Collin Bishop-Karney
speaker
139 appearances
1 recordings
1 series
first heard Nov 2024
last heard Nov 2024
Collin Bishop-Karney’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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Appearances
he was an older man his face lined with age and wisdom he carried with him a small pouch filled with herbs and he moved with a quiet confidence that made me feel for the first time in hours that we might be safe he spoke little nodding respectfully to my grandparents before setting to work he sprinkled the herbs in a circle around the trailer chanting softly in navajo
the words were foreign to me but there was power in them i could feel it he moved from room to room marking the walls with symbols pausing now and then to murmur prayers the air seemed to grow lighter with each step he took the oppressive sense of dread slowly lifting replaced by something calmer something almost peaceful
when he finished he turned to us his eyes serious it may return he said but this will help keep it away be careful and do not speak of it again it feeds on fear on curiosity do not give it reason to return his gaze lingered on me for a moment and i nodded swallowing hard i understood now some things were not meant to be questioned not meant to be called upon
I had opened a door that should have stayed shut, and now, all I wanted was to close it forever. The rest of the day passed in a blur. Exhaustion hit me like a wave, and I spent most of the afternoon dozing on the couch, the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. My mother stayed close, her eyes watchful, her hand resting gently on my arm.
There was still fear, still the knowledge that the creature might return, but there was also hope, hope that we had done enough, that the medicine man's blessings would hold, that we might find peace once more.
as the sun set that evening my grandfather lit a fire outside the flames crackling and snapping as they cast flickering light across the yard we gathered around it the warmth of the fire warding off the chill of the desert night my grandmother led us in a prayer her voice strong despite the fear that still lingered And as I looked into the flames, I made a silent promise.
I would never again speak of the things that lurked in the shadows, the things that waited for the curious and the careless. I would keep my eyes forward, my heart steady, and I would never forget the lesson I had learned that terrible night. We moved into the house when I was four. It was deep in the rural woods of Pennsylvania, and my parents had fallen in love with it at first sight.
A sprawling old house surrounded by endless fields and woods, it was like something out of a storybook. I remember being enchanted by it, especially the woods. To a child, those woods seemed magical, a place where anything was possible.
but even then there was something else about them something dark just beneath the surface dash our sheep-dog was my best friend and my protector he was always there wagging his tail and bounding beside me his furry coat always brushing against my legs as we ran through the meadows
i was never alone with dash around and he seemed to sense the things that i did from the very first day there were moments when the air felt heavier and even at four i knew something was different when the sun set behind the trees a chill would creep in and the whispering would begin The first time I heard it I was sitting on the porch steps.
It was a soft sound, almost like a breeze rustling through the leaves, but not quite. It was too rhythmic, too deliberate. I looked towards the woods, and Dash, who had been lying beside me, perked up his ears. He heard it too. His hackles rose, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
i strained my ears trying to catch the words but they were elusive just out of reach as if the woods were talking amongst themselves but didn't want me to understand i told my parents about the whispers that night my mother laughed Said it must be the wind, and my father just smiled and ruffled my hair. It's just your imagination, sweetheart, they said. But I knew it wasn't. Dash knew it too.
He would stare into the dark corners of the house at times, his gaze following something invisible, something that moved in the shadows. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling of being watched never went away. As I got older, I spent more and more time in those woods. They were vast, stretching as far as I could see, a tangle of trees and underbrush that seemed to go on forever.
During the day, they were beautiful, sunlight filtering through the leaves, the scent of pine and earth all around me. But there were places that felt wrong, places where the air was cold, even on the warmest days, where the birds didn't sing and the ground seemed to be still. Dash would always growl at those places, his ears flattening, and he would press close to me as if urging me to leave.
The whispers grew louder as the years passed. By the time I was eight, I could hear them clearly, especially at night. They would rise and fall like a conversation, voices that seemed almost familiar but were twisted, wrong. I never told my parents again. I knew they wouldn't believe me. Instead, I tried to ignore them. Tried to convince myself it was just the wind, just my imagination.
But deep down I knew better. The woods were alive and something in them was watching me. Dash knew too. He would sit by my bed at night, his eyes fixed on the window, his body tense. Sometimes, I would wake up in the middle of the night and I would see him staring, his eyes following something I couldn't see, something just beyond the glass.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I would hear my name whispered from the darkness outside. The air was different that day. It was the kind of day where the woods seemed darker, even with the sun hanging high in the sky. There was something heavy about it, an energy that clung to the air like the humid thickness before a storm.
I didn't want to admit it, but I felt it, gnawing at the edges of my mind. And from the way Dash kept pausing, his ears flicking and his nose twitching, I knew he felt it too. Dash and I had ventured deeper into the woods than usual. It had been my idea, something inside me telling me I needed to see more, push farther.
It was as if the woods themselves had called me that day, and curiosity had gotten the better of my sense of caution. Dash ran ahead, his familiar silhouette weaving between the tree trunks. He always checked back, turning every few moments to make sure I was still there, a reassuring presence amid the wild tangle of branches and shadows. But that day, I let my attention wander.
I can't remember exactly what it was. A strange patch of mushrooms, a tree scarred with deep claw marks, that caught my focus, but I lingered for too long.
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