upcoming season and changes that may have been made. And that's the case this time around too. So maybe jump to minute 8 etc around there maybe 7 or 8 if you want to miss the news that we've got to say now. Of course we'll also be saying our patreon names, but there are two vital changes going to take place from season 18 onwards. Firstly, after hearing what you want your show to be like, we're going to move the thank yous to our patrons to the end of the episodes. That means that our wonderful supporters who wish to keep the show going still get their name read out and mentioned on the main episode and the people who want to get to the experience quicker, they get that too. In addition, what we have gleaned from our feedback regarding our Halloween extra mini soads, will we look at some cases which weren't listener experiences, they were more famous or not so famous cases where I myself put together a narrative to educate myself and hopefully some of you guys out there too, about some of the more paranormal things we may never get round to discussing, being a listener only show, we've decided to carry that through ongoing. Meaning after our break, when we return on December 6th and that's the data put in your diaries for the debut episode of season 18, the very first Monday after you will receive your first of that season, I've yet to come up with a name with mini soads where we look at something which isn't just an experience, similar to our lepp castle mini so during the Halloween season. As I mentioned to our patrons this very weekend, I want this show to keep evolving in a way the listeners wanted to evolve. It's just making sure we can strike that perfect balance between evolving the show while it's maintaining its core root and its core cores for being created, which was to remind people that not only does the paranormal world exist, but the more people that seem to accept the fact that a dead dog can come back and say hello or a relative will see you off at the point of death. Then you have to accept that there's also a dark dark side to it where somebody could be dragged out of bed and down the stairs, but the kitchen area in work, you're going to have one of two of those stories and it's not going to be the one where a demon has dragged you out of bed by the ankles and thrown you down the stairs. You will hear the one about the dead dog sitting back at the lap of its owner and everybody saying "are" and we'll all accept it and move on. And that's not to say the dead dog arriving or the family member greeting you as a psychopomp at the point of death isn't an amazing feat of the paranormal because it is, it's saying that the paranormal world is like the human world. There are people in prison for a reason, but they still exist, madderers etc., people who are evil. Don't believe for one moment at the point of death they become good, because as we've seen, sometimes they will linger around and they continue to be evil. And then we have people saying "I think I was visited by an angel, a white feather floated through the living room and landed on my knee, that's a sign". Fair enough it may well be, but if you're accepting that, you have to accept the opposite. That that dark mass in the corner may not just be a trick of your eyes, and sometimes these things as we discussed in the Lepp Castle episode may not even have come from a human origin. They may be an elemental, or as in the case of Beleskin House with Alster Crowley, a thing which you've summoned from the depths that you then ran away from and left out to play. Just as in real life you would be so naive, borderline stupid if you believed that only good people exist on the earth. I believe the same applies with the supernatural, and that's why the show exists. And after 17 seasons, it's clear from your submissions that these darker encounters are something where much less likely to share. But in doing so, we help other people feel confident enough to share their experiences. And that said, a huge thank you to everyone who shared their experiences for the upcoming season 18. And as ever, we keep our show format fluid, so if the right experience lands, we will find a home for it. So if you have your own true paranormal experience, email it over to contact at thedarkparinormal.com. But before we reach today's, in my opinion, amazing finale, especially in how it relates to our previous penultimate episode, we of course need to thank our wonderful community over on Patreon. The ones who allow you, if you're a non-subscriber, to listen to this show for free. The ones who have helped shape the show from season 18 onwards. When you choose to sign up to our Patreon, not only do you receive every episode on this feed, both ad free and before everyone else, but you also have the chance to get access to our Patreon only podcast Dark Bites. Dark Bites is a show which runs each and every Sunday of the year, where we look at some of the shorter stories which didn't quite make the main episode. And therefore, with a break in season coming up, it means you don't miss your paranormal fix for one, and for two, you have an entire back catalogue of over 70 hours worth of Patreon only material to binge. But the best part, as I hammer home each week, is the community. We've built a wonderful community of like-minded paranormal enthusiasts, just like you. And it's that community that have allowed the shaping of season 18 onwards. So by becoming a Patreon, you have an additional voice to literally steer the direction of the show. So if that sounds like your thing, to be more involved with the show, head over to patreon.com/thedockparanormal. Just like the following wonderful new team members have. Jenny Max, Alilong, Shaila Priya, Elin, Patti Mola, Morgan Row, Maria Briggs, Nikki B, Luloo, Joanna Maxwell, Lucy Brianna Peck, Life Coffee and Frantic Herd, Ipodcast, Jonathan Lundy, Alan Slater, Sharia Boy, Janet Megger, Michelle and Remordsley, Mike Vega, Dillion Guera and Martha Davies. Thank you so, so much guys for supporting the show and the series up to date, and I hope you enjoyed all of those back catalogue and early access releases, including the debut to season 18. And hello to anyone who jumped in at Minita to hear the experience, but we still have one line to say, if you would love to join our Patreon, we'd love to extend an exclusive invitation to you simply head over to patreon.com/thedockparanormal. But right now, it's time to lower those lights, make yourself comfortable, and of course for one last time this season leave your disbelief at the door as we hear all about evil in the embers. Hello Kevin, my name is Maureen, and I'm Emma's mother. I know that Emma has already shared her version of events that took place in our old family home with your podcast. She's asked me to write down my side of the story as well, and although I'm not familiar with podcasts, I hope this is the right format, or at least usable. I want to tell you a bit about the house that became my home. The place where both I and Emma experienced some of the most haunting moments of my life. And I want to tell you about how that house became my home. The place where I experienced some terrifying things. Just me when I say I do not share these usually, however Emma has specifically asked me to share my story in the help to make sense of the things that happened in the house, both to her and I. Things we both endured, but never truly understood. I guess going way back, it all started when I met with her father, Simon, at a work function. He was a charming gentle man, and he had this way about him that drew me in immediately. We got married just 12 months later, and I moved into his family home, a grand old house in Derbyshire. The house had been in Simon's family for generations, passed down to him from his uncle, who was a bit of a recluse, and had no children of his own. Simon was the only grandchild, and as such he was the first heir to that strange old place. The first time I saw the fireplace, it caught my eye immediately. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Two, ornately carved wooden doors, set right into the wall, almost like a not very secret passageway, but the carvings were intricate, almost mesmerising, twisting vines and faces that seemed to change expression in the flickering light. When I opened those doors, I expected to find a typical fireplace, but I was surprised to see a space larger than I imagined, and oddly, bare, as in a pure, clean, concrete floor, as if it had never been used for firewood. It felt unfinished, out of place. I insisted to Simon that he reverted back to a proper fireplace, for warmth if nothing else, but something in his eyes told me he was hesitant. I could tell by the way his face tensed, the way his eyes seemed to avoid the sight of the fireplace. When I questioned him, he brushed it off, saying his dad always used to scold him whenever he got too close to the fireplace, when they would come and visit his uncle. He wanted to keep it as it was, maybe we could make a feature out of it, he said. But I insisted, I was not going to live there without proper heating. Reluctantly Simon agreed, but he seemed almost anxious about it. His hands were shaking each time he worked on the fireplace, slowly brick by brick. When the fireplace was finally completed, the doors removed, the flu fixed, and the chimney properly treated, I remember the first fire we lit. I smiled, feeling the warmth spread throughout the cold room. But Simon was different. His eyes were darting around the room nervously. His hands clenching and unclenching, as if he were expecting something to happen. He sat there staring into the flames, and I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his face twisted with unease. Looking back, I do think he was scared. So of what, I couldn't quite understand at the time. It was almost as if he feared what we'd disturb by lighting that fire. The first real fright I had in that house was during the winter, while Simon was away for work. I at the time was heavily pregnant with Emma, and the snow outside had piled up deep, blanketing everything into an oppressive silence. We were low on coal, and I searched the house for anything that might burn. I found these two ornate doors from the fireplace up in the attic, thick with dust and long forgotten. They were heavy, old wood. But try as I might, I could barely break them down. I managed with a hammer to only get a few splintered pieces off that I could use for kindling. The carvings on them seemed darker now, almost sinister. But maybe that was because I knew I was on my own. And I did feel a pang of guilt as I dragged them down the stairs. I started the kindling up on the now dying coals, and once that lit I placed one of the doors on the fire, but it was too thick to burn, no matter how I arranged it. It was like it resisted the flames almost defiantly. Finally, with many newspapers added on, I balanced it upright in the fire on top of the coals, and then almost as if it had been waiting the wood caught a light. I then added the second door, arranging them in an upside-down V-fashion. And soon both were burning well, and that was when I first felt it, a presence. It was like someone was standing just behind me, watching. I spun around, but there was no one there. But despite the fire blazing right in front of me, a chill settled on my shoulders, and ice in us that seeped into my bones. I brushed it off and tried to convince myself I was imagining things, and I sat back down. But now I was scared. Did I do that to myself, I'm unsure, but the shadows seemed to dance in ways that defied the fire light, stretching and curling across the walls like skeletal fingers. Maybe half an hour later, I heard a loud bang from upstairs, like a heavy wardrobe falling. My instinct wasn't fear, just annoyance. I went upstairs, checking every room, and found nothing out of place. I stood there confused. Just then I heard a voice from downstairs, a man's voice, desperate, pleading, asking, "Why?" I froze, my heart hammered in my chest, my breath was caught in my throat. Slowly I crept down those stairs, my back to the wall, my hands trembling. The house was empty. I tried to calm myself, whispering reassurances, but then I noticed something that made my blood run cold. When I entered the living room, the two doors that I'd placed in that upside down V were burning no longer. In fact, there were no longer in the fire. They'd been pushed back deep into the hearth, now untouched by the flames. The heat from the coal was so intense for me to try and reach them, and even with a poker I couldn't move them. They seemed rooted there, as if they were part of the house itself, refusing to be moved or burned. When Simon returned from his trip, he was furious. He demanded to know why I'd burnt the doors. I could see the anger in his eyes, the way his hands shook as he spoke. I knew I had to try and calm him down. I took his hands, spoke softly, and reminded him that I was only trying to keep the house warm, especially with Emma on the way. I told him how desperate I was, that that night the snow was piling up and the coal was almost gone. His face seemed to soften as I explained. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He sighed a deep, weary sigh, and finally sat down. After a very long silence, he looked at me with an expression that was hard to define. With sad and slightly resigned, his eyes seemed haunted, and I could tell that what he was about to say weighed heavily on him, and that whatever it was, it was the absolute truth. He told me that his uncle, Emma's great uncle Archie, had turned that fireplace into a theatre for puppetry. Simon's uncle Archie also had a distinctive deformity of the face. His chin was moved to one side, giving him an ever-present, lob-sided grin. Nonetheless, by all accounts, these puppet shows were a hit in the local community. However, as the years rolled on, and the crowds started to diminish, Simon's dad Alan went round to his brother Archie's to try and convince him to give up the game. It wasn't just that the performances were getting slacker, his facial disfigurement was getting ever more prominent, and Simon's dad being Simon's dad, he let that be known in no uncertain terms. However, Archie was a stubborn man, and he continued throughout. One day he even sent an invite, a personal written invite, to Alan, for him and the kids to come down and watch his new performance. Archie must have spent weeks fliering this performance because in furnace to him, the house was full. When Simon arrived with his dad and his mum, they walked in through the back entrance and stood at the back of the living room facing that fireplace. However, everyone in the room seemed already rather shocked. The lights of the room then dimmed, and a light shone from behind the fireplace doors. When they opened slowly, there were the puppets, and the same old puppet show tried and tested and now worn out, was once more played out in front of the now-leaving audience. Simon says he recalls this part in particular. Him and his mum and dad hung around until Archie came out, just to say hello. When Archie came out, dressed differently. He was dressed as one of the Marionettes, the Jester. His lopsided smile, he'd used makeup to accentuate it. He tried to make it some sort of grotesque feature, which he said made him feel part of the act, indeed part of the characters. And why he thought it would be the best performance he ever done, but it would be his last. Archie became a recluse, and Simon's dad Allen tried for months on end to get in touch with him, but Archie would never reply. Simon was around six years old at this time, and Simon said he recalled even at school, he would sometimes get into fights due to people referring to the strange man in the house. They said he always dressed like a Jester, and even implied he wanted to do horrific things with young boys. Simon said even at that age he just felt really sorry for Archie. He knew his uncle just liked entertaining children, but after getting into one too many fighter school over the subject, his own father told him to just ignore it. He said it's not going to stop, and by fighting each time it's mentioned, you're just giving it more fuel. So Simon had to just sit there in class in school, whilst all these rooms and lies and horrible things were said about a person he loved. And one day a few years later, he was on his bicycle maybe about fourteen, and he was driving past his uncle Archie's house. The front garden was all overgrown, and he decided he would go in and he would knock on the door, and he would be the one to break the ice to start a communication between the two brothers again. So he jumped off his bike and he opened the front gate. By God he said the garden was really overgrown. He battled his way up the path to the front door and knocked, but there was no reply. So he walked round to the front window, which was covered in muck, which he wiped away with his hand so he could cut his eyes to look into the living room. He says before he even made anything out a strange feeling came over him. Heavy, oppressive, like he shouldn't be there. He suddenly noticed all of the sounds around him had gone. There was no longer the sound of people in the street, cars on the road, birds in the trees. He was in an eerie silence. And that seemed to wrap itself around him. He peered through the dusty window, and then he did make something out, and what he saw made his blood worn cold. There was his now very old uncle dressed in the tattered jester costume. His face really badly painted in a way that seemed to really or naturally twist his mouth. And his uncle was animated, angrily animated, gesturing wildly. His voice muffled but filled with venom. He was arguing clearly but with whom. Simon cramed his neck, his eyes scanning the dim room, and a chill settled over him when he realised there was no one in the room except his uncle. And his uncle seemed to be arguing with, the fireplace itself. Every venomous word, every shaken fist directed at the open wooden doors, as if something unseen was speaking back to him. Move forward around fifteen years, and Archie was found dead in the living room. A postman reported the amount of unopened mail he could see through the letterbox, along with a horrid smell. Simon told me he'd overheard his mother talking about how, when he was carried out, Archie was still wearing the jester costume. And although he never pushed, Simon's not that type. There was a mention of one or both of his eyes missing. God alone knows what happened to that poor soul. The image of Archie laying there in that costume haunted Simon. And I think it haunted the house as well. In his will, Archie had left the home and all of its contents to Simon. However, Simon at the time was in his very early twenties. So his father Alan, done the majority of renovation work and removal of items. He just didn't go anywhere near the fireplace. The night Simon told me all of this was the night I then had a completely different feeling about the entire home. And it was the following year on a Tuesday afternoon when my Simon died. He had a sudden heart attack at work and his boss with a police officer was standing on my doorstep telling me. Though every word after "dead" was replaced with a high pitched whistle as I tried to work out what I'd been told. As I shut that door, my entire world fell apart. The house, already oppressive, now became a place of despair. I just struggled to keep myself together to be there for Emma. But over the weeks and months that followed, the emptiness in that house seemed to swallow me whole. Every shadow seemed to stretch a little too far. Every creek of the floorboards felt like an unseen presence moving just beyond my sight. I found myself drawn to that fireplace. It was the only place that seemed to offer me anything. I would sit there for hours, staring into the flames, hoping for something I couldn't name, then one night I heard it, Simon's voice. It was soft, barely a whisper, but it was him. And he said my name, Maureen, in that familiar, loving tone that I'd missed so much. I wept, the tears flowing freely as a strange mix of fear and comfort washed over me. His voice was both a lifeline and a shackle. I could feel the warmth of his presence, but beneath it, a chill of uncertainty. Despite my doubt, I began spending more and more time at that fireplace, waiting for him to speak again, desperate for that connection, even though it felt slightly wrong. The voice returned, night after night. It would tell me everything would be okay, and that Emma and I would be safe. I asked why it would only speak to me from the fireplace. And he said he didn't want to scare Emma, but that he would knock on the walls to let me know he was around if I agreed which I did. And so I would hear the knocking, sometimes soft, sometimes almost imperceptible, or the times louder, more insistent. It scared me but an excited scared. I found solace in it, I wanted to believe it was Simon, that he was still there with me somehow, watching over us both. But there was also a part of me wondering why I would feel scared at all if it were Simon. Sometimes the knocks came from places they shouldn't, like inside the walls, beneath floor boards, even from the ceiling. It was like whatever it was, moved throughout the house freely, and that thought began to nor away at me, a growing unease that I just couldn't shake. And so the weeks turned into months, turned into years. And I slowly began to doubt, for one, over time, of the voice lessened its appearances. Then the voice changed, ever so slightly, but now it sounded like someone impersonating Simon, instead of Simon. It began to ask me things, things that I should do. All things are first, like stay near the fireplace, keep it lit. Then it became more demanding, saying I should protect the fireplace. Saying if I was in the house, I should only be at the fireplace. Next it demanded I never left the house. He told me to ensure that the fireplace was protected and never dismantled. Well this demand baffled me. In life, Simon had been reluctant to change the fireplace, but he still agreed to my wishes and made the modifications. So why this sudden need for its protection now, unless it was more than just a fireplace? Maybe some kind of portal? Something far beyond what I understand? I finally realized that whatever was speaking to me wasn't Simon. And that was when it told me I should have more love and care for the fireplace than Emma. This wasn't my husband. Very moment I stood and left the room, and the noftes became bangs. The whispers usually left at the fireplace were now inches from my bedside. I felt like I was losing my mind, and I could feel my sanity slipping, like I was being pulled into some dark void that the house itself was creating. I simply had to leave. I moved myself into a care home, not because my health was failing as I told Emma, but because I was terrified. I couldn't stay in that house any longer. That presence, whatever it was, it had taken hold of me, and I knew I had to leave before it was too late. I tried to protect Emma to keep her safe from what ever lurked within those walls, and I told her to leave the house to never go back, but she didn't understand. She thought I was being overprotective, paranoid even. I could see it in her eyes. The way she looked at me with almost pity, but I knew, oh God I knew that something evil was in that place. In my heart I knew it wasn't Simon. I don't even think it was his uncle. I think it goes back further, maybe to Simon's grandfather, the original puppeteer. It was him who got Archie into the subject at all, and there was always something about the old photographs of him that unsettled me. His eyes, they seemed too aware, too knowing, like he held secrets that no one should ever possess. Simon once told me that his grandmother had left her husband for over a year after he chose to attend an impromptu meeting of what he called a society of important and influential men instead of going away with his wife, and so she left him for a full year. When she returned, eventually, by all accounts she was never the same. She became withdrawn, cold, deadly serious. Simon's mother had said her eyes seemed haunted, often staring into nothing, as if she was seeing something no one else could. She spoke less, and when she did, there was her hesitance, as though she feared talking openly. And tellingly, by all accounts, she also would avoid the fireplace, refusing to even glance in its direction. There was a darkness in that family, something passed down from generation to generation, something festering in those walls, and I fear that darkness has now found its way back to the surface. I hope Emma listens to me now. I hope she keeps her distance from that place, because even though she sold the house, whoever lives there now may be dealing with something far darker than we ever did, especially after she demolished the fireplace. I'm quite content where I am, but I still have nightmares. I still wake up to the odd whisper, and twice I've had a figure standing in the corner of my room in the dead of night. It's the same presence, I just know it. I pray I'm wrong for both of our sakes, but something tells me that whatever was in that house is not finished with us yet. While Maureen thank you so much for giving us one of the best conclusions to a series that we've had in a long while, it's great when we get a almost part one and two, with the penultimate episode leading in to the final episode. And yes, both of these could have been standalone episodes and almost were, but sometimes things just happened the right way. And thank god this happened in this way, because it's one hell of a way to sign off season 17. I want to thank each and every one of you who's downloaded the show, listen to the show, support the show, or send in one of your experiences. I've said it before, and I will say it again, it is your show. And we are making the changes to season 18 onwards that you guys have asked for. And for now, the date you need to put in your diary is Friday, the 6th of December, because that's when we return for season 18. Or simply click subscribe wherever you get your podcasts, and there's no need for the diaries. Of course, the week before our start of season 18, we will put out an old episode of dark bites just at a teaser to warm us up for season 18. And for our Patreon of course, nothing changes for you, you will have your Patreon podcast every Sunday between now and the start of season 18. So don't forget guys, if you want to join in with that fun, head over to patreon.com/thedockparanormal. But until that first week of December, remember, whenever you're discussing the paranormal, always leave some of your disbelief at the door. And I'll see you next time, right here on the dark, paranormal. [BLANK_AUDIO]