Leah the Fox

Cue code media and criminal content present the foxes of Hyde'sville. Episode 1 - Lea the Fox In sales, the long-held expression is that the customer is always right. But let's be perfectly blunt about it. Whoever said that, never had to sell ghosts. My name is Lea Fox, and though you may not know my name, you most certainly have played my game. If you've ever attended a sales, then you've played my game. If you've ever been to a haunted house, then you've rolled my dice. Or if you've ever believed in ghosts, then you've done so at my pleasure. Because I'm the one who sold it that you could actually talk to them, that you could see them, meet them and communicate with them from beyond the grave. And I did it all through sheer dumb luck. And a series of blunders, slops and failures, so buckle on up. It's going to be a bumpy fucking ride. The story I'm about to tell is a confession. Sins were committed, lives were destroyed and demons were conjured. And I suppose in the process I betrayed my sisters until there was nothing left of them but ash. But still, while some people say I'm to blame, you may not agree with all of my choices, I invite you to live by carelessly through my sins. Probably my biggest sin was believing that I had escaped my past. There was a time before the zombies, where I was a simple piano teacher. Rochester begins preparations for set of a hawk invention. The political rally of the century. Right outside Rochester. In the spring of 1848, I was convinced that my destiny would not involve the family I grew up with. But I've yet to learn the cardinal rule of broken homes. The past always comes back to you. That's good. Keep the tempo, I'll be right back. Leo, my God, I have been knocking for every knocks is not forever, Adelaide. May I invite someone in for you to meet? If I said no, would it make a difference? Probably not. I have a student right now, Adelaide. I bring with me the esteemed journalist, E.E. Lewis. Good morning. Well, that's great for Mr. Lewis. But you're interrupting a session, woman, are you not enlightened by the music? Mr. Lewis comes with very troubling news. Does the music not permeate your soul? I love you musically, but this news comes from Hydesville. Hydesville? Yes, Mom. Have you family there? Well, that depends on the question. Is your mother's name Margaret? Maybe. Have you with brother David? Um, possible. And two sisters, Katie and Maggie Fox. Yes, for God's sake, man, out with it. What has happened? A report. The mysterious noises heard in the house of Mr. John D. Fox. It's 40 pages thick. Testimonials from many witnesses. About my father's house. Says here that that a spirit lives within the house and that Katie and Maggie have been communicating with the dead. Let me see that. They are your sisters, aren't they? I've interviewed all the members of your family, neighbours, farmers, former tenants. There is a ghost residing in your family's house and it's transfixing the natives. Did God of people actually say this rubbish? Well, admittedly, some of the accounts seem a bit of a stretch. What is the average intelligence of Hydesville, I wonder? The spirit wraps and knocks on the walls, the tables, the chairs, haunting Mr. and Mrs. Fox and their children every hour of every night. Is this a joke? Windows have shattered, clothes have been torn, objects, moved, all without human interference. The bullshit is astounding. Yet the accounts are consistent. The witness is convinced. Miss Mia? Yes, Susan, I'm so sorry we couldn't finish the lesson. Not at all, Miss Mia. Same time next week? Yes, and apologies again, Miss Anthony, promptly at aid. Yes, of course. See you then. The newspapers are catching us. Mr. Lewis, these documents claim you're a journalist and a lawyer. Yes. So a man of high-acumen and rational thought. One would hope. Then mystical fandoms inherently go against to a very nature. They're common sense and reason and so on. I'm not making judgments about the events, Miss Fox, simply documenting them. Clearly my sisters are playing pranks on my parents who are old and naive. And so maybe they've hoodwinked a couple of neighbours along the way, they're children. With all due respect, it's gone well beyond a couple of neighbours. Sorry again, that's my next pupil. How well, Miss Lewis? Pardon? How well beyond a couple of neighbours? Well, erm, there have been visitors from all across the county. Beyond. Erm, everyone, this is Jacob Post. Hello. Jacob, this is some. E.E. Lewis. Right. E.E. Lewis, bearer of strange tales from the homeland. Do you say visitors are you implying that these strangers are entering the house? Sometimes, yes. Asking the spirit about their dead relatives or the afterlife. How many, Miss Lewis? How many visitors, Mr. Lewis? Well, erm, in just the past week, over 300 people have descended upon the property. Did you say 300? And more by the hour, begging to hear a mass from the great beyond. My God. Your house is under siege, Miss Fox, and I thought it prudent to inform you of the situation. Well, suppose I'll need to process this information. As you can see, I have another pupil. Actually, Miss Fox, I'm not going to be able to attend today. Oh? I just wanted to tell you, personally. Okay. Erm, may I ask why? Just these, erm, stories about your family have sort of spooked some of our church members, and I. The Quakers. My parents. But your parents are the Quakers, Jacob. As I said, news is catching on. They won't tell the congregation just yet. It seems clear you weren't aware of the sinfulness, but. As you know, Mother is. Amy Perist, a very powerful woman. I understand, Jacob. You have a responsibility. Real sorry about that, Miss Fox. No. That's okay, Jacob. Thank you for being direct with me. Nice meeting you all. Hope to come back. Really like the keys. Did I just lose a client? Ah, yes. I think that's what just happened. And there may be more. Mr. Lewis, now you see why I don't readily admit to having family in Hyde'sville. Yes. I haven't been back home in many years, and with good reason. I've spent my entire life escaping all that and building a name for myself, dedicating my soul to me. Yes. Are you standing there telling me I might lose business through guilt by association? Surely, there must be a solution. I'd like you to leave, Mr. Lewis, so I can prepare a stiff drink. Yes, ma'am. Now, I'll admit to you that there was a time in my life when I had morals. But I don't want that to scare you. I don't want you to think any lesser of me, but for the first half of my life, I had ideals. I even had a couple of dreams. Actually, artistic dreams like creating music or teaching or inspiring people or whatever. I had a cozy little niche among the sheep. And I suppose that I not left my bubble in April of 1848. I may very well have stayed a sheep, but instead, I became the shepherd. That was your fourth cancellation, Miss Lear. Lovely. Well, I don't understand why you don't just go back to Hyde'sville and see what all the fuss is about. I'm sure there's an explanation for all this. Hyde'sville. Do I look like someone from Hyde'sville? Well, I don't know. I've never met anyone from Hyde'sville. They're red necks, that'll do. Okay, well, you can't win them all. I mean, we certainly have a few of those in Rochester. But anyway, it's home, isn't it? No. Not for me. I grew up in Ontario, fresh off the War of 1812, the last of the British Empire. These girls, these sisters, as you call them, they're 20 years my younger born and raised in the backwards. So maybe it would do some good to rigging out. We have zero in common. They're part of a new brand of American, simple and uncultured. A generation I just don't understand. They're alien to me. And I'm sure I would be alien to them. Well, you were alien when you first arrived here as well. You were this weird musical woman on Prospect Street who couldn't hold onto her husband, but somehow just made it all work. You know what I love about you, Adelaide? You say these brutally honest things in such a kind-hearted way. It's somehow both off-putting and yet endearing at the same time. All I'm saying is, where's your sense of adventure? Okay, so yes, maybe your sisters are a little alien. And maybe they talk to the dead and suck people's blood. Who the hell knows? But you're not going to get to the bottom of it by stewing around here, are you? I suppose not. They're family. I mean, aren't you at least curious? I know I would be. All right, you've convinced me. The hell with it. Pack your things, Adelaide. We're journey into Heightsville. I'm sorry. We? What do you mean by "please"? A set-butter-strategic. Wait a second. We'll bring that corner. I suppose my sister's death. I think there's a misunderstanding here. I can't go there alone, Adelaide. But I can't just simply pack up and leave on a moment's notice. Why not? You just gave me this whole speech about adventure. Where's your spontaneity? Well, I have to. You know. No, I don't know. Adelaide, explain it. Well, I have. You have no job. No job. My husband. Who is a workaholic? He'll never know you're gone. Two days tops I need you. Lea, I'm sure. I have things to do. Adelaide, let's be honest about it. You are the town gossip. That's what you do. I'm offering you a front-through seat to my nervous breakdown. You've got the dysfunctional family, the two witchy sisters, the living dead and New York's largest toothless colony. I mean, what the fuck else do you need? Okay. Now, normally, I'd be offended by that characterization. However, there is an element of truth. I'm offering you a chance of the juiciest story of your life, woman. Yes. It is an enticing pitch. So, fuck it. I've got nothing left to lose and you might be sitting on the story of a century. Still, my husband will need to be noted. Your husband works 25 hours a day, Adelaide. I've seen the man maybe twice in ten years. He could literally have a whole other family and no one would be surprised. You see, I should be insulted by that. But you're obviously hurt. What is it that your husband does anyway? Well, my husband, who is. My God, woman, I'm in awe of you. Ignorance truly is bliss. I'm a woman of the community. And as such, I do like to know what goes on Rochester. Especially when it pertains to the lonely piano teacher on Brisbane Street. Why? Out of morbid curiosity, why always the interest in me? Because, Miss Leah, you are our most mysterious citizen. You've never once mentioned your family or your past. Nor have you been able to hold onto a husband. In fact, you may be the only woman in Rochester to make a name for herself without the help of a man. Well, I'll take it with a badge of honor. I have a feeling, under the cold exterior, that seeing your family again might be very good for you. There it is again, the optimism. I love that about a lad laid one day, I'll try. Why, I think it's important to be positive. Yes, yes, keep that. You stay positive while my life crumbles all around me. See, statements like that don't help the situation. We've got the delusional optimist and the cold-hearted cynic. What could possibly go wrong? So much can go wrong. And I'm still not offended for some reason. I know, it's brilliant. I rise above it. But you sure do, I'm envious. Now meet me at the carriage station in 20 minutes and buy all the papers they've got in New Zealand. It's in every paper in New York. I must say, as a skeptic, I'm a tad curious about the elaborate nature of the hoax. Is the township truly this gullible? Are my sisters this ably deceitful? Are my parents just dutifully stupid? The parents I grew up with would have whipped me into a frenzy for this. However, now, 20 years on, it's possible they've suffered. On any normal day outside, April Pools, I would deduce with surety that my two little sisters have deceived our high school brethren with an incredible talent for illusion. Yet, I can't shake one thing, yellow-nagging property. Which is what? Exactly. There isn't a brain between them. Katie, the younger, 13 years old, the slyer of the two. It's possible that she's become smarter. In fact, her particular brand of Tom Fuckery could easily fill the void between our parents' ears, fill it with ideas and thoughts and whatnot. What the hell is this, anyway? The station is desolate. Haven't they finished the trestle? No, ma'am. The railway to Wayne County is still under concentrate. I guess we're going by boat. Now, Maggie, that's a different story. Barely 17, her mind, the vapid wasteland, she's devoid of virginity, lacking agency, and her legs are open for business. Any secrets between her and Katie Foxx could easily be revealed in pillow talk among a hole. Their view of Hyde's field bumpkins. May I suggest, Lea, that you refrain from these judgements when we arrive? Perhaps be a little. I don't know, more open to meeting your sisters? Right! Positivity, maybe she's just a teenager, or maybe I'm jealous of all the attention I've heard to your tracks. Is that more positive? No. Either way, my livelihood is in these girls' hands. Adelaide, I'm not in control. That's why this whole situation gives me anxiety is out of my control. Speaking of no control, we appear to have stopped short. I'll stop. Your 50 yards down the shoreline, ma'am. This is closer to the schoolhouse. The house? The sky's still mighty. What's he talking about? There's a few people on the other side, eh? With the fur not to bump into. unpaid debts and such. Draftful. Oh my god. Lea, look at this. A line of people. Yeah, leading towards your home. This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp. I consider listening to podcasts to be a personal time for myself. I usually take a drive, or a walk, and have time to just engage in an immersive experience by myself. But that doesn't leave much room for actively thinking about myself, or bettering myself. It's so easy to get caught up in what everyone else needs from you and never take a moment to think about yourself. When I get that chance, I usually get distracted in some other way. Working with a therapist can help you take the steps you need to open up to yourself and find more of that personal time. It's helped me focus my alone time into a more productive and positive experience. BetterHelp is different than in-person therapy because it's accessible and convenient from anywhere you are. With BetterHelp, you'll get matched with a therapist after filling out a brief survey and can even switch therapists at any time for no additional charge. The whole experience is convenient, flexible, affordable, and entirely online. If you're thinking about starting therapy, give BetterHelp a try. Find more balance with BetterHelp. Visit BetterHelp.com/FOHToday to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHELP.com/FOH This is Hell on Earth. Where's my family? Hello? The door's unlocked. The window's shutted. This house is abandoned. My family is vanished. Desolate wasteland. Curbs. Impossible. Where is the family of John David Fox? My sisters? Lear. My mother anyway. Lear. Please answer me. What have you done with them? There seems to be a grave digger on the side of the house. Maybe he can answer a question or two. Jesus Christ, this is a living nightmare. I'm in hell. Hydevel is hell. Ah, good sir. May I ask you a question? More peculiarity. Who are these graves for? These bodies, are you burying? What, your mistake in madam? We're not burying the dead. Yeah. There are no bodies entering the ground here. Only bones coming out. Those. Those. Those of a peddler. Brutally murdered years ago. Before the Foxes took residence. I am a fox in muttering twit and there was no such peddler. Peddler of what exactly? Ah, of drugs. Oh, spectator with a small fortune. Definitely drugs. Out of nonsense. Where did you hear of this man? The true Greek sisters, madam. They heard it from the man himself. They heard it from the peddler. What on the fuck? You just said that man had been murdered. I spoke to him. He did. He hungo on enter the trance and rise. Glow with the light of the dead. Well, perhaps you thought he had drugs on him and decided to go for a dig. Well, perhaps as a fox you could speak to the dead or do a reading. A reading of what? A certainly not his mind as there is little activity there. What says the fox? I said your brain has compromised your thoughts nonsense. Miss Leah, I suggest we leave. Zombies, the lot of you. I better not find out you ate my family your heathens. I'll be back. I'll be back. Take us to the fox peppermint farm driver, the property of David Fox. What's the plan here? It just didn't work. They must be at my brother's, David's. He's my age and we were always very close growing up. Great news. He's the only sane one of the bunch. The other good news is that he's rational. He'd see right through their tricks. So I suspect there will be no ghosts there. Indeed. Disappointment is in your future. Excuse me, is the coachman talking to us? The spirit went to Arcadia with them. Oh, lovely. How convenient. The dames disapprove. I wouldn't define it as disapproval necessarily. More akin to divinely opportune or unfortunately fortunate. We're actually in high spirits. Well, the dames laugh. They may want to take a look at the window. What in God's name are those? Seems to be a long line of wagons outside my brother's farm. Oh, more zombies. Yes, a carnival of them. Usually, just before you enter the lion's den, you get a small hint of what's to come. In this case, they were over a hundred towns people at my brother's property, gazing at us in a lost trance as we slowly approach their shrine. This is not such a great idea. We're crossing the Rubicon. I've got a bad feeling about this. There's no turning back, Adelaide. We are in over our heads here. Just look natural. Was I drawn to the shrine? Maybe. But looking back, if I have to be honest about it, it was really the zombies that got me hooked. I wanted to know what made them tick. When we entered the house, my mother was the first I'd seen her in three years. Her hair-white complexion lost, clutching her Bible until the white of her knuckles were pure bone. Mother? Mum? Do you. remember me? Leah, your daughter? And Leah? Yes, yes, Mum. Why would you do this? Do what? Come back here. Because I don't understand. You've entered the house of death. What in the devil was that? It's coming from upstairs. Are you insane? There's no light up there. Hold on to the belly. Follow the moonlight. We need to follow the rock. No, no. Very bad idea. We need to do the opposite of what you just said. We need to not follow the raps. It's pulling us to hold it. Let's do this. I beg of you. Let the wind lead you. Coming from my sister's room. I can feel it. That's room. Leah, don't go in there. No, please don't go in there. Please, help me. What do you witness there tonight? It's a smash hit. A paranormal phenomena. With yokes and raps and a swirling floor of God and the dead combine in an ugly heart. My sisters, on their knees, eyes rolled back their heads. Their gowns glowing in the wind. And then suddenly. Katie, can you hear me? Could you hear me? Nothing. As my sister sat in prayer position, eyes wired shut. And then. My brother, David, walked in. And although I hadn't seen him in years, he'd aged much quicker than I. Clenching a bottle of whiskey with a blank stare in his eyes. He quietly looked about the room. Until his eyes finally landed on me. David. Is that you? In the dark, I can't see anything. As he dried the rye from his mouth, he uttered the two most frightening words I'd ever heard in my life. Welcome home. The foxes of Hyde'sville stars Carrie Mulligan as Lea Fox, Phoebe Tonkin as Adelaide Granger, McKenna Grace as Katie Fox, with additional roles by the criminal content players including Ryan Willard, Joe Perino, Dwayne Hill, Jim Conroy, Mara Casson, written and directed by Sean Christensen, executive produced by Carrie Mulligan, Sean Christensen, and Gabriel Mason. Co-executive produced by Mara Casson and Christina Brucato, produced by Brendan Hubbard and Adam Voleric. Associate produced by Nick McCity, sound designed by Brandon Jones, composed by Darren Morsey, editing, mixing, mastering, and additional music by Nick McCity, additional editing by Sean Christensen and Adam Voleric. Marketing lead, Ellie Kotapish, production assistance by My List of Fit Simmons, artwork by Lawn Chan, credits read by Natalie Press, special thanks to Dave Williams, the invisible studios, and fancy film. (gentle music)