"The Mummer Man" - Horror Hill

Erik Peabody (0:00)

Greetings, listeners, Erik Peabody here, and tonight, I'm bringing you another taste of Horror Hill's past with a special performance from the program's original host, Jason Hill. Jason established the voice and atmosphere of Horror Hill during its formative seasons, guiding listeners through some of the program's most memorable journeys into the macabre. Should tonight's performance leave you wanting more, the first few seasons are waiting, filled with stories he both hosted and brought to life. As for me, I'll be here every Thursday with new tales of Terror of my own. Before we continue, please be advised that tonight's story contains material of a graphic and violent nature. Listener discretion is advised.

Tonight's story introduces us to a lonely bibliophile who joins a local book club in the hope of rebuilding his social life after a painful breakup. While searching for his next selection, he discovers a weathered volume devoted to black magic, complete with a Ouija board and a peculiar invocation concealed within its pages. When the group decides to recite the accompanying rhyme, their skeptical amusement gives way to terror as the boundaries of Tara's secluded cottage begin to bend around them. What answers their summons has come to play, but The Mummer Man's idea of entertainment is far removed from their own.

Written by David Sherrick and performed by original Horror Hill host Jason Hill, this is The Mummer Man.

Jason Hill (1:40)

Where do I start with this?

He won't tell me.

So, I'll start at the beginning. That's probably as good a place as any.

I'm a bibliophile. I love books. I love reading, and I love collecting books. Or at least I did. It's changed now, of course.

I joined a group, a local book club, in the hope of meeting new people. I'd just come out of a shitty relationship, and I was low, feeling pretty hollowed out. Most of my friends were her friends, and when we split, they mostly sided with her. So I was single and friendless. Thought maybe I'd start over, make a new circle. I saw on Reddit some life hack about local interest groups as a way of finding like-minded fellows. So naturally, I thought, what about a book club? And it was a good club.

But it's changed lately.

It's far more serious now. Not so much fun as it was to start with.

A lady called Tara ran the book club. She was single and pretty, but also pretty strange. Hippie guru. I decided early on that she and I were not going to socialize outside the club. The club met once a week here in her cottage. All low beams and exposed stonework and log fires. The first couple of meets were okay. Fun. Like I said, the people were quite nice, really. Each session we took it in turns to bring a book we intended to read. Everyone else had to source the same book and read it ready for the next meet. We actually did that too. This wasn't one of those book clubs where everyone used the book thing as an excuse to meet and chew the fat. I liked the fact that we read the books and then talked about them. I liked the fact that they were all proper bibliophiles. Like me.

I liked that. But I don't like it now.

It's so dark now. It's not at all like it was. Yes, yes, I'm typing.

It was my turn to choose a book, so I went for a walk and popped into a flea market bookstore, a place I'd never been before. It was musty, just like I like it. Downstairs was local history, upstairs fiction, hobbies, children's literature. The staircase between floors was open plan and turned a corner halfway. Here was a half landing in a bookcase marked Esoterica. I have a look, weird books about mysteries, magic and miracles. I pick up an Erik Von Daniken, Ancient Aliens. I decide to make this the book club's next read. Before leaving, my eyes fall on something poking out from under the bookcase. I pull out a crusty old tome, leather bound and cracked. I love this kind of thing. So, I peel it open to find I'm reading a book of black magic. I buy the books, fifty cents each, dog-eared and old, and that's the way I like it.

The next book club session is next evening. I take out the Von Daniken. This is our next read. I get some groans. The old tome is in my bag and Steve spots it. What's that? I share the tome around and everyone has a look. It raises some eyebrows, especially when Steve turns to the back and unfolds a Ouija board. I hadn't noticed it before. It's printed on the back cover, which is bi-fold. What's this? Steve asks. He shows me and the others. It's a poem, written around the edge.