The narrative unfolds in the desolate expanse of the Northern Maine woods, where a man named Ben finds himself ensnared in a harrowing flight from an unseen malevolence. Covered in blood, he runs through the oppressive darkness, a visceral embodiment of panic and desperation.
The woods, described as a suffocating entity, seem to conspire against him, with branches clawing at his limbs and roots threatening to trip him as he stumbles through the underbrush. It is with sheer instinct that he pushes forward, propelled by the haunting memory of his brother's violent death, a moment that haunts him like a specter.
The narrative crescendos as Ben arrives at a seemingly abandoned cabin, a refuge that stands in stark contrast to the chaos outside. Upon his arrival, he is met by a man whose appearance is as rugged and untamed as the wilderness surrounding them. This man, who has clearly lived in isolation for an extended period, invites Ben inside, setting the stage for a tense exploration of humanity amidst horror.
Within the cabin, the atmosphere shifts from the palpable dread of the forest to an unexpected calmness, underscored by the rich aromas emanating from a simmering pot on the stove. As the two men engage in conversation, the tension is palpable; Ben is consumed by grief and fear, while the cabin's inhabitant embodies a serene acceptance of life's unpredictability.
What follows is a poignant reflection on loss, survival, and the strange comfort that can be found in shared silence. The man offers Ben food, urging him to take a moment to gather himself, emphasizing the necessity of nourishment and rest in the face of tragedy.
The juxtaposition of Ben's frantic state with the man's tranquil demeanor serves to highlight the theme of how individuals react to trauma, each navigating their own path through darkness. As the episode reaches its conclusion, the man begins to read from a book filled with stories, initiating a narrative within a narrative that encapsulates the essence of 'Red in the Dark.' This act of storytelling becomes a powerful mechanism for healing, allowing Ben to momentarily escape his anguish and connect with another human being.
The episode closes with the promise of safety, a fleeting yet significant respite from the horrors outside, leaving listeners with a profound sense of the complexities of human experience in the face of overwhelming adversity.
Transcripts
Speaker A:
Red in the dark, the cabin, The Irving woods, swallowed all light.
Speaker A:
A man named Ben ran through them, breathing hard, covered in blood.
Speaker A:
He had not spilled himself.
Speaker A:
This is his story.
Speaker B:
He didn't even stop.
Speaker A:
Jesus Christ.
Speaker B:
The way he just kept chopping.
Speaker A:
Calm, certain.
Speaker B:
Like he was nothing.
Speaker B:
Danny.
Speaker B:
Oh, God.
Speaker B:
Danny.
Speaker A:
The blood had hit warm on Ben's face when the ax found Danny.
Speaker A:
Copper and salt still sat at the back of his throat.
Speaker A:
Swallowing didn't help.
Speaker A:
Run.
Speaker A:
His legs moved before the thought finished running.
Speaker B:
Don't look back.
Speaker B:
Don't you dare look back.
Speaker A:
No trails.
Speaker A:
No markers.
Speaker A:
The dark had weight branches toward his arms.
Speaker A:
Roots came up underfoot.
Speaker A:
Twice he stumbled.
Speaker A:
Once he hit the ground hard enough to see white.
Speaker B:
Back up.
Speaker B:
Keep moving.
Speaker B:
I'm gonna fucking die out here, Danny.
Speaker A:
A crack somewhere to the left sent Ben veering right on pure instinct, he.
Speaker B:
Killed him right in front of run.
Speaker A:
A clearing opened up around an old cabin that stood against a rise of stone, smoke climbing from the chimney into the black sky.
Speaker A:
Both fists slammed against the door the moment Ben was on the porch.
Speaker B:
Help.
Speaker B:
Somebody, please.
Speaker A:
Again.
Speaker A:
Harder.
Speaker A:
Wood rattled in the frame.
Speaker B:
He killed my brother.
Speaker A:
Another strike.
Speaker A:
Please.
Speaker A:
Footsteps, slow, unhurried, the door opened to a tall, lean man standing in the doorway with a dark beard touched with gray.
Speaker A:
A flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearm.
Speaker A:
He looked at the blood on the porch, looked at Ben, looked at the woods beyond.
Speaker A:
Then back again.
Speaker A:
Oh.
Speaker A:
He went still for a moment.
Speaker A:
A visitor.
Speaker A:
He stepped aside and opened the door wider.
Speaker A:
Come in.
Speaker A:
The cabin hit all at once.
Speaker A:
Wood smoke.
Speaker A:
Something simmering on the stove, rich and heavy.
Speaker A:
The smell dug into an empty stomach, hard enough to hurt.
Speaker A:
Old paper pine.
Speaker A:
The scent of a place that had been lived in for a very long time.
Speaker B:
There's somebody out there.
Speaker A:
The words came apart as they came out.
Speaker B:
He killed my brother.
Speaker B:
I need a phone.
Speaker B:
I need to call somebody.
Speaker A:
There's no phone.
Speaker B:
What?
Speaker A:
No phone.
Speaker A:
Ben stared at him.
Speaker B:
A radio?
Speaker B:
Anything?
Speaker A:
The man shook his head.
Speaker A:
No, I have nothing of the sort.
Speaker A:
He turned back to the pot and lifted the lid, letting a wave of aromatic steam roll into the room.
Speaker A:
Ben just stood there, trying to understand how somebody could live out here with nothing.
Speaker A:
No phone, no radio, nothing.
Speaker A:
The man replaced the lid.
Speaker A:
The smell coming off the pot was even stronger now.
Speaker A:
Ben's stomach clenched painfully in response.
Speaker B:
Did you hear what I said?
Speaker A:
Yes.
Speaker B:
My brother is dead.
Speaker A:
The man nodded.
Speaker A:
I'm sorry.
Speaker B:
He murdered him.
Speaker A:
He nodded again.
Speaker A:
I'm sorry about that, too, he said quietly.
Speaker A:
Ben waited, waiting for shock, anger, fear, anything.
Speaker A:
Nothing came the man calmly pulled out a chair, the fire crackling softly behind him and the woods pressing against the windows.
Speaker A:
What's your name?
Speaker B:
What?
Speaker A:
Your name.
Speaker B:
Ben.
Speaker A:
The man nodded once.
Speaker B:
How can you be so calm?
Speaker A:
The man shrugged.
Speaker A:
I guess I learned a long time ago that I could spend my days worrying about what might happen.
Speaker A:
He looked toward the fire.
Speaker A:
Or I can enjoy the days while they're still mine.
Speaker A:
His eyes drifted briefly toward the dark window and back again.
Speaker A:
When trouble arrives, I deal with it.
Speaker A:
He gestured toward the chair.
Speaker A:
Until then.
Speaker A:
He smiled softly.
Speaker A:
There's Stu.
Speaker A:
A short laugh escaped Ben's mouth.
Speaker B:
He killed my brother.
Speaker A:
The man's expression softened.
Speaker A:
I know.
Speaker A:
You said that.
Speaker A:
He pushed the bowl a little closer.
Speaker A:
Which is why you should eat something.
Speaker A:
Steam curled up between them.
Speaker A:
You've been running.
Speaker A:
As Ben looked down, he realized how badly his hands were shaking, the man following his gaze.
Speaker A:
You need food, water, and sleep.
Speaker A:
The dead will still be dead in an hour.
Speaker A:
Ben.
Speaker A:
The words should have sounded cruel.
Speaker A:
The fire worked steadily in the hearth.
Speaker A:
For the first time since Danny fell, Ben realized how exhausted he was.
Speaker A:
He finally sat.
Speaker A:
The question came out around a mouthful.
Speaker A:
Mmm.
Speaker A:
What is this?
Speaker A:
What?
Speaker A:
The stew.
Speaker A:
Ben nodded.
Speaker B:
It's good.
Speaker A:
The smile widened.
Speaker A:
Thank you.
Speaker B:
No, seriously.
Speaker A:
Ben gestured with the spoon.
Speaker B:
What is it?
Speaker A:
The man thought for a moment, then shrugged.
Speaker A:
Whatever the forest decides to provide.
Speaker A:
The man stood and crossed to a shelf running along the wall, his hand settling on a thick book.
Speaker A:
He pulled it free and brought it back to the table where he sat to open it.
Speaker A:
I've been keeping these for a long time.
Speaker A:
He ran a thumb along the edge of the page.
Speaker A:
Stories.
Speaker A:
Ben took another spoonful of stew before settling back into the chair.
Speaker A:
And for the first time since Danny died, he wasn't running.
