0:00

Welcome to Sudapod

0:02

Towers. Get comfy. Find

0:04

a cushion to hide behind.

0:06

You're going to need

0:09

it. Sudapod, episode 965,

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March 7th, 2025. This

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week's story, The ecstasy

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of the Saints, by

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J.A.W. McCarthy, narrated for

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us by Danny Daley,

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hosted by Alistair Stewart,

0:25

and audio production by

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Chelsea. Hello

0:30

everyone, welcome to Sudapod the

0:32

Weekly Horror Podcast. I'm Alistair,

0:34

your host, and this week's

0:36

story comes to us from

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J.A.W. McCarthy, and is a Sudapod

0:40

original. J.A.W. McCarthy is a

0:42

two-time Bramstoker Award and two-time

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Shirley Jackson Award finalist, an

0:46

author of Sometimes We're Cruel

0:49

and Other Stories, from Cemetery

0:51

Gates Media in 2021, and

0:53

Sleep Alone, from Off Limits

0:55

Press in 2023. Her short

0:57

fiction has appeared in numerous

0:59

publications, including Vasterian, Sudapod, Split

1:01

Scream, Volume 3, Apparition Lit,

1:03

Tales to Terrify, and The

1:05

Best Horror of the Year,

1:08

Volume 13. She is a

1:10

second-generation immigrant of Thai and Slovak

1:12

descent and lives with her spouse

1:14

and assistant cats in the Pacific

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Northwest. You can call her journal, Most Social

1:19

Media, and will drop the links to

1:21

her social media in the show notes.

1:23

This story is a Sudapod original.

1:25

and it is a suitable original, narrated

1:27

by Danny Daley, a jack-of-all-trades, master

1:30

of none, and friend of escape

1:32

artists. Danny loves the rogue life,

1:34

so this whole jack-of-all-trades thing is

1:36

quite alright with her. You can

1:38

hear stories, she's narrated on four

1:40

of the escape artists' podcasts, as

1:42

well as Starship sofa, glittered, and

1:44

Asimov's science fiction, and you can

1:46

contact her on Twitter at Danuli

1:48

underscored Danny, if you'd like her

1:50

to read for you. The links

1:52

will be in the show notes.

1:54

So bring your hands

1:57

together because this story

1:59

is true. The ecstasy of

2:02

the Saints by J.A.W. McCarthy,

2:04

narrated by Danny Daly. I'm

2:06

six, the first time it

2:09

happens. I'm sitting in the

2:11

back seat of the family

2:13

sedan, staring at the rear-view

2:16

mirror so I can see

2:18

when my father's big eye

2:20

peals upward and focuses on

2:23

me, steely gray. and always

2:25

watching, as he promised when

2:27

I started doing this. Mom

2:30

faces straight ahead, shoulders curled

2:32

forward as a folding herself

2:34

around the cold jets blasting

2:37

from the A.C. They're busy

2:39

talking about traffic, or what

2:41

grandma will make for dinner,

2:44

or how we'll have to

2:46

atone for missing confession this

2:48

weekend. It's all the same

2:51

to me. It means... It

2:53

means... I can slip my

2:55

pinky into my mouth, hooking

2:58

towards my cheek, until I

3:00

feel the silky, swollen hole

3:02

between my tongue and molar.

3:05

As I nudge into the

3:07

opening, I think of my

3:09

cat flexing her paw, how

3:12

her claws extend smooth and

3:14

quickest switch blades, as her

3:16

toes curl into her palm.

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I'm a claw. I'm a

3:21

dagger. I'm dangerous. I do

3:23

harm. The dentist said my

3:26

baby teeth are making way

3:28

for my grown-up teeth, and

3:30

my mother says to stop

3:33

messing with it if I

3:35

want to grow up. But

3:37

this isn't an empty tooth

3:40

socket. I nestle my pinky

3:42

all the way into that

3:44

perfectly-sized little hole, down to

3:47

the knuckle, lips curled around

3:49

my teeth so I don't

3:51

bite into my hand. My

3:54

mouth floods with saliva. Mom

3:56

doesn't turn around and the

3:58

rear view mirror reflects only

4:01

my dad's lined forehead

4:03

and one wolfish eyebrow. I

4:05

have to keep sliding the rough,

4:07

frayed seat belt strap down

4:10

to my collarbone because it

4:12

keeps getting caught under my

4:14

chin and slicing into my

4:16

throat. I'm doing the thing that

4:18

feels good at the same time

4:21

wondering if it feels so good

4:23

because I'm not supposed to do

4:25

it. I've heard my mom say

4:27

she's seeing stars. when she hits

4:30

her head on the freezer

4:32

door handle. She said the

4:34

same when she told me the

4:36

story about how she met dad.

4:38

There are no stars when I

4:41

feel good. Everything goes warm

4:43

and heavy than black. When

4:45

the black peels away, everything

4:48

is different. The brown

4:50

hills on either side of us

4:52

are gone, replaced by buildings

4:55

with names I'm still learning

4:57

to read. The car

4:59

is swinging me side to side,

5:01

like the salt and pepper shaker

5:03

I got to ride with dad

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at the state fair. I accidentally

5:08

bite down on my knuckle,

5:10

dislodging my pinky from

5:12

its gummy burrow. A milky puff

5:14

of smoke. It smells both

5:16

acrid and burnt. Like the

5:18

time grandma left banana bread

5:21

in the oven too long. Rises

5:23

from where dad's head and

5:25

shoulders and chest used to

5:27

be. the familiar shape of

5:30

him collapsing into gray ash. Mom

5:32

is screaming, the top of her

5:34

head, fluffy, gravity-defying

5:37

black, spinning outward from a

5:39

whirl of bleached white scalp,

5:41

bobbing in and out of the

5:43

rear-view mirror, as she strains

5:45

across the console and into

5:48

the empty driver's seat, grabbing

5:50

at the spinning steering wheel.

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I'm 11 when I meet

5:57

my best friend. She

5:59

can... which is me with

6:01

my finger in my mouth at

6:03

recess. But she doesn't call me

6:06

a thumb-sucking baby like the other

6:08

kids do. As we curl ourselves

6:11

into the boxwoods that border the

6:13

playground, she shows me how she

6:15

likes to press her thumb into

6:18

her armpit and wiggle it around

6:20

until her fingernail draws blood. Despite

6:22

the determined set of her jaw,

6:25

she looks happy when she does

6:27

it. My pinkie hooks the corner

6:30

of my mouth. without my permission.

6:32

I can almost feel the puffy,

6:34

silky grab of that hole in

6:37

my mouth, the firm nudge of

6:39

my tongue against one side of

6:42

my finger, the wet, unyielding barrier

6:44

of my teeth against the other

6:46

side. I know the moment my

6:49

new friend breaks the skin under

6:51

her arm, because that's when her

6:53

face pinches, her brows and nose

6:56

and lips all pulled tight. as

6:58

if an invisible drawstring has been

7:01

stitched through her face. But she

7:03

doesn't say a word, not even

7:05

in ouch! I hold my breath,

7:08

watching her exhale deeply after, her

7:10

shoulder slumping, as if all the

7:13

ropes in her arms have gone

7:15

gooey and slick, like brownie batter,

7:17

slowly sliding out of the bowl.

7:20

A smile unfurls across her wide

7:22

mouth. I think this is how

7:24

I must look when my finger

7:27

finds that perfect depth, before the

7:29

warm dark is pulled out from

7:32

under my feet by my mother's

7:34

shrill-clipped cries for me to... Stop

7:36

it! My new best friend is

7:39

quiet for a long time, even

7:41

after she pulls her thumb out

7:44

from under her arm, and we

7:46

examine the syrupy red limbing the

7:48

crescent of her nail. No one

7:51

turned to ash, and we are

7:53

happy. When we file inside after

7:55

recess, the other kids say we

7:58

smell a cat piss, but... She

8:00

just grins and grabs my hand.

8:03

My mom is pleased I finally

8:05

have a friend. Even if my

8:07

new friend forgets to put

8:09

her dishes in the sink when

8:11

she comes over. It's better when

8:13

I go to her house. The big

8:15

playroom in the basement is

8:18

all hours. It's at my first sleep

8:20

over there when I show her the

8:22

hole inside my mouth. She climbs

8:24

onto my lap and points

8:26

a flashlight into my jaws open

8:29

so wide. I'm afraid they'll stick

8:31

like this and never close

8:34

again. Tongued lifted, I placed

8:36

my finger against the meaty

8:38

pucker next to my molars, and

8:41

my best friend shrieks a

8:43

happy animal noise as the whole

8:45

yawns open, reaching for my

8:47

finger. I want to do the thing

8:50

that feels good now, but I'm

8:52

afraid. What if this time, because

8:54

we're alone together, and I like

8:56

her, and I feel powerful, Something

8:59

bad happens. What if, while

9:01

I'm wrapped in the warm heavy

9:03

darkness, she turns to ash.

9:06

She slides her index finger

9:08

into my mouth, her other

9:10

hand holding the flashlight overhead

9:13

as she probes along my gums.

9:15

I try to speak. I want

9:17

to tell her about my dad, how

9:19

he disappeared into a haze of

9:22

burnt banana bread smoke, how

9:24

my mother saved the car

9:26

from crashing. But her knuckle

9:29

nudges my tongue back against

9:31

the roof of my mouth. Her

9:33

skin tastes salty and sour,

9:36

enough to make the little

9:38

mouth inside my mouth pucker

9:40

against her touch. When her

9:42

mother walks in on us,

9:44

my friend tells her we're

9:46

playing dentist. The next

9:49

time I sleep over, she says,

9:51

if I'm really her best friend,

9:53

I'll make a hole in her mouth

9:55

like mine. She isn't

9:58

afraid of the pain. Sure hers

10:00

will heal smooth and pliant, like

10:02

the slick cradle under our tongues.

10:04

And then we'll be able to

10:06

put our fingers in our mouths

10:08

and float far, far away, when

10:10

Mrs. Tims starts droning on about

10:12

the branches of government in class.

10:14

This sounds good to me, until

10:17

she goes into the garage and

10:19

returns with a box of carpenter

10:21

nails. If I'm really her best

10:23

friend, I will not be stingy.

10:25

I will share what I have.

10:27

I have. I will share what

10:29

I have. She has

10:31

to open her jaws all the

10:33

way, just as wide as I

10:35

did. And now I'm the one

10:38

on her lap, holding the flashlight,

10:40

wiggling my finger around inside her

10:42

mouth, until I find the spot

10:44

she wants, the one that will

10:46

make us kissing twins. Her sounds

10:48

are garbled, but she nods enthusiastically

10:51

when the point of the carpenter

10:53

nail finds the soft pocket beside

10:55

her tongue. I don't

10:57

let go until she braces

10:59

the nail head with her

11:01

upper teeth. Her mother comes

11:03

racing down the basement stairs

11:06

at the sound of my

11:08

best friend's screams. I'm dangerous.

11:10

I do harm. Her mother

11:12

says as much as she

11:14

waves her arms around. My

11:16

best friend's blood like shiny

11:18

red gloves up to her

11:20

wrists. They're both screaming and

11:22

crying, and I'm standing back.

11:25

wondering what it will be

11:27

this time, if I will

11:29

see flames, if my friend

11:31

will get to keep her

11:33

new little mouth, if her

11:35

mother will eventually be impressed

11:37

by what we've done. After

11:39

warm water and gauze though,

11:41

my friend's mother says, I'm

11:44

not allowed to sleep over

11:46

anymore. She tells me to

11:48

pack my things. She's going

11:50

upstairs to call my mom.

11:52

My best friend in the

11:54

world. won't look at me.

11:56

I shove my clothes back

11:58

into my bag and go

12:00

into the bathroom. to retrieve

12:03

my toothbrush. I hear heavy

12:05

footsteps above me, and under

12:07

that, whimpering on the other

12:09

side of the bathroom door.

12:11

My mom will be mad.

12:13

I did it again, even

12:15

though I didn't. There will

12:17

be no more sleepovers. No

12:19

more playing dentist. And I

12:22

will be alone in the

12:24

boxwoods again. The only cat

12:26

piss girl. At

12:29

my next confession, I will

12:31

stammer on about talking back

12:33

to my mother and my

12:35

impure thoughts, because we all

12:37

have them. And as long

12:40

as the priest doesn't ask

12:42

me to describe these thoughts,

12:44

I can be a regular

12:46

sinner, not a dangerous one.

12:48

And when the priest asks,

12:51

what else? I will say

12:53

I'm jealous of my best

12:55

friend, because he will believe

12:57

that. But if he keeps

12:59

asking, that means he knows

13:02

what I've done. It won't

13:04

matter that she said I

13:06

had to, that she wouldn't

13:08

be my friend anymore if

13:10

I didn't. He'll know. I

13:13

liked the way her gums

13:15

felt under my fingers. All

13:17

those smooth, slick bumps, cradling

13:19

the secrets of her bones.

13:21

He'll know how good I

13:24

felt when she wanted to

13:26

be like me. Have what

13:28

I have. He'll know. I

13:30

don't really want that. I

13:32

want to be the only

13:35

one who knows about the

13:37

warm heavy dark and what

13:39

comes after. Upstairs, I hear

13:41

my name and your daughter

13:43

shouted as abruptly and ugly

13:46

as a brick through a

13:48

window. The ceiling shakes as

13:50

if she's stomping on the

13:52

floor right over my head.

13:54

I feel an ache in

13:57

my mouth, the familiarity of

13:59

a muscle strength. stretching, gaining

14:01

ground out of more need

14:03

than want. It's a supple rubber

14:06

band and my pinky is

14:08

already hooked in, knuckles

14:11

scraping teeth until the

14:13

silky meaty void has

14:15

swallowed me up, eager, and

14:17

trusting my movements.

14:19

The way my hands are clean

14:22

and not salty or sour.

14:24

How I'm not rough and

14:26

impatient because I know what

14:28

to do. The

14:30

darkness creeps in molasses

14:32

thick as I'm heading

14:35

up the stairs. I can't feel

14:37

my legs, my feet, as the

14:39

heat slides me so smoothly,

14:41

so gently down its gullet.

14:44

In one flex of my

14:46

finger, I'm a predator. Claws

14:49

and teeth bared, as powerful

14:51

and respected and

14:53

feared as Hera and

14:56

Hades combined. Just like

14:58

we learned in school. If

15:01

my friend's mouth doesn't

15:03

heal, she'll know how that feels.

15:05

But I don't want her to

15:07

know if we aren't going to

15:09

be friends anymore. It won't

15:12

be fair if she sees

15:14

stars. saliva, sacer and

15:16

sweet, and studded with the

15:18

crystal grit of the pixie

15:21

sticks we inhaled, dribbles

15:24

over my lips, down my chin.

15:26

Everything goes black. When

15:29

I open my eyes, I'm upstairs

15:32

in the foyer. My ex-best

15:34

friend's mom is standing

15:36

in front of the little

15:38

table with the telephone.

15:40

Except, the receivers on

15:43

the floor, and it's making

15:45

that grading. Beep, beep, beep.

15:47

Line-gone dead sound, because

15:50

she has no hands to put

15:52

it back on the cradle.

15:54

She's just two columns of

15:56

ash. jutting out of shiny

15:58

black ankle boots. What used

16:01

to be her head and

16:03

arms and torso, swirling in

16:05

the air between us, grit

16:07

in my eyes now, in

16:09

my mouth. And I can

16:11

hear my ex-best friend coming

16:13

up the stairs behind me.

16:15

She'll see the scorch marks

16:17

seared up the wall, like

16:20

her mother's shadow left a

16:22

jagged stain. When she realizes

16:24

what's happened, she'll scream like

16:26

my mother did that day

16:28

in the car. My

16:31

tongue nudges the little hole inside my

16:33

mouth, comes away dry and tight from

16:35

the ash. All I can taste anymore

16:37

is burnt hair. I'm 15 when I

16:39

get my first boyfriend. We're both new

16:41

this year, so he doesn't know what

16:43

I've done. The other kids have heard

16:45

the rumors, but they don't bother telling

16:47

him because they think he's weird too,

16:49

with his unblinking stare. and the way

16:52

he saws the feet off the dead

16:54

birds he finds around campus. He likes

16:56

me, so I like him back. Three

16:58

days a week we sit next to

17:00

each other in mass, our pinkies touching

17:02

on the church pew. In class, we

17:04

learn about the ecstasy of the saints,

17:06

but it sounds like a head wound

17:08

to me, like when my mother used

17:11

to see stars. We're not supposed to

17:13

call it hallucinations. It's euphoria, the kind

17:15

of pleasure that isn't meant for mortal

17:17

bodies. When sister explains all of this,

17:19

my boyfriend winks at me from across

17:21

the classroom. Mom is pleased I have

17:23

a boyfriend now. She says, finally, and

17:25

normal, a lot in her phone calls

17:27

to her friends. Her pride seems misplaced,

17:29

but I guess since it's not for

17:32

herself, it's fine. It's fine. It's not

17:34

for herself, it's fine. It's not for

17:36

herself, it's fine, it's not for herself,

17:38

it's fine. It's not for herself, it's

17:40

fine. It's fine. It's not for herself,

17:42

it's fine. It's not for herself, it's

17:44

fine. It's fine. It's not for herself,

17:46

it's fine. It's fine. It's fine. It's

17:48

not for herself, it's fine. It's fine.

17:50

It's fine. It's fine. It's fine. It's

17:53

fine. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

17:55

It's fine. It's fine. It's not As

17:57

long as I don't feel pride too.

18:00

What matters is she won't have

18:02

to spend her Wednesday nights in

18:04

a church pew worrying her rosary

18:07

until her fingers go numb

18:09

anymore She reminds me

18:11

to not let my mind wander

18:13

That boys like it when you

18:15

pay attention to them when

18:17

you complement them To her

18:20

my having a boyfriend is a

18:22

vicarious satisfaction Even

18:24

if I don't feel the same

18:26

relief It's almost a month before

18:29

my boyfriend and I finally

18:31

get to be alone together.

18:33

This is something I orchestrate,

18:35

easily convincing him to skip

18:37

choir practice so he can

18:39

come over while my mom is

18:41

still at work. He likes our house

18:44

and doesn't complain about the

18:46

store-brand soda I offer

18:48

him. He knows it's all a prelude. The

18:50

snacks, the tour, the family pictures

18:53

with my dad beaming the smile

18:55

my mom says I inherited. A

18:57

perfunctory buildup to the

19:00

revelation behind my bedroom

19:02

door. On my bed we kiss, and

19:04

I encourage him to roam

19:06

wherever he wants. His happy

19:08

little grunts tell me I'm

19:11

doing it right. Even if the

19:13

other kids think we're weird, it

19:15

still feels good to walk

19:17

down the hallways holding his

19:19

hand, to be paired up like

19:21

the normal kids. I'm afraid

19:24

if we don't get closer... He

19:26

won't want to be with me anymore.

19:28

And he'll leave me for one of

19:30

the other weird girls, who are the

19:32

good kind of weird, with

19:35

their onk chokeers and devotioned

19:37

eyeliner, and their strings

19:39

of silent cleansing Hail Marys

19:41

after every blowjob. My mother will

19:44

yoke me to her rosary every

19:46

Wednesday if I mess this up. As

19:48

my boyfriend undoes the buttons

19:50

of my stiff white uniform

19:53

blouse, I tell him. I want to

19:55

show him something. My

19:57

fingers are faster than

19:59

his. probing my mouth,

20:01

distracting from his underbrough explorations.

20:03

I've learned to touch the

20:05

little mouth inside my mouth

20:08

only when I'm alone. But

20:10

maybe this is something we

20:12

can do together, because he's

20:14

supposed to be special to

20:16

me. I tell him, I'm

20:19

nervous, that he'll be the

20:21

first one to see. And

20:23

this blotes his pupils into

20:25

eclipsed moons. flushes his lips

20:27

as wet and bright as

20:30

fever sweat. My mother was

20:32

wrong. I'm talking about myself

20:34

and what feels good, and

20:36

he's hanging on my every

20:38

movement, peering into my mouth

20:41

as I unhing my jaw,

20:43

and guide his pinky to

20:45

the gummy little opening under

20:47

my tongue. When it latches

20:49

onto him, suctioning from ragged

20:52

nail to fingertip, to knuckle,

20:54

he pulls back. abrupt and

20:56

harsh enough to fatten my

20:58

lip on his way out.

21:00

The throb burns, but it's

21:03

not unpleasant. It's a back-fence

21:05

neighbor to the feeling I

21:07

want to show him. While

21:09

he wipes his hand on

21:11

his pants, I slide my

21:14

own finger between my tongue

21:16

and gums and let it

21:18

pull me in. Eager and

21:20

familiar. No coaxing. No disappointment

21:22

of the failed introduction. a

21:25

flood of saliva washes away

21:27

the salty sour of his

21:30

skin, that unwashed grit that

21:32

leached my tongue dry. Once

21:34

the heat climbs up my

21:36

ankles and the dark edges

21:38

molasses creep in, my boyfriend

21:40

no longer looks alarmed. He

21:43

looks bored. I thought it

21:45

might be a turn on

21:47

for him, but he just

21:49

keeps moving my other hand

21:51

down to his pleated uniform

21:54

pants. He doesn't seem

21:56

to notice what I like,

21:58

what feels good to me.

22:00

I know that look. The

22:03

expectation the same as all

22:05

the not weird boys in

22:07

my class, and even some

22:09

of the teachers who have

22:12

vowed to seal their feelings

22:14

within the sanctity of marriage.

22:16

He wants me to genulect

22:18

before him. Instead, I keep

22:21

my finger in my mouth,

22:23

while he works my other

22:25

hand over the bulge in

22:27

his pants. I'm swallowed. But

22:30

I can't quite disappear. My

22:32

boyfriend and his certain justified

22:34

needs remind me of my

22:36

mother's words, of her insistence

22:39

that I must keep his

22:41

attention. I mustn't let my

22:43

mind wander. The warm dark

22:45

won't hold my hand in

22:48

the hallways, won't cocoon me

22:50

in the safety of belonging.

22:53

I watch my boyfriend close

22:55

his eyes as a rubbery

22:58

grin spreads across his face.

23:00

Maybe this is the way

23:02

it's supposed to be. Finding

23:05

pleasure in other people's happiness.

23:07

We're almost as close as

23:09

two people can get, so

23:12

I close my eyes like

23:14

him and keep working both

23:16

my hands and conflicting motions.

23:19

In our sin, we are

23:21

seeking the ecstasy of the

23:23

saints. And weren't they sinners

23:26

once too? This kind of

23:28

euphoria is supposed to be

23:30

worth all the rosaries and

23:33

fatherly scorn in the confessional

23:35

booth. Soon I lose track

23:38

of both my hands. I

23:40

don't think of my cat's

23:42

claws anymore, because this doesn't

23:45

make me feel dangerous or

23:47

capable of harm. I'm enveloped

23:49

in a warm, dark, starless

23:52

night. It

23:54

isn't until I smell smoke

23:56

that I open my eyes.

23:58

My boyfriend... and rains down

24:01

around me. Blonde hair, white

24:03

shirt, green plaid tie. The

24:05

wet-toothed grin I committed

24:07

to memory. All turned to

24:09

fluttering gray that dusts my

24:12

hair and sticks to my

24:14

lips. Fills my nostrils with

24:16

a stench of icy spiced body

24:18

spray, gone trickly. All that's

24:21

left of him are a pair

24:23

of caggy pants. Scorch marks

24:25

branching out from his thighs.

24:28

like lightning strikes across

24:30

my bed spread. I ease my

24:32

finger out of my mouth. I lose

24:34

my balance when my other

24:37

hand sinks into the hump

24:39

of ash that used to be

24:41

his crotch. I clap my hands

24:43

against his pant legs

24:46

until they collapse into

24:48

ash too. All that remains

24:50

intact are my boyfriend's

24:52

shoes, which I kick under the

24:54

bed. These are

24:56

the cat claws, the daggers,

24:59

the flexing that feels

25:01

so, so good. I don't

25:03

know what it is, but

25:06

I feel powerful even

25:08

now in the aftermath

25:10

of what I've done. Like,

25:12

I've released all the demons.

25:15

There's everyone

25:17

else's problem now.

25:19

Not mine. I'm 28. When

25:21

I get my first girlfriend.

25:25

We circle each other for weeks in

25:27

the coffee shop. Her smiles of

25:30

recognition widening until her

25:32

fumbled complement about my

25:34

boots forces a conversation. It's

25:36

a meat-cute that makes my teeth

25:39

itch even as a cascade of ice

25:41

and latte pours for my cup and all

25:43

over the front of my shirt. She

25:45

helps me dry off under the

25:47

hand-dryer in the bathroom, awkwardly

25:49

stretching out the hem of my shirt

25:51

as I squat. Her fingers brushing

25:53

mine as they creep upward to

25:55

pull the wet fabric away from

25:57

my breasts. We've known each other's...

26:00

for weeks, so she suggests

26:02

we try a cocktail next.

26:04

She becomes my girlfriend so

26:06

quickly, so seamlessly, that I

26:08

wonder what else I missed

26:10

when I wasn't paying attention.

26:13

She fills the empty space

26:15

in my bed, same as

26:17

I fit on her couch,

26:19

in her car, in her

26:21

t-shirts. When we're alone, my

26:23

girlfriend talks about religion like

26:26

sex. It's a sacred fascination

26:28

for her. The challenge of

26:30

blasphemy, without the weight of

26:32

a rosary between her fingers,

26:34

and a Bible on her

26:36

lap. She craves kisses, bookended

26:39

by stories about cruel nuns,

26:41

and the length of our

26:43

uniform skirts, and which girls

26:45

wore their ties loose and

26:47

their sleeves rolled up. I

26:49

give in, because she hangs

26:52

on my every word. I

26:54

tell her there was no

26:56

playing dentist. No mother's pride.

26:58

No boy's attention prone in

27:00

the palm of my hand.

27:02

No father's, nor best friend's

27:05

mothers, nor boyfriend's turned to

27:07

ash when I closed my

27:09

eyes. My stories are fevered

27:11

imaginings of bare thighs sticking

27:13

to lackered wooden pews and

27:15

getting fingered in the sacristy.

27:18

I show her the little

27:20

mouth inside my mouth, but

27:22

I don't show her what

27:24

I do with it. Instead.

27:26

I remain neutral as I

27:29

open my jaws to her,

27:31

as I lift my tongue

27:33

and guide her gaze to

27:35

the gummy pucker that is

27:37

already loosening, as if it

27:39

tastes the better neuroly of

27:42

her perfume. Unlike my first

27:44

boyfriend, she is not aroused

27:46

by the invitation of my

27:48

oddity, not repulsed when it

27:50

urges reciprocation. My girlfriend does

27:52

not hesitate. Her fingers steeple

27:55

in my bare presence, Her

27:57

tongue primes for communion. I

27:59

can all— call it instinct,

28:01

because our bodies know each

28:03

other's, because we share a sacred

28:06

heart, she tells me. But she

28:08

knows the nudge, the stillness,

28:10

the anticipation as she

28:12

goes slow, then all at once when

28:15

the little mouth under my

28:17

tongue accepts her, the way animals

28:19

know which humans to trust.

28:22

I gulp her down greedily,

28:24

from her short smooth fingernail,

28:26

all the way to the hilt of her

28:29

palm. So fast I may

28:31

burp her back up in my haste.

28:33

Any hint of anxiety is

28:36

gone as the warm dark

28:38

eases over me. Unlike with

28:40

the others, it's so easy

28:42

to be flattened, to be

28:44

spread to every satisfying

28:47

edge under her touch. My

28:50

girlfriend gets all the

28:52

way under my tongue and to

28:54

the other side of my mouth,

28:56

filling me up. turning

28:58

my saliva citrus

29:00

sharp, making space and

29:02

places no one else

29:04

has ever gone before.

29:06

She pulls loose every stitch

29:09

inside of me. But it's

29:11

too good, too fast, so

29:13

I pinch her hand inside

29:15

my mouth and guide her

29:17

movements, lighten her touch,

29:19

slow her down. She gives in

29:22

to my control. This

29:24

time, I'm gone for countless

29:26

minutes. Danger declawed.

29:29

Demons drained dry.

29:31

Sin diluted to the

29:34

dull anise flavor she

29:36

leaves on my tongue. It's

29:38

not the abrupt taste

29:40

of burnt hair or the

29:42

smell of smoke that

29:45

brings me back. The bed

29:47

feels hollow. Too pristine

29:50

without her. That's how I

29:52

know. Ash isn't raining

29:54

down anymore. But assent.

29:57

Like a freshly snuffed candle

29:59

lingers. When I

30:01

roll onto my side, I

30:04

see it. Black streaks across

30:06

her pillow, up the wall,

30:08

angry strikes that have clawed

30:10

through the sheets, all emanating

30:12

out of the crescent-shaped crater,

30:14

her hip once made in

30:17

the mattress. I know my

30:19

girlfriend would be disappointed that

30:21

her body didn't burn in

30:23

the shape of the Holy

30:25

Cross. I'm forty-one. when the

30:27

whole in my mouth closes

30:30

up. My mother, age, greedily

30:32

gulping her down in mouthfuls

30:34

of muscle and buckle fat

30:36

and time, has been insisting

30:38

that I go to Sunday

30:40

Mass with her before it's

30:43

too late. It's not for

30:45

her, she says, despite how

30:47

often she mentions her friends'

30:49

dutiful daughters and their modest

30:51

dresses, with their lovely singing

30:53

voices and their wicker baskets

30:56

full of charm for the

30:58

father. This ceremony is

31:00

for me, so my soul can

31:02

be lightened with one less of

31:05

my mother's Hail Marys. In the

31:07

days leading up to my Sunday

31:09

church date with my mother, I

31:11

don't allow my fingers to explore

31:14

my mouth. Not even when the

31:16

stress drives me to seek such

31:18

comfort. Though I know better, even

31:21

the thought of the act coats

31:23

my teeth with the meeliness of

31:25

stale sin. I can

31:28

feel the heavy plaid uniform skirt

31:30

for my childhood chafing my thighs,

31:32

the phantom of the matching necktie

31:35

tightening around my throat. Under the

31:37

looming eye of the Holy Trinity,

31:39

cuffs and collars remain buttoned, sins

31:42

ringed in purity for my mother's

31:44

God. It's not until we're standing

31:47

on the church steps that I

31:49

give in, and let the tip

31:51

of my tongue trace the piled

31:54

sat in space beneath. It's

31:57

a treat to savor. A

31:59

preview. of the reward for

32:01

my devotion. But it's

32:03

the back seat of the car

32:05

again, the boxwoods again,

32:08

if there had been no

32:10

warm dark waiting. My tongue

32:12

finds an unyielding

32:14

creece, a closed door. I

32:16

mumble strained niceties

32:19

as my mother introduces me

32:21

to her friends. Panic,

32:23

distracting me from the

32:26

struggle of smiling

32:28

through questions, When I

32:30

will have children, the little

32:32

mouth inside my mouth has

32:35

refilled itself with blood and

32:37

veins and tissue. What those

32:39

inside this building would proclaim

32:42

a miracle. Though his

32:44

blue eyes are pleading to

32:46

the heavens, the crucified Christ

32:49

watches me all through mass. He

32:51

knows my every step is heavy

32:53

with the accretion of

32:56

unconfessed sin. Every bead

32:58

of my mother's rosary purchased

33:00

this day. And I'm squandering it,

33:03

worrying the shallow crater

33:05

that used to grant my

33:07

kind of transcendence.

33:09

I focus on each nail

33:11

hole in the Christ's hands

33:13

and feet, the painstakingly

33:16

painted blood ringing each

33:18

wound, red jewels winking

33:20

over the priest's head. It

33:23

doesn't matter that my stick

33:25

Mata is. Was. A sullied representation.

33:29

A one-person salvation.

33:31

All those prayers. All those

33:33

cashbox votives lined

33:35

up like guardians. A million

33:38

eyes that failed to burn

33:40

through the warm dark. My

33:42

mother squeezes my hand when

33:44

the priest reads her favorite

33:47

song. Crushing my restless

33:49

fingers as if she knows I

33:51

never stopped. Not even after

33:54

my father. and my best

33:56

friend's mother, and all the

33:58

others turned to Ash. What

34:01

she doesn't know is that

34:03

the crucified Christ is on

34:05

my side. I pry my

34:07

hand from hers and wave

34:10

back as the Christ's fingers

34:12

wiggle their greeting to me.

34:14

I watch, rapt, as his

34:16

movements dislodge the nail that

34:18

has pinned him to that

34:21

cross for centuries. A rough-hewn

34:23

dagger of black iron that

34:25

drops onto the red carpet.

34:27

Then... rolls down the altar

34:29

steps, all the way down

34:32

the aisle, coming to a

34:34

stop against the steel edge

34:36

of my boot with a

34:38

satisfying plank. I look around

34:40

me, but everyone stares straight

34:43

ahead. No disapproving eyes to

34:45

spare as I pick up

34:47

the nail and place it

34:49

in my mouth. My Savior

34:52

turns his eyes to me.

34:54

He nods and opens his

34:56

mouth. lifts his lacquered cherry

34:58

tongue for all his saints

35:00

high above the oblivious priest.

35:03

I braced the nail head

35:05

into the jagged cup of

35:07

my molar. The point finds

35:09

the crease. Saliva floods my

35:11

mouth as I bite down.

35:14

Even before the edges creep

35:16

in soft and dark, I

35:18

smell burnt sugar and burnt

35:20

hair, and the lingering anis

35:23

of sweat burned away on

35:25

bed sheets. I

35:27

don't have to open my

35:29

eyes, not when the heat

35:31

is roping my ankles in

35:33

its sticky grip. I recognize

35:36

the ash settling on my

35:38

tongue, the ecstasy of the

35:40

saints raining down around me.

35:42

I know the taste of

35:44

every demon released. I was

35:46

raised Catholic and went to

35:48

Catholic school through the seventh

35:51

grade. That meant I spent

35:53

three days a week in...

35:55

church plus Sunday mass with

35:57

my family. I spent a

35:59

lot of time staring at

36:01

the ornate religious icons in

36:03

the church, marveling at the

36:06

lurid colors and details, worried

36:08

I was a horrible sinner

36:10

when I found them almost

36:12

grotesque. This story springs from that

36:14

time for me, how my mind would

36:16

wander into those dreaded impure thoughts, and

36:19

my terror that may ever accumulating sins

36:21

left me open to demon possession.

36:23

It's the boredom of ceremony, the

36:25

struggle to keep up with believable

36:27

sins and a distraction from my

36:29

real worries and confession, and the

36:32

constant guilt and fear I felt

36:34

as a child, for having what

36:36

I now know our normal kid thoughts.

36:38

Writing this story was very cathartic and

36:40

fun, even if the good old Catholic

36:43

guilt crept back in as I was

36:45

writing. Folks, for those of you who don't

36:47

know, Catholic guilt is very, very real. I

36:49

wasn't raised Catholic. Technically, we joined

36:51

the church when I was 12,

36:53

but my two earliest memories of

36:55

emotional response tied to religion are

36:57

seated in the exact place this

37:00

story describes. I grew up in a pretty rural

37:02

community, so every year the Anglican

37:04

church would do harvest festival, where

37:06

we'd bring representative food and crops

37:08

into the church and celebrate the

37:11

good fortune, and if you're thinking

37:13

this all sounds pretty pagan, yes,

37:15

it does, and yes, it was. I have

37:17

a very clear memory of being

37:19

in the church with my mom.

37:21

helping lay out some of the

37:24

flowers. I remember looking up at

37:26

the Titanic's stained glass windows, and

37:28

I remember this feeling of absolute

37:30

terror that something so big and

37:32

so powerful was right next to

37:34

me. I panicked. I started crying,

37:36

and she pulled me out. Jump

37:38

forward ten years, and I find myself

37:40

in the middle of the late 80s,

37:43

early 90s pop boom. Not Brit Pop,

37:45

not yet, but very much on the

37:47

way. It's a sin by Pet

37:49

shop boys hitting right mean adolescence

37:51

not just because of the Catholicism

37:53

and in fairness my local priest

37:56

was actually really cool But because

37:58

of that heady combination of hormones

38:00

evolution and upbringing. The first was

38:02

telling me to do things and

38:04

I was doing them. The second

38:06

was whispering to me that not

38:09

being straight was despite the 1980s

38:11

happening all around me, perhaps not

38:13

something that was a bad thing.

38:15

And the third was telling me

38:17

to quote family guy, everything I

38:19

was doing was wrong and my

38:21

body was pure liquid evil. So

38:23

yeah. Guilt. Still did the things.

38:26

Just felt guilty about doing them.

38:28

sometimes while doing them. That ties

38:30

into the thing that no one

38:32

tells you about adolescence and in

38:34

my experience very nearly everyone experiences.

38:36

Denialism. That in turn was espressoed

38:38

into concentrated form by growing up

38:40

at the back end of the

38:43

Cold War. I have friends who

38:45

did things they shouldn't have because

38:47

no one expected to stop your

38:49

life to go to university. I

38:51

have a very, very clear memory

38:53

of the day I realize that

38:55

was very unlikely to happen, that

38:57

something so big and so powerful

39:00

was no longer right next to

39:02

me. There's a different but parallel

39:04

liberation to this story for me,

39:06

and it ties into the themes

39:08

of trauma, reconstruction and self-construction that

39:10

draw me back to horror so

39:12

often. The lead has a very

39:15

clear idea of who they are,

39:17

and who the world expects them

39:19

to be. They have a distance,

39:21

whether it's seared into them by

39:23

what they can do is unclear,

39:25

from their actions that allows them

39:27

to understand their consequences. They are,

39:29

to borrow the David Bowie line,

39:32

quite aware of what they're going

39:34

through. The horror in this story,

39:36

for me, comes from their numbed

39:38

endurance of that. Oddly, it doesn't

39:40

come from that ending, and the

39:42

hints that surrounded by the ashes

39:44

of the faith that has done

39:46

nothing but get in their way,

39:49

they are finally free. Good

39:51

luck to them I say.

39:54

Good luck to all us

39:56

sinners. of subscribing and support.

39:59

Sudaparte is funded by you,

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of Anda's manga. Join us next week for

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will be your audio producer, and

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we will see you then. we will

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Before we do, we remember, These these

42:28

children that you spit on on. they

42:30

try to change their worlds are

42:32

immune to your consultations. They're

42:34

quite aware of

42:36

what they're going

42:39

through. aware of what

42:41

See you next

42:43

time, folks. See you next

42:45

time, folks. An arm appeared from

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nowhere on the shape, seemingly projected

42:49

like the pseudopod of a protozoan.

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It's a pseudopod. It's a big

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days.