For a more immersive experience, I recommend you wear headphones for this podcast. [Theme Music] [Music] Welcome to Mil-Liminal Episode 8: White Out Hey listeners. It's winter. My tiny living space is kept warm by one of those old fashioned wall radiators. It works wonders. For someone like me, who runs cold as snot most days, its nice to be able to live inside a giant concrete oven. I laid in my bed under a mountain of quilts and I thought about what it must be like to be a bread loaf, baking slowly, steam puffing out. cozy. WHat the hell am i talking about, who imagines being a baking bun I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I have one of those fluffy bathroom rugs there, so my feet won't touch the cold tile, but the rug is warm. I stand up, joints creaking despite being a literal teenager, and I pull on an oversized tee and look out the tiny window of my living space. It's one of those bright sunny winter days, the kind where it looks warm and inviting but you just know the cold is going to bite your nose and cheeks the second you walk out the door. I wrap myself in a sweatshirt that's four sizes too big over the shirt and shorts and shove my bare feet into some slippers and open the door. the smell of burning wood and pine hits me in the face, my nose stings in the cold. I walk the short distance across the lot to the GasCo. It's early afternoon, shift changes, and when I walk in Bev is leaning over the counter laughing at something Juan Manual said. They both look up when the door chimes as I walk in and grin. I wave and shuffle over to the coffee machine, reminiscent of my old friend Jeb, dead eyed and hollow, pouring the hot black liquid into a mug I brought with me. I lift it in tired cheers and bev laughs. i throw a pack of little debbies on the counter and she shakes her head disapprovingly. 'Caro. put some pants on, we gotta do something about this diet of yours.' she says. I look at her and I think she sees it in my eyes, the flicker of fear about my eating habits and judgement, and she shakes her head quickly. 'The diner hun. let's go get you some real brunch.' I frown at her. 'I'm going to stand outside your door til you come out.' she threatens. Juan looks at her and back at me and grins, popping back the Gasco cap he's wearing at a jaunty angle. 'she'll do it.' he says, shaking his head. 'She once staked me out all night to get my college essays in. crazy woman.' I give an exaggerated sigh and make a face like i'm the most put upon person in the world (i'm not) incredibly unconvinced by the idea of real food (i'm hungry) and how I definitely don't want to be distracted from my hell brain on this of all days. (i do.) 'Fine.' i say. 'but i'm driving.' I turn and walk out but not so fast I don't see the look of cringe bev makes behind my back. I laugh to myself. She makes me drive over half way to Seattle for some reason, claiming the best diner in washington was out that way. A diner is a diner in my opinion, unless we are talking Dennys at 2am or Waffle Houses in general but ok, sure. So here we sit, a giant plate of waffles bigger than me stacked in front of me with eggs and bacon and every other breakfast thing you can think of and Bev looking at me expectantly. 'I'm going to barf if i eat all this.' I tell her. She laughs and tells me to do what I can. I frown and contemplate telling her I'm dead serious. I never really was allowed to eat heavy breakfast foods growing up, and now I get sick when I try, which is why I usually stick to a little Debbie muffin and coffee. i see her peering at me, like she knows something i'm not saying, like maybe she sees a reflection of something familiar in me, i remember she used to be a hairstylist to the stars. how many young starlets did she see, how many versions of me that didnt get away? and she says we have all day. eat what i want and take it easy. I almost do. Later, as we walk to my car, she asks if I want to go to Seattle and shop. It is such a random question I start laughing and look at her like she's lost it. She plucks the shoulder of the old sweatshirt I'm wearing, it's wearing out in places, frayed cuffs and loose threads in some of the seams. I grin and tell her I don't really have the money to replace anything, and what does it matter anyway, it's not like I go anywhere but work. She tells me very gently it might be nice to have something more my own style other than boys clothes i stole from someone years ago and the basics from an ambiguous Everything store lining my small closet. I contemplate how to tell her what I'm thinking, but she continues and wonders if I've ever gotten to pick out what I want to wear on my own, without approval from parents or borrowing from people just to feel more comfortable. I stare at her for a second and the truth of that question dawns on me. Sure, I've bought things, but it was mostly oversized mens shirts in the clearance aisle. Necessity, not choice. I think about the one moment of glee when I found a green jumper with a dinosaur skeleton print on it. I'd used the last of my paycheck, and now it hung in the back of my closet, untouched, because I hadn't had the nerve to slip it over my head and prove to the world I was just a dumb kid. I shake my head. She takes my arm and marches me to my car, and directs me to the highway. And that's how, on a bright winter day, air crisp with the threat of snow despite the sun winking at us through the PNW clouds, I am introduced to thrift stores. 'Winter's coming, Care.' Bev says, directing me to park in a stripmall containing a giant sign that reads Family Thrift in red letters. I look at her. A thrift store? I could feel my parents rolling in their graves. They aren't dead of course, but they may as well be. I look at Bev and chew the inside of my cheek, shake my head and follow her inside. I am immediately assaulted by the smell. it's not a bad smell persay, it's just a BIG smell. Does that make sense? It seems to take up everything and coat every surface and fill every space with a strong nostalgic scent. It's like laundry detergent mixed with an attic mixed with fabric. It makes me feel strange inside. That off kilter feeling hits me in a wave and i think about the in between spaces and the clothes that are neither store nor owned. looking for a purpose before death. sitting on racks waiting for something. SOmething neon catches my eye. waiting for me? I turn away from it and focus my attention on a rack of dresses against the far wall, flicking through them without even looking at them really. absent. I can feel Bev watching me, some unspoken thing flitting between us. some truth i've never dared to say. I've never seen you wear a dress. she finally says. it hangs in the air. I hitch a smile, sure you have, bev. you just don't connect the glossy bubblegum pictures in magazines with the sad broken little person living in a shack behind a gas station. shades of grey and black and shattered. She asks if I want a new dress and I find myself shaking my head, eyes pricking. Truthfully, I don't know what I want, but the silky fabric sliding between my fingers feels like a snake that will turn on me at any moment. it's not mine, not now. I don't know what it is. out of the blue, she suggests a winter jacket, has me by the shoulders and marches me away from glitter and flower prints and to a rack of coats, mixed, ungendered, smashed together in a rainbow of color coordinated hues. I stand there. My mouth is dry. She reaches for something, neon purple nylon on black and pulls out the most hideous ski jacket ive ever seen. The 80's kind with the flared collar, and big panels of monet like paint strokes in neon pinks blues and purples. it's small and fitted and I find I can't tear my eyes away. It's nothing like the gasco jacket i wear most days, or the oversized leather battle jacket that still reeks of mint and cigarettes and old spice i wear on the sad days. oh, i had one just like this in my 20s, she says, stoking her hand down the sleeve fondly, she gives me a pleading face and uses a line I'm well acquainted with. 'Humor me?' and so i slip it on over my sweater and it fits me like a glove, unusual given my size. and i turn and look in a warped mirror and i i see myself suddenly. in this hideous, hideous neon jacket I see me. and it's like ive never seen me before in my life and I think maybe I haven't. I mean the haircut helped. but...well. Bev was right. Id never REALLY picked out my own clothes before.I picked out what I thought i was supposed to wear, or what i was used too. Not like the girl I used to be, but maybe I'm not like the boys' eyes knew either, the punk boys with their leather and faded jeans and spikes, all hard edges and gentle hearts. Maybe I'm not meant to have hard edges. Maybe I can be soft and bright and loud. maybe i don't have to try and fly underneath the radar. I think of the dinosaur sweater, I choose it but I feel stupid about it. What did Bev tell me? She had a jacket just like this in her 20's, a whole ass adult wearing this thing on purpose. why not me? it was stupid and it was silly and it made me look like an arcade carpet threw up on me and i loved it. it made me warm. bright, warm neons for the kid whos always cold. Colors built to be seen in the snow, in the dead of night, i would glow. She helped me pick out a few other things. high waisted acid washed jeans from a time when jeans still had interesting details, buckles and straps and notched waistbands. I wasn't ready to try anything too crazy on top, baby steps, I could stick with my band tees for now. but i was starting to discover something, and it was that I didn't want to be invisible anymore, it had never really felt right to hide away. I'd been pushed in the spotlight, but trying desperately to hide away my entire life. but here's the thing about being a Seer, it goes both ways. A seer sees, but I was also born to be seen, and fighting that was exhausting. Somehow all this yapping brings me to tonight's tale, which is about being UnSeen or rather, Lost. Caro, you work at a gas station, did you wander off into the woods or something? I thought Sam didn't like it when you went outside at night. How did you get lost? Well, dear listener, that's for you to sit back, get comfy and find out. Believe me, it's very possible to be lost while being in the exact same place you've always been. think about all the ghosts. This is a tale about nature and how big and unrelenting she is. Humans, we think we are invincible, we forget we are tiny fragile beings woven from dust and starlight, held together by the thinnest strands of dreams and fiction, a mere blip in the span of time and the universe. We forget that a gentle push sends us exploding in a cloud of decay and back to the earth from whence we came. Nature is not a healing Mother for us, she is that for the Earth. For us she is a Force to be Reckoned With. and listener, i was about to meet the reckoner. It started out simple enough, these things often do. When Bev and I got back from our trip, I hung around the gas station for a bit harassing Juan and Sam, trying on my new clothes and doing silly walks and poses. It's funny how natural that comes to me, Juan says laughing. That jacket is horrible, remarks Sam, and yet it suits you. I laugh and say I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment. He says I could probably make a potato sack look fashionable. After that, I went for my afternoon nap before my shift. WHen i got up, it was snowing. Not altogether unexpected, but still surprising. I hadn’t smelled the cold snap earlier in the day, even though I could see my breath in the thrift store parking lot. I was always a little cold, so sometimes I miss it when the temp drops. It's a short walk to the Gasco from my doorway, so I didn't bother to pull on snow boots. It was barely sticking anyway. There's something about a snowy night when the moon is still visible and everything is veiled in shades of blue, sounds muffled, silence pressing in. That kind of silence carries a peaceful sort of feeling, it's not like the dreadful silence of the In Between. I settle myself behind the counter and watch the fat flakes drift down, pink and purple neons caught on their surface, sparkling, giving the world a surreal appearance. It’s sticking now, and falling faster than I thought, gentle mounds building up around the edges of the lot, and up against the ice machine and trash cans. I push the door open, sweeping away the layer of snow in an arc, like an angel's wing glistening on the sidewalk. I inhaled deeply in the cold air, sharp in my nose and throat like mint, pulled the door shut and locked it. (menthol cigarettes and mint gum on your breath when you laugh) You already know this part. I do all my chores, sweep and mop and stock the soda fridges with brightly colored varieties of pop, juices, and energy drinks, bringing frozen goods from the walk in freezer. I pop the tab on one of the energy drinks. It smells like fruit loops and tastes like those chalky smarties candies that come in the pastel rolls. I chug about half of it, and feel the effect surge through my veins like electricity, and I'm reminded why i don't drink these. I clean the soda and coffee machines at mach speed and that's about the time the fluorescent buzzing of the overheads rises sharply over the tinkling of the muzak and pops, plunging me in darkness.I'm twitchy, after effects of the energy drink and i look around frowning, i try and see if i can spot the headlights of the volvo cruising, but i can't actually see much. The lights outside have flicked off as well and the only light is the moon veiled behind the clouds, reflecting on a world that has become completely white while my back was turned. I check my watch, it's only been an hour and half, but I can see the snow has crept up the glass about two feet already. way past my knees. I scan the lot, there's not even any tire tracks, or animal tracks. Just a perfect unbroken layer of plush. I pull out my phone and snap a pic, and i notice I have no signal. The weight of the snow must have knocked out the lines. There's a sudden bang that makes me jump, and dim orange lights come on slowly, fire glows in the dark of the gas station. They have a louder hum than the usual fluorescents, and they are dim, flickering slightly. Oh. The emergencies. The generator must have kicked on. I unlock the door and push, but I can only move the mound a few inches. I'm not really worried about it. it's not cold inside, and the plows will probably be through sometime in the night, they always come by here around 4. I pull the door shut and relock it. Not sure why I do, there's not going to be anyone on these roads but it's a habit I suppose. Just going to have to wait it out. I yawn, and go to sit behind the counter and browse the new comics, feet kicked back. After a little while I feel a chill, I glance up at the emergency lights and hop up on the counter, I'm too short to reach the vents from the floor. I stretch up on my toes reaching the ceiling with my hands up and feel...nothing. The heats off. I bite my lip and slowly lower myself down. Okay, no need to panic just yet, the plows are still gonna come through at some point. I check my phone again, signals back, but very weak, one bar. I send a message to the group chat: Hey, the power’s out and there's a snowstorm, not sure when the plows are coming but it heats off. Careful driving in later, hopefully the heat comes back before morning. I don't expect anyone to answer in the middle of the night. I set my phone face down and crawl off the counter, hopping back to the floor, a shiver running through me. From the cold? No, I look up and see the air at the far end of the store shift, pixelated fractures like a low quality video struggling to load. Static ghosts. I guess the snow storm means nothing to beings made of the broken shards of the In-Between places. They phase in and out of the fridges, half a dozen or more, dressed in more winter clothes than I'm wearing, even though I know they can feel the cold like I can. In fact, they bring it, which is going to be a problem if this continues. The air around me is distinctly cooler now, and I can't tell if it's from the ghosts, or the weather. I stand near the door and glass windows and oh The snow is halfway to my shoulder height now, and there's frost forming on the inside of the glass. It's colder here, and I can see the condensation of my breath. My fingers are icy, so I step back, away from the chilled glass and pull on my GasCo jacket and the gloves I normally use when im stocking the freezer. My phone pings. it sounds slow, like drawn out and half speed. lower somehow. but i think maybe that's in my head. I look at the message from Sam. It's just a light dusting here, I didn't see a report about a snow storm. Are you ok without heat? do i need to come get you? I frown. Sam only lives a few miles up the road. No it's ok, i don't think you could if i wanted you too, i can't even get the doors open, snows too high. I doubt the roads are much better. we'll have to wait til the plows come. I end it with a sweat drop smile emoji. The message stays in that loading stasis, words greyed out while it sits somewhere on a cell tower signal that's caught in the fractures of spaces between time. I glance back at the ghosts still shimmering on the far side of the store, ski suits and winter coats, ghostly breath coming out in puffs. I watch the frost creeping in on the edges of the windows for a half beat, and I remember I have my new ski jacket still stuffed in a bag under the counter from where I left it earlier. It's warmer than the work jacket I'm currently wearing, so I run and dig it out and swap. The inside is lined with a quilted sort of material and it's cold to the tough, but it warms up pretty quick. How stupid of me to not bring a scarf? or boots or thicker socks, or i dunno, check the weather maybe? living just feet from the store has made me less vigilant. Looking outside is surreal. The snow blankets everything now, it's not as high under the overhang that the pumps are beneath, but it swells up on the sides like perfect white glistening waves. It is high on the trees, heavy on branches that bend low under the weight of the mounds of white. The sky is light, not the inky black of a rain storm, but bright, reflecting off the moon behind it and the earth below. fat flakes float down, and it reminds me of an early 2000's screensaver in its perfection. I can't see the road from here, whether that's because it's covered in snow, or because the drifting is too high. I'm unsure. it should be beautiful, but i can't shake the dread that creeps in the pit of my stomach and into all the spaces between my bones. Why are there so many static people here tonight? why are they milling around like the walls and shelves mean nothing? usually when things like that happens, when a building does not appear to exist to them, its because they are imprints of people who existed long before the gasco was here, but these people are definitely from a more recent era, the gasco has been here since the late 40s, so i can't figure out why they are trailing though like there is no building here. I can't figure out why they are new, because I'm quite certain I've seen most of the static ghosts that haunt this place. Unless there was a skiing accident in the back room, there isn't really a reason why so many new figures have cropped up over the last few hours. A loud noise startles me out of my pondering and i almost fall off the counter. An emergency alert on my phone, i look at it, and it warns me of a snow storm and potential power outage. gee, thanks emergency broadcast system! a few hours too late i'd say. the whole screen is flickering with a bad connection, which I've never seen a smartphone do. i flip over to my message to sam. it appears to be sent. I pull my legs up on the counter, criss cross applesauce. It's warmer here, the floor is freezing, and I drape my work jacket over my lap and legs. I try not to think about how the emergency lights are starting to flicker and dim, cuz even though they don't provide me with anything but an eerie light, they are a kind of comfort in the isolation. to have them go out completely would feel way too alone. entombed in a sea of white. I wish for a minute that the coffee machines were working and I could have something warm to drink, a cup to wrap my fingers around. The frost has crept up, obscuring half the windows now, and it's starting to creep across the tiled floor toward the counter, like some backwards game of Lava. At the same time the lights suddenly click out plunging me in half shadow, my phone lights up, buzzing across the countertop. Juan. Hello? (voice shivery) I don’t realize how cold my face was until I spoke and feel my lips crack. Caro! Sam said it was snowing bad there. An emergency tone woke my ass straight up outta bed, are you ok? at least that's what I think he says. the connection is broken up, there's a loud echo and a buzzing obscuring his voice. I blink and feel the cold on my eyeballs, crystalized lashes. it doesn't seem normal to be this cold? 'Juan I'm cold..' my voice plays on automatic and it feels disconnected, like i'm not the one speaking it. far away in another room. 'Caro..' he breaks up for a second. my teeth are chattering so hard there's no way he can't hear it. The static is cutting through, but I hear him mention Sam and the Bronco. Juan has this giant ridiculous 80s Bronco 4x4 made to survive an apocalypse and I’m suddenly VERY grateful because the only thing i can work out that he WOULD have said is that he's off to gather up sam and come and rescue me, and if anything could do it in this weather, it would be that monster. I'm losing hope on the plows. c c c can you bring me some coffee in a stanley, juanito i say and i hear him laugh, but its distant and forced, and somehow i dont think its because of the static and it makes me wonder just how bad i really do sound. I strain to understand him, he says something about the top drawer under the register but that's all I get before the call cuts. I fumble to open it with frozen fingers and oh thank God and think Juan and everything in the heavens and earth cuz there's one of those pocket hand warmers that you crack and put in your pockets to heat your hands, and I think well dang I'm surely going to survive now. saved by a neon orange packet the size of a pack of cigarettes. I laugh a little half hysterical. I crack it and hold it between my hands underneath the jacket on my lap and feel the warm start to creep in. It makes my fingers burn, that tingly feeling when you've played out in the snow too long and the feeling in your toes starts to creep back in once you get inside and cozy up by a fire. I stare out the window, watching for the giant yellow square lights of my friends, I guess it's ok to call them that now. a beacon of hope, a half hour passes. and another. they must have gotten caught in the storm somewhere and i start to worry that maybe i've gone and killed everyone, maybe Jeb won't be the only ghost i see drift in and out of the cursed place. maybe somehow i kill everyone i love, maybe I've been dead this whole time, i died the same night you did and everything since, the fights, the screaming, the pain and fear, the sideways GasCo, off kilter and the ramp up of the ghosts, all of it has just been ME wandering the inbetween and not knowing i was really nothing more than the figures made of energy and broken hearts with no bodies phasing in and out of the freezer section of an abandoned building. Maybe I'm not even here after all. Maybe I never was. My phone scares the shit out of me again. It's sam. I pick it up, relief flooding my veins and thinking I practically scream his name but my voice is nothing more than a whisper. 'Caro, where are you?' he asks, voice frantic. 'what? I'm here. on the counter.' 'I can't understand you, you're cutting out, where are you?' he asks again, voice faraway, crackling. It echos like he's standing in a bathroom and the buzzing is so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. 'I'm here,' I said louder this time. 'Caro.' I can hear his pitch rising, more frantic, matching the intense humming. 'We're here, the snow isn't that deep. it hasn't hit yet. We're here, inside and you're not" he pauses and asks in a voice filled with more fear than I've ever heard in my life 'WHERE ARE YOU?' and i blink and i suck in a breath and drop my phone with a loud clatter, it bounces off the counter and onto the floor where it skids across the crackling ice that's formed there. Sam doesn't think I'm playing some prank. He knows. somethings wrong and he knows and ooooh have we all died? Are we on different planes and can't even reach the comfort of each other? I slide down and I slip sideways on the icy tile and something catches my eye. the glitching. the static ghosts. I scramble up and grab the shelves, slipping and sliding towards them. The freezer, I touch my hand against the fridge glass, frozen and cold, but no buzz of life or electricity. I hear it all around though, the buzzing. I scramble to the door where the frozen goods are kept, the walk-in freezer I was in earlier tonight when I was stocking and sucking down an energy drink. Cripes alive, my vision is fractured. its like im looking through a bad CRT video, everythings broken up and glitching and i grab the handle and yank it open and step through and arms catch me, and they are warm and alive and the humming has stopped and i stumble to my knees, unable to feel my limbs and juan is trying to hold me up with his arms under mine. 'holy shit, Caro what the hell happened?! DId you lock yourself in the freezer or something? and he's half grinning but his eyes are scared. Sam is standing behind him, and I can see the look on his face lit up by the very much working fluorescents. he's holding my phone in one hand, the screen shattered from where it had slid off the counter. and I know he's trying to work out how I could have called them from the freezer I was apparently locked in when my phone was out here, busted on the floor. i dont know how to answer that, how to tell him i never was locked in the freezer at all, but he never asks, as is Sams way. he knows. it doesnt matter in this moment, cuz what I know, is that i'm not dead, they aren't dead, we're all very much alive, and with that knowledge i sag to the floor in relief, dragging a sputtering juan down with me. Just this morning i'd discovered a new version of myself I didn't know existed, and if im still alive it means I can finish what I'm trying to start, theres still time to figure out my self, my life. I just need to remember the fundementals of the GasCo on the cold and endless nights during the 3rd shift. I need to remember to be watchful of my surroundings, and maybe take a leaf out of my childhood friends book, and have a back up plan, a Go Bag, just in case things go sideways. (Theme starts to play) Thanks for joining me for this episode of Mil-Liminal. Be sure to follow social media, or subscribe for updates. Want to know more now? This podcast is actually based on a webcomic,and you can read it right now for free on Tapas or Webtoon. Just search for Mil-Liminal, a horror romance about me, Caro, my podcast, and my desperate attempt to win a grouchy barista's heart, or for Seemingly Dark, a long running supernatural comic full of ghosts, mysteries, and of course I'm there too. Follow the creator, Raptorjules on Instagram or Bluesky, or follow seeminglydark on Tumblr. Logo and music design is by snakepixel on Bluesky. A special shout-out and thanks to my current supporters, and hopefully I'll see you soon. (music fades)