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Join, RW Adams on a fantastical journey through the realms of imagination, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary and the fantastical becomes real. In this podcast, RW brings to life his own unique and quirky tales, crafted especially for curious young minds.
From talking animals to magical lands, brave heroes to clever tricksters, every episode is a new adventure waiting to be discovered. With RW’s warm and engaging storytelling style, you’ll feel like you’re right there with the characters, experiencing the thrill of exploration and the joy of discovery.
So grab your favourite stuffed animal or blanket, snuggle up, and get ready to enter the whimsical world of RW Adams.
New episodes are released every two weeks, so be sure to subscribe and join the adventure!
The Ultimate, Definitive, Never To Be Bettered Big Book Of Words defines Darkness as, “a state of existence, much like lightness, but with a lot more dark in it.”
If he had ever heard of the book, Samuel might have agreed with this definition, but there, sat in complete and utter darkness, he just wished he were somewhere else. The wind had stopped and the room was completely silent except for the sound of Samuels’ heart, beating like a piston in his chest. On the other side of the walls that surrounded him, Sam knew that the sun was blazing away, magnificently nestled in a sky of pure blue. But there, sat in that incredibly comfy chair in the darkest room imaginable, Sam felt like he might never see it again.
Not knowing what else to do, he rose to his feet and in the hopes of seeing daylight again, began to move towards the nearest wall. Only, when Sam stepped forward, he felt himself instantly bump into something. It felt soft, but somewhat pointy at the same time. Feeling certain that the closest wall was further than his current position, he reached out his hand and touched on what stood before him. As he did, beneath his hand small clouds of dust rose and hit him in the face. They smelled like ashes and dead leaves and Sam reached his other hand out to accompany its curious sibling. His fingers moved slowly all across the surface before him, which felt like it was covered in some kind of velvet wallpaper, in the hope of finding a light switch or a door handle or a jet pack or something of immediate and convenient usage. Then, his hands felt some bumps beneath them, possibly buttons for an escape hatch or something, Samuel hoped. Then his fingers touched on a leathery material, like a pipe which rose up to a jutting element made of the same stuff. He walked his fingers up and over its surface and a shudder ran down his spine as the tips of his fingers poked into what seemed to be a drainpipe of some kind; a hole filled with cold, wet surfaces. Eeeeew, Sam groaned. Rat wee.
Then another voice was heard.
“That’s not rat wee.” It mumbled. “You’ve got your fingers in me bleedin’ mouth!”
Realising that the voice was coming directly from where his fingers were and feeling the wet hole move as the words came out, Sam shrieked like a little mouse and threw himself backwards, crashing over the chair in the process and tumbling onto the floor. Looking up, Sam saw the flames of the candles rise, illuminating the room before him and there, in its centre, rose the figure of an elderly man.
His features were hungry and drawn and long, scraggly white hair hung on either side of his face with a gulf of baldness laid inbetween. He wore an ancient looking scruffy, black suit and as he stretched out both his arms, dust billowed from it. As his feet lifted higher from the ground, he began howling, not like a wolf, but like a ghost; a long, weary drone of a sound which sounded otherworldly.
“Yoooooooouuuuuuuu!” It howled. “You are not welcome here! You have wandered into the realms of Hell and you now must be.. COUGH COUGH SPLUTTER SPLUTTER…”
The old man’s rise halted as a sound came from his chest that resembled an old car trying to start. He held his hand to his mouth and began to stumble back towards the ground, if one can indeed stumble in mid air. As his feet reconnected with the ground beneath, he attempted to get his breath back and Samuel found himself uncertain what to do next; continue to be absolutely terrified and possibly soil his pants, or, do what his mum and dad had always taught him and help the poor chap.
“Are you alright?” Sam finally asked, having decided against soiling himself.
“No, I’m bleedin’ not!’ the old man snapped, pulling a hankey from the top pocket of his jacket that seemed as filthy as he was. “Do I sound bleedin’ alright?”
Sam though it best not to answer and watched as the man shuffled over to the side of the room and sat upon a small table that was positioned there.
“Useless old git.” Sam heard him mutter to himself. “Can’t get sick or die, but you sure can get old, can’t ya? Ain’t even got the wind to scare a little wassisname anymore. Bleedin’ useless you are, Balthazar… bleedin’ useless.”
The man seemed to have forgotten that there was anyone else there with him as he grumbled and stared at the contents of his handkerchief.
“Um… sorry… I don’t mean to interrupt but, is this your house?” Sam asked. “Do you live here?”
“Live!?” The man exclaimed as if the word disgusted him. “None live here, boy!” The man marched across the room with a sudden and surprising show of speed, appearing at the end of Sam’s nose before the boy could even catch a breath.
“Only the damned and those who keep them live here, son.”
“And which one might I be?” Sam asked, a fear as large as a watermelon caught in his throat. “I can’t get out, you see, there’s no doors, so I was…”
“Get out? What a fantastic idea!”
And with that, the old man raised his hand, blew upon his palm and a huge cloud of sparkling, silver dust flew from its leathery surface and straight into Samuel’s face, blinding him completely.
Sam flailed his arms about, coughing and wheezing as a thousand odours bombarded his senses, like fragments of long forgotten dreams. He frantically rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands and when he able to lever his eyelids open again, he was confronted by the sun, shining magnificently in a sky of pure blue. Sam, completely confused and disoriented spun around and there, behind him stood the house with the painted on windows. Samuel was outside again as if no time had passed at all. His mind raced to make sense of what had just happened, but as he did so his legs became weak and his stomach began to churn. He felt his legs begin to take him away from that place and he felt little inclination to argue with them. He turned on his heels and ran towards home as fast as he could, his brow flooded with sweat and his heart somewhere in the vacinity of his eyeballs.
Samuel ran from the clearing in a manic flurry of limbs and did not look back, not even once. Which was a shame, for if he had, he would have seen the old coughing man in the painted window of the house. He would have seen him move, as if the painting were alive, would have seen the photo of the young girl in the silver frame in his hands and, most importantly, he would have seen him watching Samuel with an eager and terrifying curiosity.