Chapter 19: Hell is Where the Heart Is

• The last stand begins.

As the day after Christmas dawns over Jason's childhood home in rural Iowa, father and daughter prepare for the inevitable arrival of the Order of King James. Armed with a powerful relic and a fragile new understanding of one another, they make their last plans before the hunt finally catches up to them.

But some battlefields are built from memory rather than stone.

As old wounds, buried family trauma, and the ghosts of Jason's past begin to reshape reality itself, Kat is forced to confront the legacy that made her father the man he is… and decide what kind of person she will become when the moment to choose finally arrives.

With nowhere left to run, the road ends here.

Signed in Blood is a supernatural horror podcast set in early 2000s America, blending religious horror, dark fantasy, occult thriller, witchcraft, demon bargains, possession horror, small-town horror, cult horror, psychological suspense, gothic Americana, and folk horror. Perfect for fans of serialized audio drama, paranormal fiction, slow-burn supernatural thrillers, cosmic horror, dark fairy tales, and emotionally driven dark fantasy.

CW: Psychological Horror, Family Trauma, Child Abuse (Past), Emotional Distress, Violence, Occult Themes, Religious Horror

Written, edited, produced, and performed by Evan O'Cuana
Intro: "Suspension" by Anna Dager & Hanna Ekström
Outro: "A Hundred Windows" by Back_Drop

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Transcript

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SPEAKER_01 0:01

Hello, dear travelers. Only one more stop remains before season one of Signed in Blood reaches its conclusion. After today's episode, Chapter 20 will release on July 24th, 2026. After that, we'll be heading into the deep woods for a three-month hiatus before season two premieres on Halloween. Before anything else, I want to thank all of you who have come this far with me. Truly, this story would not be what it is without your support. In particular, I'd like to give a special acknowledgement to the three reviewers who answered my call a few episodes back. Grace Reeder, 1997, Miss Chris Kitt, and Shunkmanitu. Thank you so much for your kind words and for recommending this show to new listeners. As promised, season two will introduce three new characters whose names may sound awfully familiar. I can't wait for you all to meet them. And for anyone else who'd like to leave a record of their journey for the travelers who come after, don't be surprised if a Jamie, demon, broker, or bystander someday bears your name. I solemnly promise that no sympathetic magic will bind their fate to yours. Now, before we continue with the penultimate chapter, I have both an ask and an announcement. I've always believed that the best journeys are the ones we share with other people. With that in mind, after today's episode there will be exactly two weeks until our finale. If you've been waiting for the right moment to introduce someone to Signed in Blood, this is it. If they enjoy horror, dark fantasy, folklore, mythology, mystery, or stories with a little magic in them, they've got just enough time to binge season one before chapter 20 arrives. Then, the two of you can write me strongly worded letters about how mean I've been to the Argyles. I feel that's only fair. Of course, maybe you're thinking, that's all well and good, Evan, but I don't actually have anyone in my life to share this with. Well, that won't do, dear traveler. No one should have to walk these dark roads alone. So today, I'm opening something I've wanted to build for quite a while. Welcome to the Apple Tree Inn. Beginning with the release of this episode, the official Signed in Blood Discord server is now open. It's a place to come in out of the cold, to warm yourself by the hearth, to browse the gray pages for strange happenings and curious discoveries, to share your theories, your artwork, your writing, your favorite folklore, or your entirely justified curses directed at yours truly. Or, you know, just come by and say hello. I'll be tending the fire whenever you feel like pulling up a chair. You'll find the invitation link in the show notes for this and every previous episode, on the website, and if all else fails, written on scraps of paper that I will burn and release into the wind. Thank you for walking this road with me. It means more than I could possibly say. Now then, come take a seat by the fire. We've got a story to finish. Per the terms of our pact. Let all parties be aware these are tales of horror. They may not be suitable for all audiences. Listener discretion is advised. Jason wakes as the first light of morning dances across the bedroom walls. He turns, gently rolling over so that he can watch her sleep. Moments like these are his favorite. The times when the noise of the world falls away and he gets to witness her at peace. He could spend forever like this. A wail erupts from the next room, and Alicia stirs. It's your turn, she says groggily. I know. I've got her. He doesn't move. Baby, she says, not opening her eyes. In a second. I'm just admiring the view. She's curled into a ball under the duvet, dressed in nothing but her satin bonnet and one of his old gym shirts. He leans in, planting a kiss on her lips that she returns with a happy sigh before pushing him gently away. Go check on our daughter before I turn you into a dog. Woof woof, my queen. Stupid. She chuckles. Go. He slides out of bed, shuddering slightly as his bare skin is kissed by the cool air. He makes it to the door before he hears her voice again. Jason. He turns. Alicia is standing at the foot of the bed, fully dressed in the clothes she was wearing on her last night. Don't do it. Baby. Please. His eyes flutter open, staring at the ceiling of his childhood room. Dawn is breaking outside, and the house is quiet. Jason rubs the sleep from his eyes. He hasn't dreamt of her like that in a long time. Maybe a holdover from the spell that Kat taught him. He can almost feel Alicia's lips on his again. In spite of everything, he catches himself smiling. The pain is still there, but he can breathe. That's something. He rolls out of bed and gets dressed, strapping on the dagger once more before walking down the hall to Kelly's room. He cracks the door slightly to check on Kat, and for a second his blood runs cold as he sees the bed is empty. Kid Kat? Down here, she calls from the living room. He hurries down the stairs to find her dressed and sitting in his father's chair, eyes trained out the window at the driveway leading up to the house. Couldn't sleep, she says without looking at him. Figured I'd keep watch for a bit. He exhales. Come on, he says, touching her arm. Let's get you some breakfast. What if they show up? Then we'll handle it. You should get some food while we have the chance. He pours her a bowl of honey nut Cheerios, then sets it down in front of her with a banana. He pours coffee grounds in the machine and begins brewing before joining her. You clear on the plan? Yeah, she says. Whatever we do, draw them into the house.

SPEAKER_00 8:35

If we can separate them and I have a clear shot on the man, I should take it. But if not, hide, watch, wait. Perfect.

SPEAKER_01 8:48

Do you do you know how to use it? His fingers grazed the stone in his pocket lightly. Yes. Maybe not perfectly, but enough. The heart gives power over a space, but it's strongest in a place that has power over you. For Sophie. He notices her wince at the name. Um for Lamashtu. It was because of her binding to the town. For me, this house is the only place that comes close. That's why we needed to come here. She nods, taking another bite of cereal. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and strokes her hair gently. She looks at him, brow furrowed. Sorry, he says, taking his hand back. Just checking to make sure you're still real. Weirdo? Very much so, yeah. I love you, kiddo. She's giving him the side eye now, as if she's waiting to see if the floor is going to give way beneath them. After a moment, she turns back to her meal. I know, she says quietly. I love you too. He stands, grabbing a mug from one of the cabinets before pouring himself coffee. He takes a sip, leaning against the counter in the same way his dad used to while he and his siblings ate breakfast before school. All that's missing are those awful Raleigh cigarettes he smoked. Even though he could more than afford Chesterfield's, Robert Argyle never passed on a bargain. Maybe he really did like the taste, Jason mused. Or maybe he just preferred to microdose his suffering first thing in the morning. Listen, he says, when they come, if you do end up getting a shot, I don't expect you to kill. If you can injure or hold him or take his weapon, I can do the rest. You think I'm afraid to kill? Jesus, I hope so, he says, sitting back down next to her. It's not an easy thing to take a life. It shouldn't be, anyway. Dad, they're gonna kill us if we don't stop them. I know, Kit Kat. I just When you're actually in that position, it's not gonna feel like you think. There's a weight to it that can slow you down. He's someone who's been doing this a long time, so he knows how to move through it. If you're stuck in that heaviness, he'll take advantage of the moment and kill you without a thought. So just focus on hitting him so that he can't get back up and leave the rest to me, okay? Injure, don't kill. Got it, she says, wolfing down the last of the banana. Her mother never let the threat of impending death dull her appetite either, but he keeps that tidbit to himself. Before last night, he hadn't realized how often he'd been comparing them. You get enough to eat? There's always more if you need, just make sure to leave room. We've got a hard day ahead. Okay, can we please talk about the food? She says, turning in her chair to face him. You said everything here gets replaced every week. Does that mean grandpa still lives here? Um no, actually. I'd be surprised if he set foot in this house in years. She's staring at him now, waiting. He sighs. The house is enchanted, I guess you'd say. When we finally got it rebuilt after what happened, this was his way of preserving my mom's memory. He neither of us are that good at letting go, I guess. Wait, does that mean grandpa does magic? But I thought Before she can finish the sentence, a loud pop fills the air, and the obsidian beads of Artie Jackson's bracelet burst from their binding, flying in all directions. Jason barely registers this as his body moves, diving out of his chair and flipping the edge of the table with one hand while drawing his daughter in with the other. Down! he screams, just before an explosion shatters the wall of the kitchen. The table shields them from the majority of the debris, but he feels a slight sting as a shard of window pane grazes the top of his head. A thick cloud of dust from the blast hangs in the air, disrupted only by the icy cold wind that rushes in. You're gonna wish that first hit had taken you out, you little shit. Gene Blackwood's voice is carried by the breeze. I really loved that fucking car. That you, buddy? You sound mad. Wanna talk about it? He leans down to whisper in Kat's ear. You okay? She nods quickly, her head buried in his chest. Jason, Ella Rose calls out. There's still time to surrender.

SPEAKER_00 14:40

It doesn't have to be this way.

SPEAKER_01 14:42

Kat pushes free of Jason's grasp. Fuck you, lady! she calls. Come on in and try it! Jason grins. Damn it, despite everything, he's so proud of her. You heard my daughter? He calls as he reaches into his pocket, grabbing firm hold of the heart of Lamashtu and feeling its power surge within him. The door's unlocked. We'll be waiting. He opens his mind to the energy coursing through his body, and in an instant the debris around them flies back into place, reforming the wall and destroyed counter. Another push and a crude wall of brick blocks the window space, swallowing the light. Upstairs, run, he says to Kat, who's already on her feet. She nods and they take off, rounding the corner and taking the stairs two at a time. He pulls them into his old room and slams the door behind them. From downstairs they hear a bang as the front door flies inward, bursting from its frame. Jason takes the heart out of his pocket, cupping it with both hands. The stone is warm to the touch, and he closes his eyes as he tries to focus. Dad, you got this? Kat whispers. Downstairs they can hear Gene and Ellis' footsteps on the wood floor of the living room. They're not even trying to mask themselves. Dad? Something's wrong. He can feel resistance from within and without, like he's being torn in two different directions. His head aches from the strain, and as he tries to make sense of what's happening, he feels his teeth grind. It feels as if he's been caught between two gigantic speakers playing different sounds, and the dissonance stabs at his temples. From outside he can hear the third step of the stairway groan. They're coming. He feels her hand on his shoulder then. She doesn't speak, doesn't implore him to hurry. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Without thinking, he matches her, his jaw relaxing slightly. In his mind, he hears her words from yesterday when he was holding the ball of light. She'd said he was gripping too tight. He feels his fingers uncurl around the stone as it vibrates between his palms, feels the immense power within it fill him like a pitcher held beneath a waterfall. The chaos and clashing of energy recedes for a moment, and he steps out of the way. Hold on, Kit Kat, he hears himself say, and then, for a moment, he can hear shouting as he blacks out. Ella and Jean were on the stairs when the world fell away. Or maybe the world had stayed where it was, and they're the ones that fell through it. One moment they were storming the old farmhouse. The next it was as if the walls and ceiling had grown a mile high, and everything within the house had become fluid and was washing them down the gullet of some great, terrible beast. The image of Jonah being swallowed by the whale flashes in Ella's mind before the velocity of the flow around them picks up. She manages to grab hold of Jean's back and cling there, jamming her eyes shut instinctively. The velocity is enough to make her nauseous, but she does her best to relax enough to go with the flow without losing hold of Jean, who's been screaming his head off. After a moment or so, she feels them slowing down, feels the liquid beneath their feet harden once more into wood flooring, and they both collapse upon it. She breathes deeply, waiting for her stomach to settle before opening her eyes. They're in the living room again. Sort of. The armchair, sofas, and coffee table she'd noticed on their way in, are still there, but distinctly larger, as if crafted for someone twice their size. The fireplace has grown and stretched, so that now they could both stand comfortably inside it. Looking up, she can no longer see the ceiling of the room. The walls of the house, now made of limestone instead of plaster, stretch up into a cavernous darkness. She turns to the front door to find it missing, along with the windows. Every few feet along the stone walls, a gas lamp flickers as it bleeds dim yellow light. Her eyes follow the lamps as they stretch down a long corridor where the stairs used to be. An illusion? Gene says, getting to his feet. It's gotta be. She rises slowly, her hand grasping the locket around her neck. She gathers her strength, closes her eyes, and casts a disillusionment charm. When she opens her eyes, nothing has changed except the expression on Jean's face. It's real, she says. Somehow. How the fuck is this possible? He doesn't have what it takes to do this. She shakes her head. I don't know, but this doesn't change what we came here to do. We find him, we put an end to this. She begins walking toward the corridor. Where are you going?

SPEAKER_00 20:52

Do you see another option?

SPEAKER_01 20:55

Silence.

SPEAKER_00 20:57

I didn't think so.

SPEAKER_01 20:59

Come on. The hallways twist and turn on each other, diverging and splitting in myriad paths. In the distance, they can hear a rhythmic thudding. Every now and again they come across another chamber, each cluttered with oversized furniture. In one, the floor disappears under a sea of brightly colored construction paper, and the air is thick with the scent of Crayola crayons. In another, they pass through a cold, sterile dining room with a massive table covered in a crisp white cloth. Their heads barely clear the table height, and they see in the center of it a gigantic birthday cake, its candles extinguished. They can still smell the smoke, though none remains. The sense of loneliness in this room grips Ella's heart so strongly that it's hard to breathe, though the feeling falls away as soon as they reach the next hallway.

unknown 21:59

Each of

SPEAKER_01 22:00

These rooms is empty, though while crossing through a warm, pastel-tinged bedroom, they do hear a young girl giggle. Turning quickly, they see the edge of a dress disappear into an open closet. Jean launches a ball of flame immediately, but it's swallowed up by the darkness that lies just behind the closet door. The thudding is growing louder now. What is that noise? Jean whispers. Ella raises a finger to her lips, then gestures to her ear. Jean pauses, and after a second, they begin to hear a deep voice muttering. Slowly, they creep to the corner where the hallway splits into an intersection. The voice is coming from the path to the right. The accounts. Thud. The accounts must be rectified.

unknown 22:58

Thud.

SPEAKER_01 22:59

Little shits.

unknown 23:01

Thud.

SPEAKER_01 23:03

They don't appreciate how good they have it. Gene, his wand at the ready, looks to Ella. She nods and they round the corner. At the end of the hallway, a hulking figure in a work shirt and coveralls walks slowly toward them, his balding head turned downward as he mutters to himself. Every now and again he punctuates his words by slamming his fist against the stone wall. He lifts his head to peer at them through bloodshot eyes, and Jean's wand lowers slightly. Sir? I don't you're not supposed to be here. Ella's stomach clenches at the sight of the man. Impossible. The figure straightens up, an awful, gleaming smile shows through his bushy beard. His pace quickens. There you are, he says, hitting the wall again. Come to take your medicine. Gene, Ellis says, putting a hand on his shoulder. That's not him. We have to go. What the fuck? He mutters. Don't you move a muscle, the figure says as he barrels toward them. You're only making it worse for yourself. The closer he gets to them, the larger he grows in size. Despite this, he's fast. The distance between them is closed in an instant, and the figure's hand is raised. Ella throws up a barrier instinctively just as the massive fist falls. But instead of being completely repelled, the blow against her magic creates a shockwave that sends her flying backward. Talking back, he bellows. Jean is still in the creature's path. Ella is on her feet, hand outstretched. But before she can say anything, she feels cold, impossibly strong arms wrap around her from behind, a hand covering her mouth. So disappointing. A voice whispers in her ear before she's pulled backward, and everything goes dark. Kat opens her eyes to find herself alone, back in Kelly's room. At least, it resembles Kelly's room. The bed is the same, if not a little larger than she remembers. The room is warmer now, but dimmer. The sunlight is replaced by gas lamps, and the walls are different. Instead of posters on plaster, she sees roses painted on limestone. Above her, the walls disappear into shadow, and the room to the door is gone. Dad, she calls out. The only response is a quiet thudding in the distance, like the beating of a sleeping heart. The heart Sophie Lamashtu's heart. So this is the power that Jason risked both their lives and their relationship to acquire. She's speechless at the magnitude of it all. Slowly she leaves the safety of the bedroom, hands raised in front of her, magic pulsing within. A long corridor runs in either direction, lamps stretching as far as the eye can see. Dad she calls again. Dud. Dud. Okay then. The only way out is through. She turns to the left and begins walking in what she hopes is the direction of her father's old bedroom. Before long she turns a corner, and the wooden floor gives way to cold, black and white tile. A porcelain tub lies to her right, large enough to fit two fully grown adults. A yellowed ring surrounds the drain. Her eyes drift to a sink and medicine cabinet that she'd have to jump in order to reach. And suddenly the taste of Irish Spring soap against her tongue is overpowering, and she begins spitting up frantically as she rushes forward to the other side of the room where another corridor awaits. As soon as her foot makes contact with the wood, the taste disappears. Jesus, Dad, she whispers as she catches her breath. She'd heard the I'll wash your mouth out cliche several times in old movies and shows, but actually tasting the soap, she finally understands the threat behind it. She has to keep moving, has to find him. The thudding has grown louder, closer. Her pace has quickened now. With every intersection, she feels herself turn instinctively, the turner intuition guiding her where she knows she needs to be. After what seems like hours, she finds herself in a new chamber. The smell of dust and moldering paper is thick, almost suffocating. All around her are towers of cardboard boxes, piled one atop the other and stretching up into the shadows. The lamps struggle to light the myriad corners of this place, and the web of shadows left in their failure make it hard to see the way forward. She stumbles her way through, ready at any moment to strike at whatever may be hiding in wait for her. In moments she sees the way out, but stops as her ears pick up a new sound lurking just below the rhythm of the thudding. The whimpering of a child. She turns from the path, slowly feeling her way between stacks of newspapers until she comes across a small, cowering boy hidden behind a large chest. His hair is disheveled, head buried in between his knees. His arms are wrapped around himself, and one of them sports purple bruises. Hello? The boy's head shoots up, eyes wide, and he immediately begins scooting away. Pinned to his shirt is a shiny yellow sheriff's badge. Hey, hey, it's okay, she says, hands raised gently. I'm not gonna hurt you. My name's Kat. What's yours? The boy eyes her warily before responding. Jimmy She looks at her uncle Jim for the first time, who can't be more than five or six. She smiles gently, trying to reassure him, and slowly sits down.

SPEAKER_00 30:26

Hi, Jimmy. What are you doing here? Nothing. I didn't do anything.

SPEAKER_01 30:35

She looks at him patiently, nodding.

SPEAKER_00 30:40

I'm waiting for my brother. He always comes to find me. I'm looking for your brother too. She smiles. Do you want to look for him together?

SPEAKER_01 30:54

She reaches her hand out. He seems unsure, but after a moment he returns her smile and takes her hand. They weave through the towers of boxes and stacks of magazines bound in twine. Back toward the exit leading to the next corridor. Thud. Thud. Thud. The pounding continues, but now, just beneath it, there's something else. A voice, though too low to make out what they're saying. She feels the small hand in hers clench as they cross into the hall. Jimmy, do you know what the pounding is? The child is quiet for a time. Dad's angry, he says at last.

SPEAKER_00 31:49

My big brother told me to hide.

SPEAKER_01 31:52

They hear a small boom and multiple voices calling out in fear and rage. Try as she might to steer them away from whatever's happening. Each turn in the labyrinth seems to only bring them closer to it. Finally, she can make out words. Talking back, I'll have to teach you a lesson. They come upon a corner, and beyond it they hear cries of pain. Kat lets go of Jimmy's hand, bringing one finger to her lips while the other hand gestures for him to stay. He nods and slowly she peeks her head around the corner. The largest man she's ever seen towers above Jean Blackwood, whose face looks like it's been through a meat grinder. His left eye is swollen shut, rivulets of blood pouring from his broken nose. Please, he spits.

SPEAKER_00 32:54

Please, no more! I've got a kid.

SPEAKER_01 33:01

I say when you've taken your medicine, the beast of a man replies. He lifts the back of his hand and brings it down across Jean's face, sending blood splattering. He does it with all the effort of a cat batting a toy, but the sound makes Cat's stomach turn. Somebody wants to be a big man all of a sudden? Congratulations! Looks like you're ready for a lesson in physics. The Hulk picks up the smaller man by the wrist, lifting him off the ground. Kylie Jean sobs. I'm so sorry. Hey, Kat screams before she can stop herself. Her body has already moved around the corner to face the monster. Put him down. The gigantic man turns and Kat sees her father. It's not Jason that stands there, but pieces of him that look back at her. This man has the same eyes, same nose. Beneath the beard, he's got the same vicious grin her father uses sometimes when he's truly mad. Go back to your room, Mary, the beast says. I'll deal with you and Kelly later. No, I said drop him. She feels the magic well up from deep within, responding to her rage. The monster wearing Robert Argyll's face drops the broken man without a second glance, eyes locked on her. Ungrateful little bitch, it says, walking toward her, I'll teach you to show respect. It comes at her full force, with every lumbering step it grows larger, the cords of muscle in its neck straining grotesquely as it smiles at her. She meets its gaze, unflinching. So this is where her father learned to be afraid. This was his first teacher. You know what? She says, raising her hands in front of her and reaching out with her magic. My dad was right. You are an asshole. She takes hold of the creature firmly, picking it up off the ground. It struggles, pulling against her, reaching for her throat. With all the rage, hatred, and fear that have plagued her these many years, she brings it down full force into the floor beneath them. With a guttural howl, the beast shatters, as delicate as a vase pushed from the edge of a table. Shards of it fly everywhere, skittering across the wood and stone of the hallways, before melting back into nothingness. She exhales and turns to tell Jimmy it's safe. But the boy is gone, if he was ever there at all. Slowly she walks down the hall, magic at the ready, coming to a stop above Jean's crumpled form. She stays out of reach. She isn't stupid. She lifts her hands, once again feeling the internal surge. She kicks his body, then hops backward. No response. His breathing is slow, yet ragged and slight. He's in bad shape. This man hunted her for years. He took away her family, her safety, her childhood. He killed Emily and Tim. He's killed others. For all this and more, he deserves to die. Kylie. He'd called out that name before passing out, when he knew it was the end. Is Kylie his daughter? Wife? Does it even matter? She stands at the edge of a cliff. It would be so simple to take just the tiniest step forward. Simple. But not easy. When did those become different things? She feels it now, the weight her father was talking about. Do it. Nothing. Do it. She sighs and lowers her hands. He's already broken, just like Jason had said. She'll find him, and he'll know how to do what needs to be done. She turns from Jean, closing her eyes and letting intuition guide her. In a moment she feels the pull again and opens her eyes. Her father isn't far off. She can feel it. Maybe just a few more corridors left. She'll have to remember how to get back here just in case they the world explodes in stars as she's struck in the back of the head. Everything goes sideways, blurry, before she feels her body hit the ground. The pain catches up a moment later, and she wants to throw up. You almost had me, she hears Jean say from behind her. I'd say better luck next time, but unfortunately for you, kid, this is all you get. But it's not too far off. Return in two weeks for the season one finale of Signed in Blood. And together we'll learn what fate has been holding for Jason and Kat since they hit the road together eight years ago. This episode was written, performed, produced, and mixed by Evan O'Kuana. Our intro music is by Anna Dogger and Hannah Ekstrom. Outro music is by Backdrop. You can find more at SignedandBloodcast.com. If you liked what you heard, follow and subscribe on your favorite podcast platform. It makes a huge difference for an indie show like this. Want to feed a little energy back into the magic that keeps Signed and Blood alive? Leave a rating or review. For those who wish to go further, there's a Buy Me a Coffee link in the show notes. Every donation helps, regardless of size, and I'll send you blessings through my Chaos Magic practice during our monthly ritual of thanks. Thank you for listening. Until next time, keep your loved ones within reach, your weapons at the ready, and your intentions signed in blood.