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Okay, so imagine this scene.

Sure.

A shitty motel in some one-bus town--

it's familiar, a cliche even.

A girl, 18 years old right out of high school,

a runaway-- her name is Annie.

- Seriously? - I know.

I know. It's a hard knock life.

Anyway, she's not an exploding ginger.

She's blonde, super thin, wavy hairdo, and so on.

She's run away from home to get away

from her violent shit of a dad, an old-fashioned bikie.

You know, leather jackets and logos.

Mm-hmm, The Wild Angels.

But uglier.

Crazy movie, by the way.

Anyway, this piece of sentient dick cheese has sent out

an underling of his to track her down, real greasy,

white trash shit the gang calls Floppy,

because of a drunken incident in which he couldn't--

Oh, gross.

Indeed.

The thing is, Floppy has ulterior motives.

Of course, he does.

He's got beef with her dad, right?

And he has no intention of actually finding her.

My God. Are you serious?

Mm-hmm.

So as it turned out, not only did

she know that he was following her,

but she was counting on it.

So when he threatened her, she was ready.

I have mixed feelings about this one.

Mm, me too.

You see, Floppy deserved it hands down.

But as far as I can gather, the other three out of five

were seemingly unrelated.

I think she might have just gotten a taste for it.

And guess what.

Mm.

That's right, dear listener.

Annie is a subject of next week's podcast.

So if you want to know more, you're

just going to have to tune in.

You're such a tease.

Always.

Any emails this week, Riley?

Oh, do we have emails?

We have two dick pics.

Mmm, any good?

No, nothing to brag about.

Ugh.

Wandering through the desert out here, ladies and gents.

But we do have an email here from a Spring-Heeled Jack.

I swear we get more references to Jack the Ripper

on this murder podcast than there are Jesuses

in a mental institution.

Although, I always appreciate a history buff among us.

I guess you could say he had a spring in his step.

Oh, Riley, this is an upscale podcast.

We can't be having dad jokes.

Anyways, I'll just get into it

and see what Mr. Slinky Shoes has to say.

"Dear Riley and Lola, new listener,

big fan of the podcast.

This question is for Lola.

What got you into murder cases?"

Hmm.

I haven't had this one in a while.

What do you think, Riley? Should I tell him?

Yes, yes, please.

I love this story.

So my shitty little home town that I grew up in, there was

this urban legend slash coming-of-age age ritual

amongst boys mostly, but it really

had the town in its grips.

Probably still does.

These dark things--

-they tend to linger.

There was this old, abandoned house not far from my place

that all the kids were scared of.

You see, the house belonged to an old man in the 1930s.

Nice guy.

The kind of guy you'd be happy to have as your neighbor.

And he used to make these toys out of wood.

Beautiful things.

Dying art really.

And every Christmas, he'd run about the town

dressed as Santa, handing out toys to the neighborhood kids.

But everyone else knew that he had a dark side,

a real jealous streak.

One night, he wakes up from a dream where his wife has

cheated on him and he's in a blind rage,

decides to murder his whole family,

chops them up, wraps them in wax cloth,

hides them around the house.

The attic, in the walls, under the floorboards.

They found him swinging from the rafters upstairs,

dressed in a Santa suit.

The only one left unaccounted for was

his youngest daughter, Nell.

Our parents told us it was all bullshit.

But you try telling a town filled with teenagers that that

never happened, which brings me to the aforementioned coming

of age ritual.

My so-called friends, Barry and Brick, said they'd done it,

so they made me do it.

It went like this.

You get blindfolded, and you're put in this old house alone.

And I remember you had to say these specific words.

You stand in this old house and you say, Toymaker,

Toymaker, crawl up from hell.

Show me where you buried Nell.

I promise I won't tell.

And then at this point in the legend,

he either kills you with his hammer,

or he shows you the body of his dead kid

and swears you to silence or he'll follow you

all the way home and kill you.

I do feel it is important to say to the gentle listeners

that this is, in fact, not a work of horror fiction

and is our girl Lola's real life.

That's right.

And it was just then that I heard the floorboards

creaking behind me.

"Still playing this old game, eh?"

It was just old man Beer Ken, as kids used to call him that.

He was just a local drunk.

"Don't worry, kid," he said.

"I'm not the old Toymaker's ghost."

And then he stumbled over to the peephole

and peered through it.

I wasn't sure what he was up to so I

ducked away into a cupboard.

Ah, I gobbled up your little mate, and I'm still hungry.

I suddenly realized there was a secret compartment

in the cupboard, a fake back.

I always noticed these kind of things, things that were off.

If I'd been there back in the day,

I would have noticed the marks, the scratching mice and rats,

and knowing that they must have been after something behind it.

I'd done, by accident, what the police never did.

Staring into those empty eye sockets,

that's when I realized I could have found her,

maybe even saved her or someone like her.

And so I had to figure it out.

Who was the Toymaker?

And what makes a person who's kind enough

to hand out gifts to children at Christmas snap

and kill their entire family?

And how do you catch someone like that?

Anyway, that is the story that started it all.

And sadly, I feel like we have to say goodbye because we

have gone way over time.

But tune in for next week's podcast, "Riley and Lola

on the Nancy Crew Show."

All right.

Smell you later and beware of the old Santa

at your local shopping center.

Sweet dreams.

It's so good.

Are you kidding me?

You could have waited for me.

Sweetie, if we waited for you every time,

we'd starve to death.

There'd be two skeletons sitting at the booth.

That'd be a mystery to solve.

Yeah, I think the cops could solve that one.

Are you sure?

You could at least order some garlic bread next time.

Garlic gives me the farts.

Because you're a vampire, right?

I wish.

Eternal life sounds fun.

Yeah, but could you have eternal life without pizza?

I guess she's not that committed to being

a vampire then.

It doesn't stop her from feeding on other people's

lives, though.

Feeding off of other people's lives

is literally what journalists do.

Touchy.

I hear you told your story on the podcast today.

So when are you going to let me write it?

One day, dear Watson, you can chronicle

the many adventures of my fantastic

life, when I have them.

I mean, if I have them.

Careful what you wish for.

You will.

You're always poking into every mystery you can find.

One day, one will poke back.

That's what I'm worried about.

Well, if it makes either of you feel any better,

I spent my entire week just cataloging

and doing legal bullshit.

Fuck, I hate both of those things.

You've got that thing with the bugs next semester,

- though, right? - Bug thing?

Oh, my God.

Corpse eating carrion, like flesh-eating bugs.

Uh-huh.

You'd be surprised what you can

find out from a body by what's eating it from the inside out.

Like maggots and shit?

Uh-huh.

That's it for me.

Oh, come on, Farrah.

Don't act like it's not amazing.

Yeah, but gross.

Totally gross.

That's what I'm hoping for.

Always spend the entire time just fucking cataloging bugs.

So how are you feeling, my love?

Fine.

Whatever do you mean?

You know what, Lola.

Oh, just my imminent return to my oppressive little

shithole town that I'm from?

That?

How long has it been since you were back?

I think I escaped when I was like, 16.

Are you, like, totally fucking nervous about it

- or what? - Delicate, Farrah.

I mean, I'd be lying if I said

that I wasn't a little bit nervous.

It's not exactly like I ran around

where I left telling everyone that I was coming out as

trans or--

and fucking everyone's going to be

there because it's Christmas, so everyone's returning.

And it's, like, going to be a fucking shit show.

And it's just like, I'm not ready for all

the fucking questions. Do you know what I mean?

And it's just like--

Fuck.

Hm, preaching to the choir there.

We wouldn't know anything about that.

Guys, look, I know I'm not the only queer person

with a tragic backstory.

- Sorry. - No, don't apologize.

We were sharing our family trauma.

Well, how healthy of us.

Just let me know if you need anything, okay?

And if anything goes down in that Gothic town of yours,

you know where to find me.

I do.

I love you guys.

I love you too, bitch.

You got this.

Too early.

What's the rush?

There'll be trucks and cars full of kids

getting to Christmas.

You know the drill.

Don't go.

Baby, you know I have to go.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you more and better.

♪ Hush, hush, hush now

♪ Hush, hush, hush now ♪

♪ You're being too loud

♪ You're being too loud ♪

♪ Welcome to my illusions ♪

♪ My refute is your delusion ♪

♪ Welcome to silent options

The pack of Yeti menthols.

Get back to work, Barry.

Lola.

Uh-huh.

Danielle?

Your sister is here.

You remember me, right?

How could I forget?

You gave me my first nipple twister.

Yeah.

Welcome to the house, bitch.

Lola?

Oh, my gosh.

You're beautiful.

Isn't she gorgeous?

Scrubs up well, I guess.

Oh, put your stuff in the first bedroom on the left,

and then come to the lounge for a glass of bubbly.

You're not gonna break out the good stuff

for this little shit, are you?

Ignore her.

She's the same old butch bitch.

Oh, nice.

And everyone at school was right.

She was a dyke all along, so watch out for her.

Yeah.

Not my type.

Be nice.

Did I tell you Danielle's brother's back in town?

I thought she was trans.

Yeah, sure whatever.

Come on.

Don't be all classic transphobic like--

I'm not transphobic.

Yeah, sure.

Okay, just be nice to her and shut up and jump me, okay?

I've got the night shift in hour and a half,

and I wanna feel lighter on my feet.

The fuck?

Fuck, shit. Oh!

Jesus, Danny.

Get yourself a decent coffee machine.

Your not washing your clothes down by the river, are you?

No, Lola, we don't.

We just don't have real coffee much.

So I went to the store and bought you a nice brand,

and now it's burnt.

I'm sorry.

Well, don't be.

Even burnt coffee is better than no coffee at all.

Has Julie hopped it?

Funny you noticed.

I swear she sneaks out of the house

like I'm her mother or something.

It's a bit Freudian.

Right?

She usually comes home, though.

Do you think it's me?

Oh, no, it's-- no, I doubt it.

I mean, she's a bit--

but she wouldn't hide away.

You're right.

The Julie I know would stay just to pick on me.

She's changed a lot since we were teens.

Could have fooled me.

You have though.

What happened to the metal t-shirts and skinny leg jeans?

They were called stovepipes.

And I don't know.

Things change.

You're right.

She could've messaged me at least.

Things aren't like they were out there when we were kids.

Hm?

The economic crisis hit us pretty hard.

Farms were lost, businesses closed.

I mean, things got a lot better later, in general,

but it got a lot rougher around here.

- Bad people got a lift. - I had no idea.

I guess they don't care much for small town problems

in the big city.

No, they don't care about big city problems in the big

city either.

They step over homeless people like they're

trash on the sidewalk.

I never could get used to it.

Maybe Julie forgot her keys.

I don't understand.

Is this a joke?

The Toymaker.

Would Julie do something like this just to scare us?

No way.

Are you kidding me?

And what's this supposed to be?

It's evidence.

I don't have time for this.

Looks like you've got plenty of time.

Who is this?

My sister.

I didn't know you had a sister.

Well, now you do.

Are you going to look for her?

I'm not going to call a search for Julie.

She's probably out scissoring someone's wife.

I beg your pardon?

Look, if it'll keep your panties out of a twist,

I'd do a call to keep an eye out for her.

If she's still AWOL in a couple of days,

you can file a missing person thingy.

I'm sorry, a missing person thingy.

This guy's a fucking moron.

Hey, I could have you arrested

for just talking like that.

Constable Banks.

Senior Constable.

Congratulations on the promotion,

Senior Constable Banks.

Are you at least going to look at the card?

Creepy.

Looks like a prank.

It's clearly threatening.

If Julie was fiddling with my wife, I'd be threatening

her, too.

Look, you have no idea how many kids or even grown ups

are pranking us with this Toymaker bullshit.

If we investigated every prank or Toymaker sighting,

we would have no time to catch any real criminals.

Oh, my God.

Forget about it.

Come on. Let's go.

So I'm guessing there was an incident

involving someone's wife?

Sort of.

Small town bullshit.

Cassie Connor-- well, Cassie Summers then--

but she was already separated from her husband,

and Julie had a little fling with her.

That's all.

The entire thing was blown out of proportion

by a ton of fucking Karens.

Wait, wait, wait.

Summers?

As in Barry Summers?

Yeah, his brother Paul.

Swear to God.

This town has more fucking soap opera bullshit

going on than Ramsay Street.

Uh-huh.

Yeah.

Do you know where Julie's friends live?

No, but I don't have to.

They all hang out at the Nowhere Club.

What?

The Nowhere Club.

It's a gay bar.

Sorry, a gay bar. Here?

Well, it's more of a nightclub really.

A nightclub in this town?

Hey.

Hey.

Well, well, well.

Look what the cat dragged in.

Does that make me the cat?

Jed says that every time.

It's the one with the loud mouth.

The nerve on this one.

Everyone, this is my sister, Lola.

- I've heard so much about you. - Oh, no.

Oh, yes.

Your sister's quite the town gossip.

I'm not.

Okay, maybe I am a little bit.

This is Kit.

Her sister's name is Kat.

I shit you not.

Yeah, look, the parents had a bit too many.

Obviously.

This is Abby.

- Hi. - And the lady Sarah.

Don't listen to this silly bitch.

I am a baroness.

Really?

No, but I just like to think I'm classier than these girls.

Lola, darling, you don't recognize me, do you?

What?

Mr. Proctor?

- One in the same. - No.

Wait, what's this?

I was actually a teacher at St. Jones High back in the day

- when Lola was in town. - Wow, really?

- Yeah. - You're a teacher?

- Mm-hmm. - What'd you teach?

Business maths.

I actually used to teach the girls hockey team as well.

Danny here was quite the pro back in the day.

I was okay.

I remember you teaching--

No, don't say it. Don't you say it.

- Yeah, what? - No, seriously.

I'll take it to my grave.

Religious education.

No, you fucking didn't.

Yes, yes, I did.

You are a mean girl.

- Well, you failed me. - No, I didn't.

You did in year 10. You failed me.

I had to take that class twice.

Wait a minute.

The essay saying that the apostles--

Faked the Resurrection.

Oh, my God.

No, seriously, I was so mad at that.

That was you.

That was you, wasn't it?

Oh, my God and she was so good about it.

Like a bloody detective, she was.

Wait, weren't you the kid that found that skeleton

of the missing girl?

That was her.

That's fucking amazing.

And obviously really horrible.

That would have been, like, a really horrible experience.

Has anyone heard from Julie?

I thought she hopped off.

She's probably snuggling somewhere with Kat.

No, I mean, Kat's on night shift all weekend.

I mean, I didn't speak to her today,

but that's not actually unusual, so.

Where does she work?

Greenleaf station on Main.

Julie snuck out to see her last night, I'm sure,

but she never came home.

That's-- that's weird.

I might call her and just see where she is.

Is she usually so secretive?

Not with us.

I mean, it's not necessarily safe to be out here,

- if you know what I mean. - I see.

No, no, no. Don't bring up her ex.

Fucking Jerry.

Still has eyes on her.

He's a fucking creep.

Wait.

Jerry.

As in Brick Kelly?

Yes.

Sorry, Brick?

That's what we used to call him at school.

He was-- is a little stupid, I guess.

Come on.

He's not that stupid.

He's just kind of lazy and aggressive.

His parents own that big chicken factory up on the hill,

so he never had to try at anything.

And they ignored him, which made him act out.

How did Kat end up with him?

Kind of charmed his way in with her at the beginning.

I mean, like, the family wasn't doing great at the time.

He just came in with these rugged good looks and swept--

Whoa, stop, stop, stop.

Rugged good looks?

I hate to admit it.

He came out of the awkward teens looking pretty good.

Ew.

What other fucked guys from my childhood got a glow up?

Well, I don't know about Barry.

He stayed the same, really.

But Dave went to the city for uni

and had some kind of argument with his family,

and now he runs a history society.

Seriously.

Wow.

People change, I guess.

I guess.

Anyway, ladies, raise 'em if you got 'em.

Danny and I have to go.

I got a paper to write.

And, honey, be sure to come back anytime.

Suffice to say, I don't teach anymore.

I actually own this shithole, so you got

a home away from home here.

All right? So just remember that.

I will. Thank you.

Nice to meet you.

Do you mind trying Julie again?

Yes, I can.

If Kat doesn't answer her phone,

I'm gonna fucking kill her.

Let me guess. We're going to the Greenleaf?

Uh-huh.

You haven't changed a bit.

This town sure fucking has.

That's for sure.

For better and worse.

You know, your friends are pretty fucking cool.

Yeah.

They're Julie's friends really.

They're so nice to me.

Danny, they're nice to you because they're

your friends, too.

I guess.

No.

Kat isn't here today, and she never woke up for her shift

last night either.

So if you see her, tell her to not

bother coming back in again.

Lovely.

Is she usually so unreliable with shifts?

What are you, a cop?

No.

Well, if you're not gonna get any fuel,

wanna come inside and have a cup of cruelty-free,

fairly acquired coffee I got in there?

Listen, I don't think we're gonna waste any more

of your valuable time.

It's still the same shitty town, just

glossed over a little bit.

There's like cafes with real coffee and fancy servers

and even that queer bar.

I don't know.

It's the same, but different.

I guess you can paint over the walls of a haunted house,

but the ghosts are still there.

Hey, that's poetic.

You should give that to Farrah.

No way.

She can come up with her own material.

Anyway, Charlie, I'm really worried about this thing--

Lola, the TV, quick!

It's about Julie!

Well, authorities have said that she

was likely a victim of a robbery gone tragically wrong.

The police have refused to go on record about the state

of Kat Lancaster's body, which was discovered

by local teen Mark Palomo.

Miss Lancaster was last seen with Julie

Lane, who has been missing since the night of the attack.

I can't believe I let you talk

me into letting you tag along.

You're so friendly.

Besides, it's not safe for you out here alone.

We may not even be safe out here together.

So keep the flashlight down, okay?

Do you see anything?

Police made a fucking mess of the scene.

There's footprints everywhere.

You know they towed the car, but I don't think they even

fucking dusted for prints.

- Wait. - What-- what is it?

Are these hammer marks?

- Lola? - Nothing.

Shh, get down.

Do you think he saw us?

I fucking doubt it.

The cops in this town always have one hand on their dick

and one hand on their phone.

But we need to be careful, okay?

What did you find?

I think Julie got away.

Are you sure?

Yeah, but I don't know for how long.

Wait here.

Fuck that.

- Lola, wait for me! - Don't come here.

- Why? - Trust me.

So Julie's parents never showed them?

No, they disowned her after-- you know.

And Kat's parents are both passed on, so.

It was a car accident.

The twins were 17 when it happened.

It was terrible.

Poor Kat.

All alone in the world now.

No, she's not.

But it's sure gonna fucking feel like it.

I don't know.

Twins are different, especially when it's--

Piece of fucking shit.

I know it was you.

- Fuck are you talking about? - I'm gonna fucking kill you.

- Get the fucking away. - Hey!

I didn't fucking touch your bitch!

Any more of this, you're gonna spend the night in jail,

- Kit. - Are you fucking serious?

Back away.

At my sister's funeral.

Back away.

What are you gonna do about it?

Back away.

You haven't done anything about it.

What are you gonna do about it?

Back away.

Was that Harry Thatcher?

Yeah. Old man, Beer Ken.

Still playing this old game, eh?

Poor guy.

What, his liver finally popped.

No he was bashed to death.

They found him by an old pub.

Botched robbery, they said.

There's a lot of fucking botched robberies

going on around here.

You.

Lola or whatever.

Sergeant Kelly wants to speak to you.

Well, why don't you lead the way, Constable?

Senior Constable.

I want to come with you.

Just stay here.

Grab a seat.

I understand you came back to town a couple of days ago.

That's right.

It says here you were christened as--

I know what I was christened as.

I had it changed to Lola legally.

I see.

And you here for Christmas?

Correct.

With your family?

My sister.

You only have your sister and your father here.

Is that correct?

Obviously.

Have you seen your father?

No.

Why not?

Listen, is this any of your fucking business?

Look, Lola, here's what I know.

This town hasn't seen a crime worse

than shoplifting or a drunken fight in quite some time.

Then you arrive from the big smoke, and we have two murders.

You think I'm the killer?

I am aware of what you do.

Student of forensic science, and you're

a host of a radio show about such--

Podcast.

A podcast, then.

Details, Sergeant.

They're everything, wouldn't you agree?

When you were a little--

when you were a child, you discovered the remains

of Nell Jenkins, the missing girl

of this town's only murder.

Only murder?

Are you for real?

I beg your pardon?

Murders in Purdan.

Quite a history of them, actually.

1853, an Indigenous family is murdered, including two kids,

after the father is suspected of stealing eggs--

fucking eggs.

1923, Bethany Jans is murdered by her psychotic fucking

husband in a blind drunk rage.

He got off too.

Temporary insanity, just like he

was temporarily insane every time

he beat the living Christ out of her.

1946, war time.

Michael Arata, a Japanese abattoir worker,

he was murdered.

What was his crime?

Being Japanese?

He had blunt force trauma consistent with three

police cudgels.

But your boys did a mighty fine job of covering that one up.

Not quite good enough, though.

And I've come back to town only to find that old man Thatcher,

old man Beer Ken, the town drunk when we were growing up,

he was murdered in a botched robbery attempt.

There's a fucking ton of botched robberies going around,

wouldn't you say?

Yes, yes.

I see your point.

Do you?

Because I could go on.

I'm sure you could.

The point is, these killings took place after you

arrived back in town.

Now, I'm not saying you're the killer,

but I do think you're a troublemaker.

Where people like you go, trouble follows.

And I don't want trouble in my town.

There is a possibility that whoever the killer

is followed you here.

A famous local who solved an old case now

gets to solve another one.

You, person with a checkered history and a dubious--

what would you kids call it, a fan base?

Furthermore, I don't think it's unreasonable to assume

that the anonymous caller who found the body of Julie Lane

wasn't just some passerby taking a piss in the bush

but rather someone who was looking for her

or knew where she was.

And though I can't prove this, knowing your preoccupations,

there is a distinct possibility that you made that call.

I'm free to leave.

You can leave this office whenever you like.

We're not holding you.

That wasn't a question.

I see.

As I said, you can leave this office whenever you like.

But the town, no, not until I say so.

You're still a person of interest in this case,

after all.

Well, that's great because I fucking love it here.

Merry Christmas, Sergeant.

One more thing.

You're gonna stop interfering in our investigation

or I'm gonna have you arrested.

Well, then I'd get to investigating, then.

Yes, it's me.

Get Constable Ken to keep an eye on Lola Darling.

I want to know every move she makes.

Calling Unit 1, code 212 at the bottom

of South René Street.

Can't hear.

A code what?

Someone on night shift witnessed someone

abducting Sarah Whitmore.

No identification?

They said it was the Toymaker.

The fuck?

That's what he said.

He saw the Toymaker just carry her away.

Yeah, sure.

Ladies.

So let's get one thing straight.

You're watching the house the entire time that Sarah

- was getting abducted? - Well, actually--

Why are you here? Why aren't you looking for her?

Do you do anything?

- Hey, don't talk to me like-- - Fuck you, Jim.

Listen, I'm just doing my job.

I was told to come here and let you guys know that I was here

when everything happened.

So neither of you are under suspicion.

No shit.

But if you know anything, you need to tell me.

We were here the entire time.

What could we possibly fucking tell you?

We have the whole town waking up to the rumor that

a ghost from the fucking '30s is going around killing people,

Okay?

And the sergeant has us looking for any suspicious people

following you around.

Is that possible?

No, I don't think so.

Do you have any enemies or any stalkers?

Lola?

No, I mean, any trans woman on the internet

gets a lot of shit.

Terfs, religious idiots, incels, the occasional chaser.

What's a chaser?

Chaser-- someone chasing a chick with a dick.

They ride in on their white horse-- wine, dine.

But in the end, they're just looking to get it in.

Right, right, right, right.

Any chaser or stalkers?

No, I'd know.

Yeah, you would.

Hey, listen.

I like your podcast, by the way.

Oh, thanks.

Yeah, it's pretty good.

I'm kind of into that stuff.

It's the whole reason why I became a cop.

Look, the senior constable's the old-fashioned prick.

You know, find the most convenient suspect,

get enough dodgy evidence on him, and then put him away.

But look, if you're doing your own investigation,

I want to help, but you need to help me, too.

Why should I trust you?

Well, I was here last night, so I'm not the Toymaker.

Right.

Here's how this is gonna go.

You're gonna give me everything you have,

and then I'll decide if I can trust you.

And I come and go as I please.

Is that clear?

Fine.

And if anybody asks you, you're tired of the sight

of my handsome face.

Fine.

And if you catch me anywhere I'm not supposed to be,

no, you didn't.

Deal?

If I turn a blind eye to any unlawful activity,

even for the greater good, I could lose my job.

Fine.

Give me your phone.

This is my number.

Track me, and call me if you need anything.

Okay?

Now I gotta go.

I have an avenging ghost to catch.

Nice piggy.

I bet you know his whole life story, don't you?

No.

Well, yes.

Well, it'll have to wait.

Where are you going?

I'm not looking for an avenging

ghost, that's for sure.

Stay here.

Lock the door.

Arm yourself.

Don't answer to anyone but me, okay?

And tell the others to do the same.

I'm sure this fucking sick idiot

is out there looking for them.

I will.

And you be careful too.

Me?

Always.

She hasn't changed a fucking bit.

Dave?

Dave Roberts?

Lola, hey.

Oh, my God.

You've changed.

Yeah, I guess so.

You look good.

You too.

Danielle said that you worked here, so...

I, um, here I am.

Decent gig?

Yeah.

It's volunteer for now, but I like it.

You know, I love these old typewriters.

Well, here, this uh--

I wish this one worked.

You can't actually get the ink threads anymore.

But if it were up to me, I'd probably just ditch the laptop

and just have this in the office instead, if it worked.

I'm guessing you don't get that many people through here.

Yeah, you're the first one this year.

That sounds like heaven.

I work at this big burger joint back in the city,

and we get tons of drunk people in and out all night, so.

That'll be hell for me.

Hey, listen.

I was actually hoping to run into you.

I was hoping you could help me with a little research.

Yeah, of course.

What's happening?

Do you remem--

do you remember the old Toymaker house?

I remember dropping a nugget in my pants because

of the old Beer Ken, yeah.

Really?

Yeah, that's--

I always wanted to ask you actually.

You planned that with him, right?

No, he was in there sleeping off a hangover.

He scared the shit out of me, too.

Right.

Um, I--

Yeah?

I really regret the way that we treated you

back then.

Hey, don't worry about it.

Everyone treated me like that back then.

Small town filled with small people.

I can tell you've changed.

Yeah, I'm really sorry about--

Look.

Sorry.

What were we talking about, the--

the house, did you say?

Oh, my God. Right.

Yeah.

So I'm looking for anything about anyone that

lived there after the murders.

Right, Nancy Crew on the case then, yeah?

- You're a listener. - Of course.

You know, I never thought I would have anyone in this town

listen to my podcast.

And now I found out that I've got two fans since coming back.

I mean, there's probably more.

I know some of the high school kids do.

You're the closest thing this town's got to a celebrity,

besides the Toymaker.

Well, anyway, I don't--

I don't know if there's anything interesting.

You don't believe in ghosts, do you?

Sometimes I do.

With all that's happening now, who knows what's real anymore?

Yeah, legends have-- legends have power.

If it were up to me, I would make a museum of the Toymaker

in that house and then have the legend attract tourists.

Dave, that's really dark.

I think it would work.

You know, I asked the mayor and council.

They didn't want anything to do with it.

They said they didn't want a town

where everyone were, like, freaks and ghost hunters and--

That's a pity, because I like freaks and ghost hunters.

Yeah.

Look, if there's any records or anything,

they'd probably be in the office, so.

What's up?

Hey, pig.

Listen.

I need you to dig up something for me.

I was just at the old Historical Society.

That place is fucking dusty.

Anyway, can you look up a police record for me?

Seriously?

You know that's not as easy as it is, like, in the

movies, right?

Yeah, trust me.

I know.

Something happened in 2018 that relates to the Toymaker myth.

All I could find was newspaper clippings and articles,

but they were all redacted or snipped out.

Seriously, why doesn't this town fucking digitize anything?

I figure if there's anything that's left,

it's at the precinct, right?

Yeah, no need.

I know what it is.

It was a botched murder attempt.

A group of French backpackers were going through the town,

stayed a few days.

One of them was, uh, trans.

Go on.

Well, apparently was arrested by a few locals

at the Fox and Falcon pub.

Who?

Uh, B something.

Barry Summers.

Gerard--

Barry and Kim?

Huh?

Nothing.

Go on.

Well, apparently somebody else

tried to attack her when she went out

for a packet of cigarettes a few days later,

tried to drag her through the alley, beat her with a hammer.

But she fought him off, gave the ghost a good kick

in the olives apparently.

Nice, that's the stuff.

Yeah, well, the victim didn't see the face,

and a witness walking her dog said, and I quote--

He was wearing a creepy Santa costume

like my grandpa used to wear.

And let me guess.

Sarge said it was just some unrelated out-of-towner, right?

Yep.

Fucking idiot.

At least he couldn't put that one down to a botched

robbery, right?

Listen, you've kept up your side of the bargain.

Constable?

Kent?

Constable Kent, are you there?

Yeah, I'm here.

Are you anywhere near that old Toymaker's house?

Yeah. Why?

I wanted you to see it first.

It's against every fucking regulation,

but the others would just fuck it up before the state

forensic team gets here.

The fuck did he do?

Blood Eagle.

What?

Blood Eagle.

It's a Viking execution.

More like a torture really.

Looks like a fucking Christmas angel.

That would be consistent to theme.

No note.

No toy, nothing.

The fucker wasn't done here.

I should dust for prints.

Don't fucking do that.

Then they'll know you were here.

Plus, anyone that's this meticulous

isn't exactly gonna leave prints.

Do you see those boot marks?

Yeah.

They're work boots.

I used to have the same ones when I was

19, working at the abattoir.

Still kept standard.

- Still got 'em? - No.

And fuck you.

Hey, who else used to work with you there?

Lots of people.

It was the town business once.

Barry Summers?

Yeah.

Why?

You think he's a suspect?

I wouldn't say so.

Barry's not exactly the creative type.

Maybe not.

But he sure loved killing.

He was on the death squad, as we call them.

- What? - The death squad.

They make the livestock, the dead stock.

The others always said that he used

to have this creepy grin every time he would bolt a cow.

Even gangbang.

Yeah, why does that not surprise me?

- See there on the forearm? - Uh-huh.

From the look of the bruising,

I'd say she was dead before he tied her up, thankfully.

Fuck, I can't--

how the fuck is he that strong to do all of this?

Sarah wasn't exactly huge.

He dropped her a few times trying to get this right, too.

So we're not exactly looking for Hercules then.

Did you call this in?

No.

I'm supposed to be watching you.

With that door open, the whole town's

gonna be here from the smell.

So we need to get the fuck out of here now.

Go.

Lola's Corpse Collection Service,

you rack 'em, we pack 'em.

Lola, what the fuck is going on down there?

Listen, Charlie, I was gonna call you today,

but there was no time.

Brutal murders in the town of Purdan.

How the fuck did you think I was not going to find out?

I'm surprised it took you this long, to be honest.

News broke minutes ago.

I found out hours ago.

Seriously? How?

Probably because no one gives a shit what happens out there.

But I only found out because I know a guy that keeps track

of rural broadcasters chasing corruption claims,

and he saw the report of a first killing

on the Purdan News.

He contacted the local station, but the police

told them not to report on anything too scary

so they don't cause a panic.

But some AV nerd told him that they

knew the kids that found the first body,

and they'd gone to the media about it.

And now there's a hundred TV news vans on their way

right now, and so am I.

No fucking way, Charlie.

Do not bring your ass here.

Lola, I know you've got your Nancy Drew ass in the middle

of whatever the fuck is happening down there,

and there's nothing that you can say that's gonna

stop me from coming.

Charlie, it's not worth it for a scoop.

This isn't about some story.

This is about me white knighting

your ass out of that horror movie you call a town.

Fine.

Send me your sister's address.

And for God's sake, please keep your head

down and stop snooping.

Charlie, I need you to do something for me.

Lola, stop it.

It's not like that.

Listen, I could be in danger either way.

I need you to contact your friend

and ask them if they can find out

anything about Sergeant Kelly.

All right?

Okay, fine.

Shit.

But you have to promise me to text me every 10 seconds

so I know where you are.

I will.

Sergeant Kelly, have you got that?

Sergeant Kelly, yeah, I'll remember.

I'll see you in a few hours.

I love you, Charlie.

I love you more, and better.

I was about to call you.

The state cops are coming in.

All hell is breaking loose.

Listen, I know.

Was one of Kat's ears missing from her body

when you found it?

No, none of them were.

Why?

Oh, my God.

What is it?

You need to find Kit now.

Kat's sister? What happened?

There's a severed ear on my sister's front porch.

That's what's happened. And now Kit is missing.

The sister?

Shit.

Where are you?

I'm near the bar, The Nowhere Club.

What, why?

I was actually watching your sister's house, like I'm

supposed to be doing for once.

But I saw her leave, so I followed her.

You didn't see anyone deliver anything to the house?

No, but I wasn't there the whole day, as you know.

Right.

The other pigs found Sarah?

Both Banks and Sarge are there with the ambos.

You know, it's fucking weird.

What is?

I was listening on the radio when the Senior

Constable found the body.

He immediately called dispatch and told

them to call it in to state, as we are under obligation to do.

But when Sarge found out that he'd called the state police,

he started going on about going over his head as if he were--

Changing the line of argument.

Yeah, exactly.

The Sergeant has been burying this from the beginning.

The first two deaths, that bullshit

about a botched robbery, he's been

trying to make sure the state police didn't find out,

and the media.

- But why? - I don't know.

Maybe he didn't want the town to be overrun

by reporters and detectives.

There's been enough chaos here in the recent years.

But at the cost of people's lives?

He doesn't think of these victims as people.

Nobody in this town does.

Hmm.

Then maybe you're right.

Wait.

What is it?

What's going on?

Someone's-- I'll call you back.

Kent?

Fuck.

Oi.

Oh, for fuck's sake, not now.

Well, look at this, mate.

Faggot's back in town, and he's telling the fucking pigs

that I killed Julie.

Babe, I never said that.

Don't fucking lie to me.

Yeah, don't fucking lie to us.

Barry, Brick, I haven't told anyone that you killed anyone

because I think you're both too fucking

stupid to pull off something as meticulous

as this, especially you.

Because you wouldn't have two brain

cells to string together to switch on a fucking

Christmas ornament.

So why don't you get the fuck out of my way

before anyone else gets murdered by a real psychopath?

Not two fucking cowards who could

only murder someone if they were old

and fucking defenseless.

- Let's go. - Lola?

Let's go.

Go.

- Lola, were they-- - No.

Oh, my God.

Why the fuck aren't you at Danielle's house?

Bitch, you knew I was gonna come looking for you.

We need to get to The Nowhere Club now.

The what?

The Nowhere Club.

What did your friend find?

A fair bit.

He dug up some stuff on your Sergeant Kelly.

He's brothers with the mayor, and both are in some redneck

oligarch farming family with ties

to conservative groups, oil companies, you name it.

During the financial crisis, they bought

up all the farmland in Purdan.

They went and turned it into some rich arsehole golf resort.

They even bought out the old meat slaughter place.

The abattoir?

Yeah, right.

Look at those fuckers are going to buy a million cow ghosts.

They'd probably do anything to protect that kind of wealth,

including covering up a murder.

No, a murderer.

A murderer in the family could bring

the whole fucking thing down.

This is insane.

No, someone in their family is insane,

and the cops are covering it up.

Did he say who else in town was connected to the Kellys?

Uh, a few other families, actually, by marriage.

The Banks family, the Kents, and Robert's family.

So everyone else in town.

Wait.

Unless it's--

Shit, you just had one of your Sherlock Holmes

brainstorms, didn't you?

Fuck, yeah, I did.

Lola, where are you going now?

Just inside the bar there, and I need you to go

to the Historical Society.

It's not far.

I just need you to go there and break in for me.

Oh, so I need to break in and check on something for you?

Bitch, do you know who you're fucking talking to?

You know who you're dating, right?

I bet you still have that lock pick that I bought

you for your birthday, right?

Yeah, all right.

And be on the lookout, okay?

This is the kind of sick fuck to lay booby traps.

Booby traps.

Charlie, grow the fuck up.

No, I won't.

Jack in the box?

Hello?

Hello?

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

Hold on, hold on.

I've got you.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

Shit.

I'm-- I'm with Lola.

I'm with Lola. I'm with Lola.

You're good. You're safe.

You're safe.

You're okay.

Okay, let's get you out of here.

What the fuck?

Lola.

Lola.

Lola!

I showed you my little girl, Lola.

You did it all.

So I had to come.

I had to.

I had to kill to bring you here.

Give yourself to me.

And remember all the shit.

Hm?

Close your eyes.

Give yourself to me!

So what?

Now you're the phantom of the fucking opera?

Spring-Heeled Jack?

Spring-Heeled Jack.

I always appreciate a history buff among us.

Jack in the box?

Do you have any enemies, any stalkers?

You're the closest thing this town's got to a celebrity.

Podcast evidence.

Not very inventive, Dave.

Dave is dead.

Okay?

You wish.

Dave is dead!

Okay?

The Toymaker didn't get you, Dave.

They did.

Barry, Jim, the whole fucking family.

I know what it feels like when the people

who are supposed to love you, reject you for who you are,

- Dave. - Shut up!

Shut up!

So when Barry killed old man Beer Ken,

you knew you could get away with it, too.

The botts? boots?

I used to have the same ones when I was

19, working at the abattoir.

Nice touch.

Hoping that they'd pin that on Barry?

Not good enough, Dave.

I found your porn collection, Dave.

If it were up to me, I would make a museum of the Toymaker

in the house, have the legend attract tourists.

That's really dark.

Any chaser or stalkers?

In the end, they're just looking to get it in.

It must have really pissed you off when that trans

backpacker rejected you.

But we're not all that easy, are we, Dave?

That must have made you so fucking mad, mad enough

for murder.

My life is very bad too, Dave.

Every day, every night.

You're hurting innocent people.

Enough!

All these people.

Hey, look at me.

Hm?

I-- I hate you.

No, Dave.

You fucking love me.

You fucking faggot.

Get off of her!

My parents made me learn Muay Thai,

but I never thought I'd need it.

We're a great team.

You know martial arts, and I used to teach woodshop.

No, don't hurt him.

We could have been friends, Dave.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Did he just shit on my floor?

Lola?

Lola?

Lola. Are you okay?

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

Hey, it's just-- it's just a scratch.

- Did you find Kit? - Yeah, I found her.

I took her straight to the hospital.

She's hurt and she's in shock, but she's okay.

The hell happened to you?

You know what happened here.

Your nephew, the monster of this town

made, the monster your family made.

You're not going anywhere.

Fuck you, porky.

And one more thing, evidence that Barry

killed old man Beer Ken is already

in the hands of a journalist.

So I suggest you start making some arrests

before the state police do.

You're gonna pay to clean up this mess.

You got that?

Then we were stuck in town for another week or so,

getting questioned by the state police.

It felt like forever.

It must have been hell.

To be honest, it really just flew by.

There was a lot to go over.

Last I heard, the perp was out of hospital

and in some sort of maximum security institution.

Well, here's to him never getting out.

Hey, hey. What's wrong?

It's me. It's me.

Hold my hand.

Squeeze my hand.

It was a dream.

Yeah.

Anyway, with Barry in jail for killing old man Beer Ken,

it brought down this web of corrupt families one by one,

totally ruined any idea that they had

of turning the whole thing into a resort.

I think another company has bought it all up now, though.

Anyway, listeners, if you want the full story,

"The Toymaker Murders" by Farrah Stone,

it's her first official publication through

our new label, Nancy Crew Publishing,

which is really exciting.

And it's going to be out soon.

So we'll let you know if she's doing a signing

and where and when, because it is a fucking crazy read.

Are you the real Lola?

Uh-huh.

Three of my friends have gone missing,

and I think someone's following me.

No one's doing anything about it.

Hey, it's all right. Come with us.

Let's see what we can do.

Tell me all about it, okay?

Here we go.

♪ Toyland, Toyland

♪ Little girl and boy land ♪

♪ While you dwell within it

♪ You are ever happy there ♪

♪ Childhood's joy land ♪

♪ Mystic, merry Toyland

♪ Once you pass its borders ♪

♪ You can never return again

♪ Childhood's joy land

♪ Mystic, merry Toyland ♪

♪ Once you pass its borders

♪ You can never return again

♪ Once you pass its borders ♪

♪ You can never return again ♪