The Foxkey Chronicles: A Supernatural Western

 The jaws of Underground Joe, in all their complex gorish glory, descended downward towards Skip. Incapsulating him in a cage of bony horror so fast that it was all Skip could do to scream and shrink in on himself, shutting his eyes tight in the hopes he might be transported to somewhere that was not there, in the depths of that cave.    Pain. Screaming Pain. Shouting Pain. Tha...

   As if created from nothing at all, a well of water bubbled up from the rocky depths of the earth, forming into the jagged shape of a pool that, again, looked twice as deep as Skip was tall, if not deeper. Moss lined the craggy ridges and dips of its depths, blacker than his and Molly's dark skin. So black that it looked like it might be part of the shadows themselves if not for t...

Sometimes, Kin, darkness has a way of creating itself. If it can find the means and seek out even the smallest of weaknesses, that wayward evil can blossom and grow like some wretched flower feeding upon a fertilizer of blood and death. But I imagine you know that already, don't you?    I imagine if you have followed me this far, you know that all too well.    Of cour...

Inola stood in a river of red. Rich, unfamiliar red, mixing in with river clear, and turning into a milky, pink froth on the banks, as it burbled, and curdled, and sucked at the mud. Inola stumbled backward, her eyes round, her heart racing. The garment in her hand dripped with it. The length of her skirt was dyed red with it. And her wrists, oh her wrists, they were stained up to the elbow. Dripp...

 Curious, the Bernard siblings walked up the hill in search of that thing that they had seen, yet not seen. All the while Montgomery came to wonder if what Inola had seen was nothing but a shadow, a figment of her imagination, a mistruth traveling on the breeze because when they reached the top of the hill, no dark figure was to be found. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more inform...

   Evil, Kin, Evil has a way of twisting a thing. Ain't no denying that we've seen it plenty until now. Sometimes, though, the most well-laid-out plans go awry. And sometimes, if we're lucky, evil can twist and twist and twist a thing right on back to good.    Inola Bernard, at 13 years of age, was the middle child of the Bernard children. At least, she used to be, th...

In part three, the final piece to this trilogy, Jack discovers more of the evil workings going on in Greyrock Township. It's now up to him to save the town...or die trying. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Jack Handler blinked awake as something wet and warm dripped onto his head. Opening his eyes, he looked upward and could see, by the faint light of the lamp, a stain growing on the ceiling of the floorboards above him. Drip. Drip. Drip. Jack winced away from the wet splash of liquid as it struck him upon the forehead once more and reached up, touching a hand to his face. He lifte...

The evening air was filled with an icy chill that saturated the forest, soaking into bark and sap. The tree limbs above creaked and moaned, threatening to burst from the chill. The pines were covered in a layer of snow so deep that one could hardly see their needles, and the same went for the earth. Jack Handler was a tall man on a tall horse and even he found the thick snow to hamper his onward p...

There is a certain peace that comes over a person when they enter the sacred boundaries of those things we call forests. A finding of at-oneness with nature that comes from the acrid scent of pine tree sap and the deep, loamy squish of nature beneath the feet.  It was no different here, in the barely tamed wild outside the woodlands of Jasper County. Here, the trees were so dense, and their c...

Steve Bradshaw, better known as Buck by those who called him friend, was what they called a Duster. A man who made a living on the road, gathering dust, as it were, traveling from one place to another. "Who goes there?!" He shouted out, squinting his eyes to better see in the darkness, but see he could not. He could only hear, hear the sound of horses hooves drawing closer. Turning into two. One t...

The fire bloomed high into the night, eating rafters, wood, and everything that hid between those four walls. It roared with a power stronger than any fire Vera had seen in her life as if fed by some unnatural source. Why, the flames seemed otherworldly. Violet ribbons chased and leaped from flame tip to flame tip, snapping and caressing the yellow firelight in a way that had Vera questioning her...

The sun set, casting hews of purple and pink over the Fowley family wagon as they rolled down the sandy lane. Peering from windows and open doors, the Murkwood residents watched them as they rolled past. Some seemed oddly hostile, while others looked on with open curiosity.  Not a single child ran through the town, no babies cries could be heard through thin walls. In fact, the town was pract...

The caravan of refuges and Fowley’s alike stood quiet and uncertain amidst the judmental eyes of the Murkwood residents. The silence was overwhelming and stagnant, just like the air. Then, out from the nicest house in the whole town stepped a woman of no more than twenty-five years. She had bright, corn-blonde hair and the biggest blue eyes Vera had ever seen. And when she saw them, the smile on h...

Traveling onward, the Fowley family wagon became one of many—a caravan made up of a multitude of men, women, and young adults, all chasing the same destination. Murkwood, it would seem, had become quite popular in the years between Vera's youth and adulthood.   The travelers brought their every worldly possession —plows and tools of the trade, houseware, and livestock—tossed up on wagons...

Night approached, and clouds strangled the moon, cloaking Ezekiel in darkness, making the encroaching night feel all the more sinister. It was a darkness that felt unnatural, with no glint of star or stirring of wind. Eerily quiet is what it was. Torches, lanterns, and fireplaces came to light as night fell, illuminating the town in spots of golden yellow, like a tapestry of stars. Beyond the town...

Greeting to you, kin, clan, and our loyal supporters. We at The Hill Sisters Productions have something we’d like to share with you. A disclaimer, if you like.  You see, We are fully aware that we are playing characters that are not of our age, race, gender, sexuality, and occasionally species. We are not black, native, Asian, or male, but we are two Hispanic sisters with an idea and the tena...

With one hand tangled in Brownie's mane, Ezekiel Graves sat upright, taking in the scene before him with a snarl on his lips. Across the distance, he could see a wagon lying overturned on the road, its contents strewn across dry earth. It was illuminated by a single lantern that showed a small group of people huddled glow. There were five, maybe six altogether, hiding within the wagon bed, al...

Ezekiel Graves' life had been lived at the beck and pull of the Call since he was thirteen years old. What is he to do when that mystic, all-knowing Call disappears? Reviewed as similar to Old Gods of Appalachia, the Foxkey Chronicles is a narrative-driven audiodrama. In this supernatural western podcast, we follow Vera Fowley on her journey west. Facing trials and tribulations, she must defy the...

On this week's episode of The Foxkey Chronicles: What Hides Beneath, Felix Fowley finds himself in quite a predicament. The ghost opened its mouth impossibly wide, it exhaled. And from its lips came a sound that was at once there and not there. A thing of pure force, it ripped through the room like a dust devil. The howl bellowed over Felix and slammed into him like a punch to the gut, sucking the...

In this week's episode of the Foxkey Chronicles: What Hides Beneath The ground crunched, and she looked down to see the shattered remains of a glass bottle, and beneath that was a brown-red splash of blood that had her gagging and side-stepping off of it. Her boots clacked frantically as she tried to get away, but there was no getting away. The blood was everywhere. An ever-expansive river that ha...

That's what her father's home was- a burnt-out parcel of coal and once-memories, with rugged pillars of pine sticking up from the ashes in a display of defiance. As if to say, no, we stand strong; we are undefeated. But it was defeated. God, it was.  The remains of the once great Foxkey Manor had sunken into the earth. No breath, no hope, no life left in those hollow walls. It was now nothing...

"You wouldn't be pointing that weapon at me now, would you?" The snake asked, grey eyes watching Vera like one might a mouse. "Do ya think you'll get off a lucky shot?" She drawled, taking a bite of her apple and chewing loudly as she ambled closer. Hunting. Waiting.  It was enough to send a shiver down Vera's spine and a flush to her cheeks. A glint of curiosity turned up the corner of the s...

The year is 1874, and no children walk the cobbled streets of Murkwood, Texas. For going on two decades, they had been haunted and stolen into the night. Leaving behind nothing more than the sacrificial remains of their parents. The Sacrifice three. The blood of the Mother, the blood of the Father, and the Child. That is what was needed for them to become something cursed…a Whisper, lost on the wi...

Vera Fowley, once known as Vera Foxkey, was headed home. Into the great unknown of roads less traveled, with only the company of her young daughter, Eliza, and brother-in-law Felix. Abandoned by their trail guide, she is forced to lead them by instinct alone, with only a strange, knowing tug leading them. Reviewed as similar to Old Gods of Appalachia, the Foxkey Chronicles is a narrative-driven st...