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Other Stories presents.

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Step into. The Abyss of After

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the gloomy Gothic Fiction Podcast

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The Doze Into the depths

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of human emotion, unyielding love,

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revenge, internal struggles and restless

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souls. A way to and

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nine haunting episodes were dread

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fear and bring glimpses of

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eerie happiness linger. Dear

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to listen on your

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now. but beware. innocence.

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the other stories. Today's

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episode of the YIV Stories is

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The Bittersweet Glimmer written by Jessica

2:10

Peter and narrated by Erika Ventura.

2:14

54

2:18

55

2:22

56

2:26

Erika smiled. She'd

2:28

always heard that one hundred strokes

2:31

of the hairbrush each day would

2:33

make her hair shine. She

2:37

gazed out the big picture window, another

2:40

autumn. The

2:42

sun shone on leaves turned shades

2:44

of crimson and burnished gold. The

2:48

grass gleamed, still fresh

2:50

and green. People

2:53

took advantage of the weather, cycling

2:55

and walking on the path beside the river,

2:58

cars inching down the main street.

3:01

Laura stopped, blinked

3:04

out at everything. Hadn't the

3:06

river been bigger once? Bigger,

3:10

stronger, different. She

3:14

couldn't catch the thought, beating

3:16

against the back edges of her mind

3:18

like butterfly wings. She

3:20

sighed, lifted the

3:23

brush to her hair again. 57

3:28

58

3:30

59

3:33

60

3:36

Laura stopped again. Something

3:39

was off. Several

3:41

minutes passed before she noticed what

3:43

wasn't right. Her

3:46

once soft and thick hair was thin.

3:49

It rustled against her hand like

3:51

the dry grasses of the fields

3:53

back somewhere she had once

3:55

been. She couldn't catch

3:58

that thought either and it crumpled. A

4:01

stray her hair. Laura

4:04

to the only thing she put

4:07

and lifted the press yet again.

4:09

Seeks. Feel. Than. Sixty.

4:13

Two know. A

4:16

door opened. A

4:18

sturdy young man, the navy blue scratch

4:21

stood there. He didn't

4:23

look familiar. But. Not much did

4:25

any. More

4:27

appeared at him. Taking.

4:29

In the chestnut brown hair shorn close

4:31

to his head. Of

4:33

a scar on his neck. The

4:36

tanned, healthy glow of his. Skin.

4:39

Lore. It's time for

4:41

your meds. He said her

4:43

name wrong with a single syllable. To.

4:46

Crisp. Too

4:48

americanized, Laura. Winced

4:50

at the pronunciation. Then

4:53

puzzled over the accessed. Were

4:55

less see. What?

4:57

Was she doing here? Laura.

5:02

She finally said. Then

5:04

she turned away and let the memory of him

5:06

standing there slipped from her mind. She

5:10

focused on the brushing. Six

5:13

feet in the. Sixty.

5:16

Four. Sixty

5:19

size. Law. Or

5:21

oh, The man's

5:23

voice. Sharp. Urgent

5:25

mocking her name. Snapped

5:28

her attention back to him. He

5:30

held out his big hands as if he'd

5:32

brought a baby bird to her. And

5:35

Laura squinted down that them. Certainly.

5:38

Not a baby bird. To

5:42

circles and one oblong shape.

5:44

She knew she should know what she was

5:46

looking at. Your

5:48

pills law or ah,

5:51

Her named out longer every time.

5:54

Young man. It

5:56

wasn't worth the site. then

5:58

the little shapes and as hand clarified in

6:01

Laura's brain. Of course.

6:04

She snapped instead, as if

6:06

she'd known them as pills all along. Laura

6:09

reached out to take them and was in trance

6:12

for a moment. Her

6:14

skin was as fine and pale as

6:17

parchment, blue lines running

6:19

under gnarled skin. The

6:22

crabbed hand didn't seem to fit. It

6:25

couldn't belong to her. She

6:28

remembered lush curves and smooth

6:30

skin, filled out and

6:32

healthy. Yet

6:35

somehow this stranger's hand was

6:37

hers. The

6:41

man in scrubs watched and waited, eyes

6:44

hooded. I

6:46

will take the pills. Laura

6:50

grabbed them with a confidence she didn't feel.

6:54

Oh, you feel, huh? His

6:58

eyes twinkled with something between humor

7:00

and malice. Your

7:02

German accent gets stronger when you're not doing

7:04

well. Laura

7:07

glared at him, her cheeks burned. The

7:10

man laughed. Yeah,

7:12

yeah, whatever. It's

7:14

not like you're going to remember this anyway. It

7:18

stung, but he wasn't wrong.

7:21

Her high dudgeon was already fading, replaced

7:24

by a merciful neutral dimness. Sometimes

7:29

it was better not to feel. Oh

7:31

yeah, you need the big one chopped

7:33

in half. The man pulled out

7:36

a butter knife from his pocket, set

7:38

the oblong pearl on a tray on Laura's

7:40

dresser, and brought the knife

7:42

down with a snap that made her jerk in

7:44

her chair. He loomed over her,

7:47

his size too big for this room, as

7:50

he settled the pills into her hand. A

7:53

plastic cup of water sat on the vanity in front of

7:55

her. Wait,

7:57

she knew this one. Picked

8:00

up the cup and then one by one

8:02

flipped the pills into her mouth and slurped

8:04

it down. Pride

8:06

tickled her and then embarrassment for

8:08

feeling proud of such a simple

8:10

task. She took in

8:13

a deep breath. Good

8:15

job, Laura. There

8:17

was a young man at the door with short

8:20

dark hair and navy blue scrubs. He

8:22

snickered, then turned and left.

8:25

Laura swallowed, pleased to

8:27

see that the water had dampened the gummy

8:29

dryness of her mouth. She

8:32

smacked her lips and delighted in the moisture.

8:36

When she felt like this, she

8:38

used to sing. She

8:40

used to sing. Laura

8:44

looked at herself in the mirror. Faded

8:47

hair, roomy eyes, skin

8:50

hanging in jowls. At

8:53

this time, she recognized the

8:55

person she saw in the mirror. She

8:58

recognized herself. The

9:01

face was aged now, but she'd

9:03

once been something else. Something

9:07

more. Laura rubbed her eyes and the thoughts tumbled

9:09

out of her. A

9:12

house of cards that she didn't care to play

9:14

anymore. She'd been

9:16

doing something before the pills. Before

9:19

the man. Instead, she turned

9:21

to face the window and watched the

9:23

people and the leaves and the oh

9:25

so passive river, ready to

9:27

let the water wash away her anxieties. But

9:31

the river wasn't right. This

9:33

time, Laura probed her brain

9:35

until she caught the thought, grasping

9:38

it firmly so that it couldn't slip away.

9:41

The memories tickled and nostalgia set

9:43

in. For a time

9:45

and a place and the person that she

9:47

once was, even if she

9:49

couldn't quite grasp it all yet, she

9:52

used to be something more. Something

9:55

more than they would ever

9:57

have her be. used

10:00

to sing. Finally,

10:02

the jumbled puzzle pieces in

10:04

her brain slid into place, and

10:07

she remembered who she was. The

10:10

Lorelei of the Rhine looked out

10:13

over the river in this unfamiliar

10:15

country, this unfamiliar

10:17

continent. Pretty

10:19

autumn trees dotting the plush emerald

10:21

grass, mortals meandering

10:23

through the park. Frustrated

10:26

desire rose in her to

10:28

be truly alive, to

10:31

not be trapped in this place,

10:34

to no longer be alone, to be

10:36

young again. And as

10:39

the frustration spiraled higher and

10:41

higher, she began

10:44

to sing. The song

10:46

bubbled up in her chest like a

10:48

great flood waiting to be unleashed. She

10:51

straightened in her chair, tilted her

10:53

head back, and erupted

10:55

in glorious noise. Her

10:59

voice was a bell-like soprano, the

11:03

music haunting ethereal.

11:07

Not in English, not in

11:09

German, not in any

11:11

language from this mortal world.

11:14

Everything outside stopped.

11:17

Walkers froze, people

11:19

fell off bicycles, and

11:21

in a grating screech of metal

11:24

and humanity, two cars slammed into

11:26

each other. The Lorelei ignored the

11:28

crash and kept singing, pouring

11:31

her heartache and frustration into

11:33

the melody. Then

11:35

the people outside moved as one, a

11:39

hive mind of motion with a single goal.

11:42

To get to her. She

11:44

sang and she sang and she

11:46

sang, people in

11:48

blue and green scrubs piled into

11:50

the room, those at

11:53

the back clawing, kicking, biting to

11:55

get closer. An outburst

11:57

of petty violence. A

12:00

young male aide with the dark hair and

12:02

navy scrubs was at the front, elbowing

12:04

the others to kneel against the

12:06

Lorelai's legs. He

12:09

grasped them like a shipwrecked sailor gripping

12:11

a carved wooden figurehead of a woman.

12:15

For dear life, or

12:17

for something more. A

12:20

seething mass of bodies crowded the window,

12:23

the view blocked by crushed fabric

12:25

and pasty flesh, hands and

12:28

faces pressed against the glass in a

12:30

desperate attempt to make it inside, to

12:32

make it to her. The

12:35

Lorelai didn't stop singing. Even

12:38

when one meaty fist hammered the

12:40

glass, the window collapsed

12:42

inward in a tinkle, blood

12:44

spraying from wrists and faces unlucky enough

12:47

to be against it. The

12:49

mob of mortals collapsed too. A

12:52

roiling mass of bodies, silent

12:54

other than rustling fabric against

12:57

fabric, and the soft

12:59

crunch of bones and cartilage as

13:01

they shifted, trying to

13:03

get closer, closer, closer.

13:09

Still the Lorelai kept

13:11

singing, becoming herself

13:14

again, her

13:16

skin tightened under her chin, and

13:19

in her reflection she watched it shine with

13:21

the glow of youth. Her

13:24

hay dry hair thickened, once

13:26

again flowing soft and luxurious over

13:29

her shoulders, while the curve of

13:31

her breasts and hips filled, becoming

13:34

once more that thick hourglass

13:36

figure she'd been renowned for.

13:40

Her hands, still delicate

13:42

and bird-like, became

13:44

smooth. The

13:46

man against her legs, navy

13:48

blue scrubs, chestnut hair,

13:52

always degrading, pulled

13:54

the butter knife out of his pocket and

13:57

jammed it against his own neck.

14:00

As if by will alone he could

14:02

make a dull knife flip his throat.

14:05

He pounded it against the tender

14:08

zone below his stylishly stubbled

14:10

chin, the delicate skin

14:12

turning red and mottled, a

14:15

spot of blood appearing. The

14:17

Lorelei turned away, a young

14:20

woman in a pretty yellow sundress bleeding

14:22

through a shallow cut just below her

14:24

right eye, reached out to her,

14:27

hands tense with need. Unable

14:30

to get close enough, she

14:32

picked up a triangular chunk of glass and

14:35

drew it along her wrist, a

14:38

thin line of blood welling up.

14:41

The Lorelei kept singing, but

14:43

as she sang, she

14:45

remembered she had lost

14:48

the only thing that mattered so

14:50

long ago. The

14:53

only people that mattered, singing

14:55

allowed her to live again. She

14:59

could be young, she

15:01

could be something more,

15:03

that she'd always be alone.

15:06

Her features clouded, so

15:08

she clenched her eyes shut but

15:11

stubbornly kept on singing, tears

15:13

dripping down her cheeks. But

15:16

finally, she got

15:19

to the point where it was too hard.

15:22

Sometimes it was better to

15:25

forget. The Lorelei

15:27

of the Rhine snapped her

15:30

mouth shut, teeth making an

15:32

audible clack. A murmur

15:34

arose, mumbles,

15:37

gasps, screams.

15:40

Lorelei's room was full of people, so

15:43

many of them bleeding and injured.

15:46

The young man with the dark hair that

15:48

had been so rude to her stood first,

15:51

blinking rapidly. He

15:54

stared down at the butter knife in his hand

15:57

and rubbed his throat, his

15:59

hand coming coming off wet and red.

16:02

Then he wandered out of the room in a daze.

16:06

The people crowded on the floor also

16:08

stood if they were able, huzzlement

16:12

written across their faces.

16:14

They hobbled out of the room,

16:16

using each other as crutches. Laura

16:19

let the memory of the chaos slip away,

16:22

let herself dim once again. She

16:26

avoided any engagement when the people in these scrubs

16:28

came back to carry out the woman in the

16:30

yellow dress, her arms

16:32

streaked with blood. After

16:36

only a few minutes, she

16:38

was alone again, gazing out

16:40

the window. Another

16:43

autumn, the

16:46

sun shone on leaves turned

16:48

shades of crimson and burnished

16:50

gold. The

16:52

grass still gleamed, fresh

16:55

and green. An

16:59

unseasonably warm wind rustled her

17:01

hair, thin and dry

17:03

as it was, making

17:05

her feel young again. She

17:08

smiled. It

17:10

was nice to feel the air. Laura

17:15

picked up the brush on her dresser and

17:17

studied it, turning it around

17:19

in her hand. She'd

17:22

always heard that 100 strokes of

17:24

the hairbrush each day would

17:27

make her hair shine. She

17:31

lifted the brush. one

17:35

two three

17:50

I hope you enjoyed today's episode of the Other Stories.

17:52

The Bitteree Sweet Glimmer was written

17:54

by Jessica Peter, narrated by Erik

17:56

Vintora, produced by Duncan Muggleton, Tom

18:00

Robson, and Soundfish reviewed by

18:02

freesound.org. The episode illustration was

18:05

provided by Luke Spoon of Carry On House.

18:07

A quick thanks to our community managers

18:09

Josh Abuchay and Jasmine Arch, and to

18:12

Josh Abuchay for helping with our submission

18:14

reading. And of course, to Ben Errington,

18:16

that celestial star of social media, his

18:18

digital footprint lighting up the online sky

18:20

of the brilliance of his fame. Jessica

18:24

Peter is a writer of dark,

18:26

uncanny and absurd fiction and poetry.

18:28

She can be found at www.jessicapeter.net

18:31

or on Twitter or X and

18:33

at jessicapeter1. Erika

18:36

Ventura is an artist, mother, bilingual

18:38

narrator and a husbandry technician. How

18:41

does she manage it all? No idea, but

18:43

her artwork can be seen on Instagram at

18:45

at E F B E N T U,

18:48

or you can visit her artist page at

18:50

facebook.com/bio artsy. View of Stories

18:52

is a production of the story studio Hawk

18:54

and Cleaver, and is brought to you with

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a Creative Commons attribution non-commercial no derivatives license.

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