transcript

Speaker 1:
[00:00] It's time to turn off the lights and turn on the dark.

Speaker 2:
[00:07] Chilling Tales for Dark Nights.

Speaker 1:
[00:45] Good evening, and welcome to Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. I'm your host this evening, Nicholas Goroff, a filling in for Steve Taylor. Tonight's tale takes us to the edge of the Pacific, where the fog rolls in low, the shoreline glistens with strange remains of something that should never have reached land, and a quiet evening ritual turns into a waking nightmare. What begins with an unsettling sight along the beach soon deepens into a story of missing people, corrupted flesh, dark water, and the terrifying possibility that whatever has surfaced is not content to remain in the depths. Settle in, and dim the lights. The show is about to begin. Before we get to tonight's feature, however, we'd like to thank our dedicated supporters in the Chilling Tales for Dark Nights patrons area. For just $7.99 per month, members enjoy ad-free listening, early access to new episodes, exclusive content, and full access to our complete archive, with discounted annual options available too. That means entry into a vast library of audio horror spanning more than a decade, with Chilling releases and fan-favorite episodes reaching all the way back to 2012. To learn more or become a member today, visit chillingtalesfordarknights.com. Thank you for helping us keep the darkness alive, one nightmare at a time. Featured tonight, Tonight's Tale is written by Dana Fredstey, performed by Jason Hill with production and original music by Felipe O'Hara. Tonight's performance offers a fantastic opportunity to revisit one of Jason's iconic earlier turns from Horror Hill's first few seasons. Eric Peabody is, of course, the current host and narrator of the podcast now in its 14th season, but once tonight's story is done, be sure to seek out Horror Hill to hear more of both Jason's unforgettable performances from the show's early days. And now, without further delay, I present to you from author Dana Fredstey, Corrosion.

Speaker 3:
[03:15] Part 1 Charlie Charlie stared down at Ocean Beach from the bluffs above, reconsidering his usual morning walk. He put in a few miles daily, no matter the weather. Today, however, a gelatinous slick of dead jellyfish covered the sands as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of pinkish-gray bodies in various stages of dissolution. It looked as though an alien invasion had taken place. Charlie wavered for a few minutes, then spotted a clear strip of sand by the water's edge and decided to go for it. He made his way down the slope, stepping carefully between beached jellies until he reached the surf line. Once there, he started walking north. Few people were out this morning. He passed a couple of teenage boys, staring in fascination at the jellies, poking them with pieces of driftwood, and daring each other to touch one with bare hands. Charlie grinned and kept walking. He had gone about a mile when his gaze fell on something red in the sand. A smallish jellyfish, about the size of a bread plate. The pinkish-gray color around the outside gave way to an odd red hue in the center, as if lit inside by fire.

Speaker 2:
[04:45] Huh.

Speaker 3:
[04:47] He leaned over and took a closer look. It looked as though a smaller jelly had hitched a ride on the larger one. As he watched, the larger invertebrate began to slowly dissolve, leaving a little fire jewel-toned blob the size of a quarter pulsing slowly in its remains. They'd never seen anything like it. Charlie reached out and gently prodded it with a forefinger. It burned, little pinpricks of heat, and he immediately snatched his hand back. He should have known better. Damn things could still sting after they died. His finger throbbed, the pain increasing in intensity the way a burn did if you didn't get ice on it right away. He quickly knelt at the water's edge and shoved the afflicted hand into the icy surf. It didn't really help, but he figured it was better than nothing. He took some anvil when he got home. Charlie continued his walk, doing his best to ignore the burning, itching sensation, now spreading up his hand into his arm. Kate liked to think of her evening run as a ritual. Change into a running clothes work, drive the short distance from the office in Dale City to Lake Merced, and do her run. She always parked off Skyline, near the edge of the zoo. It was a short jaunt from there to Ocean Beach where, on days the fog hadn't already shrouded the coast, she liked to watch the sunset before the drive home to the outer parkside house she shared with Val. Today, however, a meeting had run a half hour longer than scheduled, and she didn't get out of work until quarter to five. By the time she parked and finished her stretches, the shadows were long devouring the remaining swatches of daylight on the ground. Thin patches of fog slowly drifted in from the ocean. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but not a lot of people in sight. Kate thought briefly of skipping the run. She could go straight to the beach before the fog got too thick, watch the sun disappear into the ocean, and head home for dinner. Val would have cooked something exotic, delicious, and vegan to go with whatever organic wine she'd found at Whole Foods or Rainbow. The idea was appealing, but Kate dismissed it as quickly as it flashed into her head. She needed the ritual, both the physical release and the time it gave her for her own thoughts before heading home to the increasingly suffocating warmth of Val's love. So what if it was getting dark? The path around Lake Merced was hardly dangerous, and most of it was bordered by well-travelled streets with a consistent flow of traffic. Besides, she reasoned, if someone did bother her, she had her handy dandy little pepper spray that dangled along with the Prius key and mini maglite and the curly phone cord wristband she wore when running. One last knee bend to get the last of the snap, crackle, and pops out of her joints, and she set off, heading south on Skyline toward John Muir Drive, instead of her usual clockwise circuit. The semi-wooded shoreline of Lake Merced on Skyline would be the darkest, and, let's be honest, she thought, spookiest stretch once the sun went down. It made sense to get it over with first. As usual, the first few minutes were painful until she hit her stride, letting the rhythm of one foot in front of the other fill her mind and body until the day's worries and tensions fell away. Her breathing was smooth, chest rising and falling in time with her stride, each foot connecting firmly with the ground. Her mind, on the other hand, soared above her. She had once tried to explain to Val how running made her feel both out of herself and totally grounded. Val had stared at her for a moment, then suggested she try yoga instead as a less confrontational grounding option. Kate lost track of time in distance as she ran. Muffled gunshots to her left told her she was passing the skeet shooting range. She'd like to try that someday, but knew Val would shit a brick at anything to do with aggressive, penile substitutes. She crossed the pedestrian bridge, her footsteps thudding hollowly against the wood. Deep, even breaths in and out matched the rhythm of her feet. As she passed an elderly Chinese couple walking a St. Bernard nearly as tall as they were, the dog gave a loud woof as Kate ran by. Possibly canine speak for. You go, girl. She left the bridge onto dirt that led to a little grove. She could either go up to the paved path along Lake Merced Drive, or enjoy a little nature for a few minutes longer on the subsidiary path through the trees. Something underfoot, a pebble maybe, caused Kate's right ankle to turn sharply, pain lancing sharply through the ligaments, and pulling her rudely out at the state of zen she'd achieved.

Speaker 2:
[10:10] Shit!

Speaker 3:
[10:11] Dropping to one knee, Kate rubbed the side of her ankle, breathing into the pain in between muttered curses. She was only a third of the way, if that, around the circuit. It made more sense to retrace her steps back down John Muir Drive and continue along Lake Merced, but it was still about fifteen minutes at a steady pace, longer with the limp. She gingerly tested her weight on the injured limb. She didn't think it was sprained, but it still hurt. I needed ice and arnica on it ASAP. She couldn't even call her wife for a lift. Val didn't have a car, because she couldn't deal with the negative energy of other drivers. Kate heaved a sigh, focusing on Val's more irritating personality quirks made her feel guilty, especially because it made her thoughts turn to Amy, and stirred up a shitload of conflicted feelings that hadn't resolved themselves in over three years. Besides, it wouldn't make the trip back to the car any easier, or less painful. She walked back across the pedestrian bridge, keeping her eyes on the ground to avoid a repeat of her accident, and promptly tripped over a rock, paid knifing into her twice injured ankle.

Speaker 1:
[11:29] Fuck! fuck!

Speaker 3:
[11:32] Kate grabbed the wooden rail on the lake side of the bridge, and balanced on her uninjured foot until the pain, a sharpened steel blade stuck in her flesh, subsided to a dull, continuous throb. Great. Just fucking great. She started limping down the path in the rapidly fading daylight. The Chinese couple and their dog were nowhere in sight. Too bad. She could have used some friendly canine encouragement about now. What she could use was her cell phone. Or, better yet, a car that come when she whistled, like a faithful horse out of an old Western.

Speaker 2:
[12:10] She'd...

Speaker 3:
[12:14] That single word, somewhere between a moan and a gurgle, cut to her thoughts. She stopped mid-limb, ears cocked for more. But heard nothing. The sound had come from her right, where a short but steep incline descended to a sandy beach and the lake itself. Willows and rushes obscured the water. Portions of it were blocked off with yellow police tape, something to do with the restoration of the banks, although it looked more like a crime scene. Kate moved closer to the tape and stared down into the shadows. She listened for a moment, but the only sound she heard was the faint barking of a dog, off in the distance. She shook her head and set off in gimp mode again.

Speaker 2:
[13:03] Please.

Speaker 3:
[13:05] This time the word rose and fell in a glissando, fading out in a sibilant hiss, like someone expelling his or her last breath. The hair at the nape of Kate's neck stood on end.

Speaker 2:
[13:21] Hello?

Speaker 3:
[13:23] Is anyone down there? A low moan answered her, the sound of someone in pain. Then a splash sounded, as if something or someone had fallen into the water, followed by a faint mewling. Oh, geez. Kate looked up and down the path and across the street. The sun had been all but swallowed by the night sky. And there was no one in sight. No joggers, pedestrians. And this was even weirder. No cars driving by. She could hear them in the distance, see headlights over on Lake Merced. But John Muir Drive was empty of moving traffic. For the first time in Kate's memory. It also seemed much darker than it should be. The sky on the other side of Lake Merced was still fading into cobalt blue. Why was the sky over the lake itself onyx? Fog continued to drift in from the ocean. Pale gray tendrils creeping over the water to insinuate themselves in and around the foliage, growing thickly along the perimeter of the lake. The water itself had a strange, oily sheen. She looked down the incline into the darkness again. Look, I'm going to go get help, okay?

Speaker 4:
[14:47] There are apartments right down the street, and...

Speaker 3:
[14:53] The word ended in a gurgling rattle. The word's death rattle blinked with vagus-like neon intensity in Kate's mind. Shit. There was only one option her conscious would accept. That was to go down there, in the dark, by herself. And help whoever was down there before things got worse. She took a deep breath.

Speaker 4:
[15:22] Okay, I'm coming down, just... You just try to hang on, okay?

Speaker 3:
[15:28] Clicking on her mini-mag, Kate was rewarded with a thin ray of light, laughable when compared to the darkness waiting below. Fuck, fuck! The obscenities martyred underneath her breath provided the same temporary courage as a shot of booze. She took a deep breath and ducked under the yellow tape. Earth crumbled beneath Kate's feet as she picked her way down the embankment. The edges of the mag's beam seemed to bleed off into the shadows, swallowed up by the encroaching fog. Kate shook her head. She didn't need bullshit thoughts like that running through her mind. As if on cue, another piteous mule came from the lake edge, followed by a series of splashes, the sound of someone struggling in the water. Startled, Kate took a misstep and slid down the rest of the slope into the reeds and sandy beach below. It was only a few feet, but the landing jarred her already abused ankle, and Kate left out a shriek that would have flushed birds from the reeds. Had there been any in hiding? Even through the knifing pain, Kate was aware of the unnatural stillness around her. Blanketed by fog, which had thickened dramatically since she'd taken her unfortunate tumble, and surrounded by the thickets of reeds both in and out of the water, the little beach seemed to be a world of its own. Kate stood up, stifling another yelp as her ankle threatened to give out. She immediately shifted her weight to the other foot, wondering how she was going to help someone else when she couldn't even stand on her own. A single splash sounded directly in front of her. Kate shone her maglite toward the sound, and gasped. An arm rose out of the water in reeds, tattered bits of cloth hanging off the bicep, and opening and closing as it stretched beseechingly toward the shore. The skin had the same unpleasant, oily sheen to it as the water itself.

Speaker 2:
[17:42] Shit.

Speaker 3:
[17:44] Keeping the mag beam focused on the arm, Kate limped as fast as she could to the water's edge. Despite the urgency of the situation, she hesitated. The lake looked like one of the La Brea tar pits, as if on cue a nasty bubble rose to the surface and burst, releasing a foul odor, the sickly sweet smell of putrefied flesh. Oh, God. Kate took an involuntary step backwards. The smell of sulfur and rotten meat crept into her nostrils. The fingers of the hand contracted inwards, then splayed out again as the arm began to sink beneath the water. Kate's insides clenched into icy knots, fear almost making her forget her pain as she forced herself forward into the cold water up to her thighs, and reached out to grasp the hand just before it vanished into the lake. She grimaced as her hand wrapped around surprisingly warm, gelatinous flesh, skin that felt like it was coated with slime. Her hand immediately began to itch and burn. She very nearly let go, but the fingers curled around her wrist like tentacles, almost jerking her head long into the water. Kate threw her weight backwards to compensate, but whoever held her wrist used it as leverage, the fingers slowly crawling up her forearm to her bicep. Kate knew she should help, but a more primitive portion of her brain urged her to run. Instead, she stood there, Maglite directed at the head and shoulders rising from the lake, the beam showing dark hair plastered to the scalp, and obscuring the face, chin tucked down towards the chest, the person lifted their head directly into the light, diffused by the swirling fog. Kate stared in shocked paralysis, unable to react to the horror before her. Its skin was covered with a translucent jelly-like substance. Features could be seen underneath the gunk, but parts of the face, neck, and shoulders were missing. Chunks of flesh and bone, including the nose, had been replaced by the jelly, as if it had eaten away the flesh beneath, and was now trying to reshape itself into human form. Nasal cavities and empty eye sockets were visible beneath the gelatinous goo.

Speaker 2:
[20:36] HELL.

Speaker 3:
[20:39] The word ended in another rattling gurgle. Kate's paralysis broke, and her shriek ripped through the air as she yanked herself free from the grasping fingers, flesh and slime sloughing off the ditches as they slid off her arm. Stumbling backward through the water, she turned to run, and found herself in a slow-motion nightmare as the silt at the lake bottom sucked at her feet. She could hear the nightmare thing splashing behind her, emitting little mewling sounds, sounds Kate unconsciously echoed as she reached dry land. Her ankle flared with white-hot fire each step up the sandy beach. She ignored it. Running on shards of bone was preferable to facing the thing floundering out of the water behind her. Kate's maglite dangled unheeded from her arm as she plowed through the sand and reeds, to the crumbling incline leading back to John Muir Drive and Sanity. The earth disintegrated beneath her feet as she struggled to climb to safety. She fell heavily onto her knees, digging her hands into the ground above as she tried to pull herself upwards. Clumps of dirt and plants came away as she scrabbled for purchase. She started sliding backwards, reaching out blindly in a frantic attempt to stop the descent. Her fingers closed around the base of a bush, its roots solidly planted. It held her weight, and she began to haul herself up again, gaining footing with her uninjured leg. She looked up, saw the yellow tape in police barricade. Safety was just a few feet away. She clutched another clump of foliage, and she gained another foot. Let's listen. Let's listen. Let's listen. Let's listen. Her abused flesh, with mechanical brutality, and yanked her back toward the beach, her skin burning where the fingers grasped her ankle. It was like being caught in a taffy pull, her body stretched beyond endurance. She held onto the bush, and her sanity, with desperate panic. The thing, now clutching both of her ankles, pulled again. The bush came out by its roots. Kate's face slammed into the ground, and her fingers scrambled frantically for purchase. But the nightmare's grip was implacable. Dirt muffled Kate's screams, as she was dragged inexorably down and into the water. Artie. My name's Artemis Chase. It's Artie for short. I find things that are missing. People, things, even places.

Speaker 2:
[24:02] All sorts of things.

Speaker 3:
[24:04] Sometimes it's a precious family heirloom gone missing. Sometimes an idea. Sometimes it's a life.

Speaker 2:
[24:13] Don't ask.

Speaker 3:
[24:14] It gets weird. Sometimes, whatever or whoever it is doesn't want to be found. Thing is, once I start a hunt, I finish it. It's what I do. It's what I've always done. But it doesn't always end well. It was a quiet day at the office. Not that I minded so much. My office was in the ground floor of my house. A cute bungalow in Venice Beach, one one of the streets overlooking the canals. When business was slow, I'd kick back on my porch with a cup of coffee and people watch. Something I never tired of doing. You learn a lot from unobtrusive observation and eavesdropping. No people to spy on this morning, but a mama dock and her babies paddling in the water kept me entertained while I sipped rich, dark coffee from my favorite mug. A jumbo-sized thing with the words, I like my coffee the way I like my elder gods. Dark, powerful, and eternal. And munched on warm cinnamon donut holes. Maybe not nectar of the gods or manna from heaven, but good enough for me. My tastes have grown simpler over the years. I've mellowed. I'm less likely to smite people who piss me off. Work had been slow the past week. I didn't mind. I'm not your typical hard-boiled private dick in a trench coat and fedora. The type with a bank account flatter than his last girlfriend. Nothing but a bottle of cheap whiskey for sustenance until the next case walked through the door in the form of a dame, with more curves than Lombard Street. For one thing, I'm the crevaceous dame in this equation. For another, not a fan of cheap whiskey.

Speaker 2:
[26:14] Blech.

Speaker 3:
[26:15] Still, if things didn't pick up, maybe I'd take a few days off, drive up and stay a few days in Cambria, do some wine tasting in Paso Rubles, take advantage of the downtime, maybe meet someone who'd like to share a bottle or two of wine, see where it led. That'd be nice. It had been a while. The phone rang. Not my cell, but the landline. You see, only a few people have that number. People who don't use it frivolously. Close friends. People I consider family. When it rings, I answer. Which meant I had to get off my ass and go inside to get it. I heaved a martyred sigh and did just that. Taking my coffee with me. I dug the phone out from under a pile of paperwork and answered it.

Speaker 2:
[27:12] Artie Chase?

Speaker 4:
[27:13] Aunt Artie?

Speaker 3:
[27:15] The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my stomach did a little half flip. Something was wrong. I could tell by the quiver in the caller's voice, the way she said just those two words. The choked sob that immediately followed confirmed it.

Speaker 2:
[27:33] Val? What's wrong? It's Kate.

Speaker 3:
[27:38] She didn't come home last night. Not good, I thought. The half flip turned into a somersault, and I knew I was right. Something was deeply wrong. See, my gut always tells me if I'm on the right track. Back in the old days, all I had to do was picture something or someone, and I would know exactly where they were. Over the years, however, as I immersed myself in the various cultures and became more involved with mortals, that clarity of vision faded away bit by bit. It went from the equivalent of a searchlight shining on whatever I wanted to find to all objects and background illuminated with the kind of bright lights found on a film set. That eventually dimmed to a spotlight, still showing enough to make it relatively easy to do my job. That eventually faded down to a beam of light shining directly on my quarry. Maybe a hint of location around the edges, but I had to depend on what I suppose would be called a sixth sense to narrow it down. It would have been nice if that manifested, say, with a nice tingling sensation or a psychic light bulb going on over my head. Instead, I got indigestion, and all the tums in the world didn't help. I sat down letting the doughnut hole settle back into place. Val is my niece, for lack of a better term. You'd have to add on a few dozen greats in front of aunt, to be even close to the truth. But who's counting? Suffice to say, Val's mom and I have some history, and Val had grown up thinking me as part of the family. She's always been sweet, but strong-willed, usually got her own way with gentle and, sometimes, irritating persistence. She had moved from her parents' home in Beverly Hills to San Francisco as soon as she turned eighteen. If ever there had been a flower child of the sixties born a few decades after the fact. It's Val. I've always liked her wife, Kate. Pretty, with a whip-thin, human greyhound build of a dedicated runner. Opinionated and direct. A good counterbalance to Val's sweetly passive-aggressive personality. Although, when I'd spent time with the two of them, it was obvious that Val ran the show. Did you two have an argument? Another sniffle followed by an incongruously loud nose blow. Then, a long pause.

Speaker 2:
[30:28] Val?

Speaker 3:
[30:29] You there?

Speaker 2:
[30:31] No.

Speaker 3:
[30:32] She finally answered.

Speaker 4:
[30:34] I mean...

Speaker 3:
[30:35] Yeah, I'm here, but no. We didn't have an argument, at least. She trailed off. I waited. We'd argued the night before. Nothing serious, but we went to bed without talking it out. She... We've had arguments before, but she never made me worry. She knew what mom and I went through with dad, you know? She gave a shaky laugh. I swear, I still don't know what made him clean up his act, but it saved mom's life, you know? I knew what had convinced him to change. I'd found his conscience and forced him to take it back. But she didn't need to know the ugly details. Tell me what happened, I said. She called me from work, said she was going for her run around Lake Merced, and that she'd come home as soon as she was done. My mind switched into professional mode. What time is this?

Speaker 2:
[31:39] When she called, maybe 430.

Speaker 3:
[31:42] And what time does she say she'd be home? No specific time, Val replied. I didn't expect her until maybe a little after 6. She liked to watch the sunset from the cliffs above the beach when she was finished. She didn't always go there, but last night... Val choked back another song before continuing. The sunset was beautiful. I think she would have gone there if... She stopped. I could almost see all the horrifying movie trailers playing in her brain. She didn't make plans to go out with her friends, maybe forget to tell you.

Speaker 2:
[32:17] No, Kate wouldn't do that.

Speaker 3:
[32:21] I made a non-committal noise. I can't tell you how often I've heard a variation on this particular theme of denial, and how many times it turns out to be total bullshit.

Speaker 2:
[32:32] But I let it go for now.

Speaker 4:
[32:36] She didn't come home, didn't call, nothing. When I tried calling her, I got voicemail.

Speaker 3:
[32:42] So I drove to Lake Merced, checked the lots and cars parked in the street.

Speaker 2:
[32:48] And? I found her Prius parked near the zoo. Her keys were gone, but her phone was in the charger.

Speaker 3:
[32:55] You called the cops, right? They sent someone out to check the areas off the path, in case she'd fallen or something. They...

Speaker 2:
[33:04] They found her keychain.

Speaker 3:
[33:07] Did they check the beach? They checked there first. I went to Java Beach to see if she'd stopped for coffee. She goes there regularly. They hadn't seen her. This did not sound good. Another pause, then.

Speaker 2:
[33:24] Aunt Artie, will you please come up? Yeah, I said.

Speaker 3:
[33:31] I'll be there in a few hours. I set the receiver gently back in its cradle. I have one of those retro rotary dial phones. Call me old-fashioned, but not everything new is as cool-looking as its predecessors. If you look closely around my office or my home, you'll find lots of cool-looking things. Some like the phone are replicas. Others are genuine antiques. Going back as far as... Well, let's just say the little marble statue of Apollo is older than a lot of cities. I was there when it was carved, back when Roman numerals were used for more than just book indexes. Still, all the retro chic in the world wasn't as convenient as my iPhone when it came to numbers on speed dial. I went back out on the porch, where Mom and Duck and her offspring were still idly paddling in the canal, and used my cell phone to book the flight from LAX to SFO. I used the hour before boarding to check the local news for the past few days in the Bay Area, seeing if anything struck a nerve. The first thing that caught my eye was a spread about jellyfish covering the beach. According to the article, well, this was considered unusual and was not unheard of. I had my own opinion on the subject, and if I was right, it did not bode well for Kate. Next, I call a friend with the SFPD. He heads up the Nightstalkers. Like Los Angeles, San Francisco's police force has a department that specialized in cases involving things that most people don't know, or want to believe, exist. Michael picked up after a couple of rings. Stebbins? He growled. His tone said, make it quick, and you better not be wasting my time. Michael, it's Artie. Hey, Chase. His tone warmed up fractionally. How's life in La La Land? Michael has the attitude that if you live in San Francisco, you're one of the chosen people. If you live in Los Angeles, however, you're just stupid. I never argued point. Everyone's singing and dancing in the streets, as per usual, I replied. Figured. What do you need? One of the things I like about Michael is his ability to cut to the chase. No pun intended. He and I both prefer to jump into cold water, because inching in bit by icy bit only prolongs the unpleasantness. I'm looking for anyone who's gone missing since the little jellyfish incursion on Ocean Beach two days ago. A pause followed. A real pregnant pause, waiting to give birth to something vile and smelling of rotting flesh. Are you thinking of Coros, demon? Michael sounded like he really hoped my answer would be no. I hated to disappoint him. Afraid so. Shit. Yeah. Shit. He said again. Then, if you're right, we need to get on this. I'll call you back in ten. He hung up without another word. I didn't mind. There's a time for niceties and a time for action. If we had a Coros in the Bay Area, option number two was the only choice. Coros demons are the stuff of nightmares. They need a warm-blooded host body. When they find one, they seep into the pores of the skin, slowly dissolving and feeding off the innards as they take control of their unwilling incubators using them as temporary vessels. The victims are aware of what is happening, but aren't able to stop it or control their own bodies. When the structural integrity is compromised past the point of usefulness, the Coros finds another host body and transfers its essence. Leaving its previous victim to die. Yeah, real nasty shit. Luckily, there's only one known Coros demon still alive, somewhere in the waters on the western seaboard. It rarely spawned, maybe once every hundred years or so. And when it did, the odds were heavily stacked against any of its offspring making it to shore. The temperature change in the water when a Coros gives birth can be extreme. It creates shifts in the tides, changes the currents, and can really fuck up the day of the local aquatic population in the vicinity. Most sea creatures have some sort of sixth sense that tells them to get the hell away before things heated up. Jellyfish, on the other hand, don't have much in the way of brain cells. And while a Coros larva can't last long without a warm-blooded host, it was possible one of little bastards had hitched a ride on a jelly onto Ocean Beach. Nine minutes and fifty-four seconds later, Michael called me back. Two people so far. One of them is Kate Banks. That wasn't a question, was it?

Speaker 2:
[38:54] No.

Speaker 3:
[38:55] He waited for me to elaborate. When I didn't, he continued. The other is Charlie Fong. According to his wife, he went out for his usual walk early Sunday morning. Same morning the jellyfish showed up.

Speaker 2:
[39:09] Yeah.

Speaker 3:
[39:10] Charlie met a friend for lunch at the boat house near Lake Merced later the same day. Wasn't feeling well. Went to the bathroom. Didn't come out. Someone said they saw him heading towards the water.

Speaker 2:
[39:25] And?

Speaker 3:
[39:26] That's the last time he was seen. And Kate went missing Monday late afternoon. Her keychain found next to the lake. Oh, so not good. My flight was announced over the loudspeaker. I'm on my way, I said. My turn to hang up. I caught another lift from the airport to Val and Kate's house on Lawton in 45th, a few blocks from Golden Gate Park. A lot of the houses were painted in pastel shades, probably to minimize the obvious damage of sandblasting from periodic high winds in the nearby beach. But Val and Kate's place was a determinately vibrant lilac shade with dark plum trim. The front door opened as I raised my hand to knock. A petite, pale-skinned redhead in baggy jeans and an oversized cream-colored sweater rushed out and threw herself against me. I dropped my purse and my travel bag, folding Val in a hug, as she burst into tears. I held her until the flood of tears subsided, and then we went inside the house. The inside was painted in blues, lavenders, and pale greens. Furniture and artwork blended in with candles and dishes of sea glass scattered with apparent artlessness on top of surfaces. It smelled of bergamot and sandalwood. Val led me upstairs to the kitchen. A cheerful room with black and white tiled flooring and seafoam green walls. It smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Val poured us both some, and we sat down at a little white table that screamed shabby chic. Thank you so much for coming, Aunt Artie, she said. Her huge green eyes were shadowed, sunken in their sockets. Did you get any sleep last night? I asked, reaching out and covering one of her hands with mine. She shook her head.

Speaker 2:
[41:24] No, not really.

Speaker 3:
[41:26] I'd drift off, but then I'd hear something and think it was Kate coming home, so... Her voice trailed off and she took a sip of coffee. I doubted she tasted it. Have the police been in touch since you called me? Yes, they didn't have any news. Not every case has a dramatic countdown to go with it. Sometimes I can take as much time as I need, get the job done right, satisfy the customer, and not end up wanting to crawl inside a whiskey bottle when it was all over. Although, in my case, it's more likely a wine bottle. My gut told me this was not one of those times. And when you've been on the hunt for as long as I have, you learn to trust your gut. Val looked at me, eyes wide and hopeful.

Speaker 2:
[42:14] Do you know what's happened?

Speaker 3:
[42:16] Do you know where Kate is?

Speaker 1:
[42:18] Is she...

Speaker 3:
[42:20] Is she going to be okay? I didn't know what to say. Val believed in me, in my ability to fix things. After all, I'd come through for her family before. The problem was, if I was right about the situation, well... I felt Val's panic spike even before she spoke. Is she going to be okay?

Speaker 2:
[43:02] What's wrong with her? It's...

Speaker 3:
[43:06] It's an infectious disease, I said, choosing my words as carefully as time in the situation allowed. Very rare. It's likely she picked it up from someone who'd got it on the beach. She's probably not thinking, clearly. People with this condition will try to get to their loved ones, or go to a place that has special meaning to them. Kind of like zombies and shopping malls. Kate would come home, Val said with certainty. Are you sure? I asked. Because she may not be thinking, clearly. She might try to go to her parents' house, maybe even try to find her best friend in elementary school. Anything like that. There's no real way of knowing. Even as I gave those examples, though I knew they were all dead ends. Nary a flip from my stomach.

Speaker 2:
[43:56] I know.

Speaker 3:
[43:57] Her expression was set. Her mind made up. She hated her parents. She doesn't have any siblings, and she told me she was pretty much a loner until college. What about friends in town? I persisted. An ex-girlfriend or boyfriend, maybe? As each word left my mouth, the butterflies in my stomach started. By the time I'd finished, those butterflies had turned into pterodactyls. And I could tell by the way Val's face darkened that I was on to something. No one she'd ever want to see again. I could feel my impatience growing, but I tried to keep its stuff down. Val was hurting, hurting badly. And something told me that these questions were uncovering things that she'd tried to keep buried. Are you sure? I mean, it's possible that she... No! Val slammed her fist down at the table.

Speaker 4:
[44:53] She was a bitch, and the best thing Kate ever did was to leave her.

Speaker 3:
[44:57] Now we're getting somewhere. She? Val's lips pressed tightly together for a brief moment.

Speaker 4:
[45:05] Amy, the woman she was living with before we met.

Speaker 3:
[45:09] Was it an abusive relationship? Val nodded vehemently. Amy never hit her, but she was emotionally abusive. She was a total control freak. Kate couldn't do anything without checking with her first. She was totally under that bitch's spell. She never would have left if I hadn't gone in, packed stuff up, and moved her out when Amy was out of town. Never would have left, eh? Something told me that there was more to Kate's relationship with Amy than as viewed through Val's very specific lenses. So maybe there's unfinished business, and...

Speaker 4:
[45:44] It's finished!

Speaker 3:
[45:45] Val slammed her fists down at the table, rattling the cups. Coffee sloshed onto the linen tablecloth. She didn't notice. Val, I said as gently as I could, we don't have time for this. We need to find Kate as quickly as possible. For her sake. I didn't add that the main reason we needed to find Kate as quickly as possible was so we had a chance to contain the infection before it spread any further. We sat in silence for a moment. I drank some of the coffee, appreciating the smoothness of the blend. That answered my question. We drove to Amy's in silence. It was Val's car, a Chevy Bolt. I drove. Val hadn't spoken a word since giving me Amy's address, and I practically had to pry that out of her. Yay for Google Maps, because Val wasn't talking. And I didn't want to waste my limited stores of Mana unless it was an emergency. Finding my way around San Francisco did not qualify. Mana, simply put, is energy. It's neither good nor bad. It just is. At the risk of causing a nerdgasm or two, it's kind of like the Force. There's a dark side and a light side, all depending on who's tapping into it. For every Gandhi, there's a Pol Pot. For every Kim Jong-il, there's a Nelson Mandela. For every Nat King Cole, a Justin Bieber. And so on. You get the picture. When the Cosmos was created out of chaos, those of us who came into being the first million or so years lived on it. It's called food of the gods for a reason. The wars of the gods were epic. Our worshippers were pawns, sent on quests to feed the glory of his or her chosen deity. Homer's Iliad and Odyssey are stories, yes. But there's a core of truth in both of them. Mortals trying to make sense of the seemingly random chaos my kind has always brought to this world. Some of us still crave the raw power that we had back in the day, reinvented themselves as believers fell away, changed their names to fit whatever mythos people believed in. Some are real bastards. Holy wars don't just start themselves, you know. Me? I finally lost interest in playing the game. It's funny though, because even now, there are still secret cults who worship the goddess I used to be. Not a lot, just enough to keep small amounts of mana flowing my way. We pulled up in front of a little alley, one of those narrow streets that's tucked in between two major thoroughfares. A pile of discarded items littered one corner. An ancient printer. A rusted mini trampoline. A suitcase that looked like it had failed the Samsonite guerrilla test more than once. It looked like a junkyard had taken a crap there. The Google Maps lady told me to turn right. So I did. The houses were mostly shabby two-story Victorians painted in bright colors with contrasting trim. Lime green and hot pink. Turquoise and fire engine red. They never grow up to be painted ladies, but somehow it all worked. It's this one, Val finally spoke, pointing to a little railroad car-style house tucked in between two larger Victorians. Stairs led up to a cement porch, the exterior painted brick red with black trim. I parked in front of the driveway and put the hazard lights on just in case the parking Nazis showed up. Val stared at the house, her discomfort screamingly obvious. I wasn't quite sure if it came from the fear that this would be a dead end, or because we might find Kate here. Maybe a little of both. Stay in the car, I said. I got out and shut the door behind me before Val could say anything. I didn't have time to argue with her. I walked up the steps, gut churning. Some people get spidey senses. I get the psychic equivalent of indigestion. So not fair. I rang the doorbell, one of those strident noises that sounds like a robot blowing a raspberry. I heard the sound of bare feet slapping against a wooden floor. Then the rattle of a safety chain as the door opened to crack. A heavily lashed brown eye stared at me suspiciously. Hi, I said mildly. I'm looking for Kate Banks. I could tell by the little shift of her pupil that Kate was there. The suspicion in that one eye deepened. Who are you? My name's Artie Chase. I'm a private detective. Kate went missing last night, and I'm checking with all of her friends in the area to see if she's been in contact.

Speaker 2:
[51:29] Who hired you?

Speaker 3:
[51:31] I thought about hedging around the question, but didn't want to waste time.

Speaker 2:
[51:36] Her wife.

Speaker 4:
[51:38] Is she in there?

Speaker 2:
[51:39] Well, hell.

Speaker 3:
[51:41] So much for Val staying in the car. What the hell are you doing here? Amy practically spat the words out. And so much for a rational conversation. Val pressed up next to me, her body vibrating with rage. If she's in there, I need to talk to her right now. If she was here, do you really think I'd let you in?

Speaker 4:
[52:07] She's my wife.

Speaker 3:
[52:08] There was no hiding the little note of triumph in Val's voice. I winced. She was not making this any easier. Yeah, well, she was my girlfriend, and you took care of that, didn't you? Look, I said, trying to take control of the situation. You can call Michael Stebbins at SFPD and check out my credentials if you want, but if you're going to do it, please do it quickly. We don't have time to waste. I think Kate might be seriously ill, and we need to get her help. Amy's gaze flickered to somewhere back in the house. The door shut long enough for her to undo the safety chain before opening from a crack to a space almost wide enough to let us in. I went first, making sure Val stayed behind me. Amy stepped back as we entered, and I got my first good look at her. Petite, like Val. But there the resemblance ended. Short curly black hair, skin the color of coffee with cream. She wore khaki cutoffs and a tight t-shirt advertising a band called The Subtle Farts. The house had scuffed hardwood floors covered with random threadbare throw rugs. Posters from local rock venues shared wall space with some truly ugly oil paintings of random shapes and colors. The place smelled of patchouli and mildew. Look, I said, as she shut the door behind us. I'm sorry to intrude, but... Amy scratched a red patch on one arm. Shit.

Speaker 4:
[53:49] Did she touch you?

Speaker 3:
[53:50] What? Amy looked both startled and offended by my question. Did she touch you? That is none of your business. Val gave a sharp intake of breath.

Speaker 4:
[54:03] You bitch!

Speaker 3:
[54:04] She lunged at Amy. Probably would have done the whole hair-pulling, face-slapping thing had I not thrust my body in between them. Don't touch her! My cry was a warning, but Val took it as a betrayal. She whirled on me.

Speaker 4:
[54:18] What do you mean?

Speaker 3:
[54:20] Do you want to be arrested? I said harshly. What I didn't say was, do you want to be infected?

Speaker 4:
[54:28] This bitch is hiding Kate, my wife, not hers. She has no right to keep me from her.

Speaker 3:
[54:34] You have no right to come into my house. Amy's voice dripped acid. You know, like you did before, sneaking in behind my back, poisoning Kate against me. Do you know what it's like to come home and find half of your life ripped away? Look in the closet and find half of it empty. All of the stuff you've collected with someone you love, just gone. The pain in her voice and eyes were raw, as if this had happened yesterday instead of five years ago. You drove her away, Val hissed. I just helped her find the courage to walk out the door. Talk about a battle of control freaks. The level of soap operatics would have been laughable if the stakes weren't so high and both of their pain so damn real. You don't deserve her, Amy spat. You are such a narcissist. You probably didn't even notice that she needed help. What are you talking about? I take better care of her than you ever.

Speaker 4:
[55:37] What kind of help?

Speaker 3:
[55:39] I asked, cutting Val off before she went off on another rant. You're right. She's ill, Amy said. She turned to Val. I don't know what's wrong with her, but how the hell you didn't notice before today is so fucking beyond me. You don't deserve her. Amy scratched her arm again. The red patch was growing before my eyes. The only chance she had at this point was amputation, and it would have to be done within the next ten minutes at best. I wasn't optimistic about the odds of her agreeing to let me take her arm off. Even as I watched the spot spread further, the skin of her arm was taking on an almost spongy look. It was probably already too late, but I had to try. You've got a highly infectious disease. I said, if you don't take care of it now, you're going to be dead within 12 hours. As Amy opened her mouth to reply, a door creaked open down the dark hallway.

Speaker 1:
[56:45] Amy.

Speaker 3:
[56:49] My skin crawled. The voice was plotted as if something thick and viscous coated her throat. Or, more likely, than horribly. Her larynx was starting to dissolve. A tall, thin figure slowly made its way toward us, limbs moving with unnatural stiffness. When it finally emerged into the dimly lit front room, I knew it was too late. Kate was still mostly human. She'd been a beautiful woman, with a classic Nordic type of beauty. Deep blue eyes and full lips. A straight nose, the thin bridge. Cheekbones that Derek Zooklander would envy. Short hair, the color of hammered gold. Now, the fine lines of her features were beginning to blur. The sharp planes of her cheekbones gone soft, collapsing in on themselves. And the skin of her arms and legs, left bare by jogging shorts and a running bra, had an unhealthy, almost greasy sheen. As if she'd been dipped in petroleum jelly. Like a corpse, going through adiposeer composition.

Speaker 4:
[58:13] Kate!

Speaker 3:
[58:14] Val tried to shove her way past me. Kate. What was left of her? Ignored Val's anguished cry. She only had eyes for Amy. I stopped her. Don't touch her. I said quietly. You can't.

Speaker 4:
[58:32] Kate.

Speaker 3:
[58:33] Val tried again. Her voice entreating Kate to look at her. Still, no response. She doesn't want you here. Amy's smile was ugly in its triumph.

Speaker 4:
[58:46] She's made her choice.

Speaker 3:
[58:48] I don't give a shit whether you accept it or not.

Speaker 4:
[58:51] Just get the fuck out of my house.

Speaker 3:
[58:53] Val lunged again, this time breaking my grip. She threw herself forward, hands outstretched. Her palms slammed against her rival's chest, and Amy reeled backwards, feet slipping on the small rug, her arms pinwheeling frantically to try and keep her balance. She was too far gone, however, and fell heavily, her head striking the corner of a small table with a sickening crack. She crumpled to the floor, limbs suddenly lax, blood seeped out of her ears and mouth. Even as I watched the red blotch on Amy's arm collapsed in on itself as the infant Coros began to die, its host no longer feeding it.

Speaker 2:
[59:43] Amy.

Speaker 3:
[59:46] Kate tilted her head to one side. Amy didn't move. Neither did Val, frozen in place by the enormity of what she'd just done. Kate started forward, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Amy's body. As she moved towards us, I pulled Val out of the way, keeping one arm tightly wrapped around her waist in case she tried to go to her wife again.

Speaker 2:
[60:13] Kate?

Speaker 3:
[60:14] Val sounded like a lost little kid, like the little girl I'd met with her mother, the two of them covered in cuts and bruises inflicted by Val's father. Kate ignored her. I could almost hear Val's heart breaking with the same sound as Amy's skull connecting with the hard wood. She didn't fight me. Just stood and watched as Kate knelt by her ex-lover's side, picked up one wrist, feeling for a pulse with fingers losing their shape. She set the hand down gently, as if afraid it would break, looked around again before giving an inarticulate cry of rage and grief, and the sound thick and liquid. Only then did Kate look up at her wife, her expression filled with uncomprehending sadness and fury.

Speaker 2:
[61:12] You... bitch.

Speaker 3:
[61:16] She said slowly, struggling to say the words.

Speaker 2:
[61:21] Kate, I didn't...

Speaker 3:
[61:23] Kate lurched to her feet, moving with sudden, deadly speed despite the damage done to her limbs. She lunged forward, hands reaching for vowel, hatred blazing in her eyes. She grabbed me instead. The second Kate laid hands on me, I felt the acid of infection seeping into my skin, itching a ride through my arteries with each beat of my heart. It would eventually spread through my entire body, eating me alive from the inside out. What would have, had I not been who and what I am? Ignoring the scalding pain, I reached deep inside and drew on my reserves of mana. An iridescent white suffused with a golden glow of pure energy. With it, I pushed back against the infection swarming through my body. The Chorus was strong, infused with the raw power of its ancient mother. I could feel the battle going on inside me. The mana continued to do its work, flowing through me, devouring the corrosion, folding it inside its raw, sweet power. It tasted of honey and stars, and I remembered what it felt like to be worshipped by thousands. What it was to be Artemis, to be Diana, to truly be the goddess of the hunt. I could see the world and beyond. I reached out, grasping Kate's hands. The mana flowed from my fingers into hers, but even as I felt it enter her system, I knew it was futile. The corrosion had wormed its way throughout her body, into her muscles, ligaments, and organs. There wasn't enough of Kate left to save. Her body began to sink in on itself as the mana destroyed the infection. I looked into her eyes, looked past the pain and lunacy to what remained of Kate Banks. I leaned in and said, Kate, what do you want? She looked back at me and whispered, End. I nodded and let the mana find its way to what was left of her heart, drawing the last of the Coros infection out, slowing down the heartbeat at the same time. Kate turned her head and looked past me, one hand lifted as if reaching for something.

Speaker 4:
[64:04] Kate?

Speaker 3:
[64:05] Val scrambled on hands and knees to her wife's side.

Speaker 4:
[64:09] I'm here, baby.

Speaker 3:
[64:10] Kate ignored her.

Speaker 1:
[64:14] Me?

Speaker 3:
[64:15] She sighed, her hand dropping to the floor as her heart finally stopped, sightless gaze fixed on her dead lover. Val gave a wail of anguish, the sound wild and dissonant. I used one last burst of mana to reach out over the city, seeking for any more signs of the Chorus's infection. The golden illumination quickly dimmed to a searchlight, the circle of light rapidly diminishing to a pinprick. It was enough. The Chorus was dead. The infection stopped. It was over. I looked at Val sobbing next to Kate's partially deflated corpse and wondered how she would move on from this. She killed someone. It had been an accident, but it would leave its mark on her. And by doing so, she'd lost even the memory of Kate's love. I always find what I'm looking for. It's what I do. And sometimes it just sucks.

Speaker 1:
[65:36] I'm Nicholas Goroff, filling in for Steve Taylor, and you've just heard Corrosion, written by Dana Fredstey, performed by Jason Hill with production and original music by Felipe Ojeda. For those of you who enjoyed Jason Hill's performance tonight, don't forget to check out Horror Hill, where Eric Peabody now serves as host and narrator in its 14th season. Tonight offered a wonderful chance to revisit one of Jason's memorable performances from the show's earliest years, and Horror Hill remains the perfect place to hear even more from both Jason and Eric. So, take a walk down on the Carp... memory lane with you. You won't be sorry you did. If you haven't already, please consider following Chilling Tales for Dark Nights, leaving us a 5-star rating review and sharing this show with a fellow fan of the Macabre. You can find even more terrifying tales at creepypastastories.com and stay up to date with Evil Idol 2025, our ongoing annual voice acting competition, and all our latest releases by subscribing to our YouTube channel. Memberships are available now at Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. Where for just $7.99 per month, you will receive ad-free listening, early access, exclusive content, and entry to our complete audio archive, with discounted annual options available at a vault of nightmares and dark delights extending all the way back to 2012. Follow us on Facebook, X, Instagram, and TikTok. And as always, thank you for spending part of your night with us. And now, fellow lover of the macabre, I'm afraid our evening together draws to a close. You've been listening to Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. Until next time, I'm your host, Nicholas Goroff, filling in for Steve Taylor, reminding you to turn off the lights and turn on the dark. Sweet dreams, listeners. Sweet dreams.