Pandora Fables Podcast

Hello all! Sorry this is so late, these last few months been a rollar coaster for me. But I have a lot in the pot that I'm cooking up for you! I decided to go ahead and make this episode the season Finale for season 1. Don't worry I'll be back for season 2 soon and I plan on taking a lot of what i learned from this season and doing a even better job.

Thank you all! and enjoy!


A Deadman’s Promise
“You should have stayed dead, boy.” The words boomed in the bar as I petted her softly. His voice was rough and rugged. The roughness in it held the horrors of a man that has done the devil’s work with glee in his eyes. As my hand lay on the cold iron, his eyes narrowed on me. “Son, if you gonna touch that iron you best be ready to use it.” The coldness of a murder. I was dead the moment I called out his name. The voice of the man who took everything I loved.
There were three others, each as mean and cold-hearted as him. After seven years of searching, I finally found the ones who took me away from my child. In the silence of the bar, I could hear Satan’s laughter in the background. Then in one quick and final motion, I pulled my faithful hound from the hostler and pointed her at him about a half a second faster than he could muster his own dog. She barked and bucked in my hand and delivered her sweet justice towards him. Her blessing passed through his right shoulder and his friends managed to summon their own hounds.
I knew, staring down the barrel of those irons that this was the end. The laughter grew louder and louder until even the echoing of the gunshots faded. I knew hell indeed was waiting, and I was going to take as many with me as possible. Dying ain’t no way to be living, but a Deadman never breaks a promise.
“You don’t have to do this, son.” The words echoed in the small house as I began to get dressed. His voice is old and tired. The roughness in it holds secrets that no man should ever share. As my hands gripped my belt, a heavy sigh left his lips. “Son, dying ain’t no way to make a living.” The roughness of his voice hid the wisdom in his words. The voice of a man who was smart enough to live past his glory days.
He stood in the doorway watching, praying that the hurt they left me with didn’t consume my soul. I ain’t no saint, ain’t the man he knew. His cold eyes met mine as the silence between us grew. As the cold iron filled my right hand, the hardness of his stare softened and he knew deep down inside, hell awaits me.
I slowly placed each one of her blessings in the chamber. Each one especially loaded for those men who left me here. Those men who stole away everything I ever loved. I was a holy man. I fought hard to live a good life, to bring peace to my fellow man. The memories are still fresh in my head. The stabbing; gutting me like some damn pig, leaving me to bleed out. By the grace of something I know now wasn’t holy, I lived. Stumbling through the woods, covered in crimson from head to toe. Staring at my house burning brightly and seeing the two things I love the most hanged and gutted like animals. Ain’t no angel saved me those seven years ago. No, the devil kept me kicking so I could send him back his demons.
There was nothing left to say. Our eyes met one final time. Two strangers who once shared blood. Now all that laid between us was broken promises and ashes. As I placed the cold iron in her place, he only turned to let me pass. She was my father’s, a loyal dog that protected him through the darkest of times. She only spoke when needed and when she did, they knew her bite was coming.
“You sure about this?” a voice echoed from behind me.
I didn’t answer, only kept walking ahead. I could feel his eyes watching me. Taking in my grief, my fury, drinking it down his gullet like fine wine. There was something peaceful about the cold winter sky ahead. The white snow covering up the filth

This was the first audio I ever got done. It was really scary to do and I was panicing cause i didn't know how it would turn out. Part of me was scared the person would say the story made no sense. While another half of me thought it would come out horrible. About ten minutes before I got on my first plane to go to Canada for the first time Dave messaged me back with the audio. After listening to it i knew, I wanted to create more.

So here it is!


It was a day like any day. Which was always the best type of day because it means it would be a wonderful day. With me a child sat, who I shared some blood relationships to yet I don’t recall just how this could be. For my brother remained unmarried and I lost contract with my sister many years ago. But for the sake of moving things along I shall call him cousin. He was a small thing, between the age of knowing too much about the world and knowing nothing. We sat quietly for a minute before he finally spoke, “Tell me a story.” Such a bold request but it was followed by the most careful of words, “Not just any story, but a story full of the stuff that make life.” He said.

“The stuff that make life?” I replied puzzled because I was lead to believe that everything is part of life. Was there some new formula that I missed out on?
He ginned with pride at me, the gin you give someone you have outwitted. I know that gin because I am normally the one giving it out. “You know, a story of love, of pain, of defeat…” he stared at me as if he was looking through me. As if he was speaking to the talent of a writer who could make such a thing. “…of victory! The stuff that makes life.”
“Ahh!” the noise left my lips as though I knew what he meant. It masked my puzzled mind but do these things truly define life? If so I surely have been living life wrong. To make matters worse I never knew I was able to make a story of life, at least not these type of life. With a soft cough to clear my throat (like the professionals do) I said with great excitement “Alright! Shall we begin?”
Silence once again as he stared at me. Another cough (which was a sign of true talent to give the listeners two well place coughs) “Once upon a time…” I started.
“No, no, no!” he cried “That’s not a story full of the stuff of life! That’s….that’s…” his eyes closed as if the right words was painted on his eye lids. “That’s a lie! A fable! Make believe!” I sat shocked, not at the fact that he cut me off before I even started (which is rude to do after such a professional cough mind you) but that child that was young enough to watch cartoon but not yet old enough to be seen as strange for doing so.
“A lie?” I replied puzzled once more.
“I’m no baby! I know of life! I know of the stuff in it! I have had enough birthdays to fill a hand and then enough to almost complete the next!” he explained. “No lies! Life is not a lie! We are alive right? Meaning life is no lie!” such reasoning I would except from a man in some seat in power but not of him. “Open upon a time…” he said mocking my voice (which I found rude because though I do sound like that I did cough after all and that makes it more reasonable.) “…is for lies!”
I closed my eyes and nodded softly to his argument. I didn’t know why because this was what my father did anytime my mother would act similar to him. As my eyes open he stood there with the gin of victory, which means my father was a genius among men.
With a slight cough which was far less demanding as before I spoke, “Alright. I shall tell you, a story of truth. A story full of the stuff of life.” He sat down with a ginned that would make most women slap him if he was only a few months older.
“There was once a man, who had no name. For lack of better choice, he forgot it at birth. Though he was nameless everyone called him Tony. Tony was a man of action, though he was too shy to do much on his own. Tony was a smart man, once he was able to count all of the people within one room with a single gla