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Episode Notes
A new house brings a new lease on life until mysterious photographs begin showing up on the new owner's cell phone... but that isn't the only thing happening at night while she sleeps!
Photosensitive by Joe Solmo
http://pennedinblood.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcription:
Lacey set the cardboard box down at the door’s threshold and took a minute. This was the last box, and she was finally moved in to her new home. It really was a long time coming, she had saved up for years to afford a house of her own. No more apartments with noisy neighbors, she was on her own out here in the country. 
It really was a steal; nowhere could she find a three-bedroom house for this cheap. She had been looking for a while. The best part would be the commute. She was now only five miles from work, as manager of the tabletop game store, Dragon’s Den. She had been there since high school, working her way up to her position. 
“Get a move on, bitch,” came a voice from behind Lacey as her sister Simone, bumped into her. “Are you trying out your future as a door?”
“I’m just taking in the moment. This is kind of a big deal,” Lacey said and moved into the house. Her sister was always the impatient one, but as far as older sisters go, she wasn’t half bad. There really wasn’t much of a rivalry growing up together. When Simone and her friends got into witchcraft, they would let her sit in the corner and watch them. She had no idea what they were doing back then, the age difference was too much. An eight-year-old can barely understand what the high school seniors were doing, but it seemed exciting to Lacey.
They entered the kitchen and Lacey put the kettle on the stove, the cold late October morning chilled the bones. The furnace guy was coming later today to clean it and make sure it was good, and she didn’t want to turn it on until he said it was okay.
“So which bedroom will be mine when I leave Dan?” Simone asked, pushing her auburn hair out of her face.
“You can have the basement. Seems more your style,” Lacey joked.” 
“You have all the luck, little sis. You know that right. Single, owning your own house. I envy you.”
“Ha, I will be lucky if I can afford groceries after the mortgage. You don’t seem to have a problem with that though,” Lacey joked poking her sister in her belly.
“I miss this. Living in North Carolina kinda sucks, to be honest,” Simone finished. “Well at least I got three more days to hang here with you in New York. I fly back on November first.”
“Don’t blame me, you’re the idiot that decided to chase your dreams,” Lacey said as the tea kettle began to whistle.
They spent the rest of the day putting Lacey’s belongings away and making the house feel more like a home. She was getting worried about the furnace, the guy they sent over had been down there a long time. He had startled her when he showed up, one minute she was in the kitchen, putting away the dishes that didn’t get broke from Simone’s lousy packing, the next he was standing in the doorway. Neither sister heard him enter the house. When she saw him there, leaning against the kitchen doorway, it made her jump. 
She hadn’t heard a noise from the basement in a while and went downstairs to check on him since Simone decided to take a nap on the couch. She always could fall asleep anywhere. It was like turning a switch off. Lacey used to tease her and call her a robot.
She descended the wooden basement stairs slowly. She always hated basements. She didn’t like the dark open space. She knew the fear was irrational. In her imagination, once a space was empty and dark, that’s when spooky things could fill the space.  She decided that she would just leave the basement lights on from now on. That would give her peace of mind, at least.
“Almost done. The furnace looks good. Even for sitting as long as it did. I put a heavy-duty air filter in there, because of the dirt,” the furnace guy said pointing next to the loose dirt near the washer and dryer. His name tag on his blue work shirt said Brad.
“Thank you. I wonder why they never finished the basement,” she replied. Brad kind of gave her a weird look, like the answer should be obvious.
“It’s going to be ninety dollars for the service. I just need to pack up my tools. Cash or check works, I don’t have a way to take credit card,” he said as the furnace kicked on for the first time since she moved in. She couldn’t wait for the warmth. She shivered from the cold.
She headed upstairs to get the man the money. She had enough cash to cover it. Simone was snoring, so Lacey took a few seconds to record it on her cell phone to blackmail her later, like sisters would do. She giggled with glee at the thought.
A moment later Brad entered the kitchen where she was taking the cash from her purse. She handed over the cash to him. She noticed he wore a gold ring. Too bad he was taken. He was a little older, but was good looking.
“Thanks. I ran out of receipts. I will have the office send one over in the mail, if that is okay with you,” Brad asked her with a smile.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks for coming on short notice. The office said they weren’t sure if they could send someone that quick. I definitely will be calling you guys for all my furnace stuff. Let me walk you out,” Lacey said.
“Sure thing,” Brad said and turned towards the front of the house, his tool belt hit Simone’s tea cup, which fell to the floor and shattered. “Oh damn. I am so sorry. I can be a klutz sometimes,” he said apologetically. “Let me pick this up.”
“No, it’s ok. I will get it,” Lacey said grabbing some paper towels for the spilled tea. She got down on her knees and began to clean it up.
“Ok then, I will just show myself out,” Brad said and left the kitchen.
Simone entered the kitchen a second later. “Hey. What happened?” she asked.
“You left your mug on the edge of the table and Brad knocked it over on his way out,” Lacey said picking up the broken pieces in her hand.
“Who is Brad? Do you have a secret boyfriend you haven’t told me about?” Simone joked and helped her pick up the pieces of the mug.
“You must have seen him. He was just here. He fixed the furnace,” Lacey explained.
“I just woke up. Must have just missed him,” Simone said. “Was he cute?”
“He had his charm. Now that we have heat, let’s get a pizza and watch some cheesy horror movies. I think I am done for today,” Lacey said.
“Fine with me!”
Later that night, Lacey washed up for bed. It was fun having her sister around. After living alone for so long, it was good to have someone to talk to. She hadn’t realized how lonely she actually was. Simone had passed out halfway through Chopping Mall. Lacey left her on the couch, even though they had set up one of the spare rooms for her. 
She crawled into bed and checked her phone. No new messages. She really was lonely. She decided she would try to be a little more outgoing and make an effort to meet someone. It didn’t have to be romantic, just someone to watch movies with or something. She placed her phone on the night stand and closed her eyes.
The next morning Lacey woke with a start. She had had a nightmare. She couldn’t remember it, just the uneasy feeling it gave her. A sleezy, greasy feeling. She got out of bed and looked for her phone. She shook out the blankets and it fell to the floor. She looked at the nightstand for a moment and then shrugged. She had been pretty tired last night. She heard Simone downstairs in the kitchen and smelled bacon cooking. Her stomach rumbled in agreement with the delicious odor.
She went downstairs and sat at the table. The kettle was already on. She checked her messages again. Still nothing. Simone looked at her with a cocked head.
“Someone special getting ahold of you?” she asked.
“No. No messages,” she said with a sigh and put her phone on the table.
“I’m sorry Brad hasn’t sexted you,” Simone said and set a plate of food down in front of her little sister. It reminded her of when they both lived at home and she had to babysit. “Wait until I go back to North Carolina before having him spend the night. I need my beauty sleep and I don’t need you two keeping me up all night!” Simone joked.
“Me keeping you up? That’s rich. Do you know how loud you snore?” Lacey said and reached for her phone.
“I certainly do not snore!” Simone said loudly. “Dan would have told me when we moved in together.”
“I have proof!” Lacey said and opened the photos on her phone. Her face went pale and she dropped her phone onto her plate of eggs and bacon.
“Lacey? What is it?” Simone said.
“That wasn’t very funny!” Lacey said cleaning off her phone. Simone gave her a confused look.
“Taking those pictures last night,” Lacey finished.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, let me see,” Simone said and grabbed her phone from her. There were half a dozen picture of Lacey sleeping in the same pajamas she was wearing now. Except the last one. The last one Lacey’s top was pulled up exposing her breasts.
“These are from last night?” Simone asked.
“Yeah, that’s the new room around me. When did you take them?” Lacey asked. She looked at her plate, but she had lost her appetite.
“I swear it wasn’t me, the last thing I remember is falling asleep during the movie and waking up like a half hour before you. I didn’t do this, I swear!” Simone said.
“You better not be fucking with me,” Lacey said and got up. They both went to the bedroom and looked everything over. The windows were still locked. Lacey explained to her sister how she thought she left her phone on the nightstand and when she woke it was on the bed. Both of them agreed that it was really creepy. They got dressed and went to the hardware store t

Episode Notes
A womanizer tries to go for a sleazy hat trick on Halloween by seducing three beautiful women when things don't get exactly as planned...
Halloween Heist by Rob Fields
Grab our new book! http://unclehenny.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
I don’t mind telling you how great it is to wake up to a nice warm female body most every morning, especially during the fall and winter months. Take this morning for example. I’m kind of in between sleep and being awake, but I can feel the soft, warm, naked body I’m spooned up with. Then I hear her moaning softly and feel her move to lay on her back. Okay, now I’m fully awake!
I start feeling her up and then we kiss. Soon we’re having some really awesome morning sex. I usually only do morning sex when the night before was just as incredible. We end up going a couple of rounds before we finally decide we’re satisfied. Now I remember the girl I brought to my loft. 
Her name is Kitty. Oh, yeah! I remember the names of all the girls I’ve ever slept with, and for good reason. I’ll get to that. I met Kitty at Shaker’s, a bar that Strickfield University students tend to hang out at. I usually frequent a few of the local bars, and even a few outside Strickfield, to find that perfect girl – or the occasional woman – to take to bed, at least for a night. Kitty really stood out for me last night. I mean, this girl is perfectly stacked: great body, great face, awesome rack, hot ass . . . Normally, I only have to turn on the charm to get a girl to come to bed with me. But once in a while, the girls just come right to you. That was Kitty. 
I bought Kitty a few drinks and just talked with her about whatever she wanted to talk about. See, that’s one of the ways you’re guaranteed to get girls into your bed. They need to know you’re genuinely interested in them. They just want to know you care. And, of course, you need to make sure you keep your body finely toned, which means watching your diet and making sure you work out most every day. 
Getting back to Kitty, the girl was practically begging me to take her to bed. She wore a very form-fitting dress that basically told me she wasn’t wearing underwear. I was right when I got her back to the loft and got her dress off. Kitty and I pounded each other many times last night. We just couldn’t get enough! 
Normally, after I’ve had a girl for a night, we part ways. Sometimes I’ll get a girl that wants more than just one night. Sometimes I make an exception or two, depending on the girl and how good the sex really was. But most of the time, I just tell them I’ll call them, just to get them the hell out of my loft and out my life once and for all. 
But I’ll let you in on a little secret. These girls aren’t altogether out of my life. No, they end up being part of my collection. See, I’ve got cameras set up all over the loft that record and store the content onto servers and hard drives that are rigged up. When it’s time, I’ll go and edit the footage and make some quality homemade adult movies that you just can’t find anywhere else. Oh, I can only imagine what kind of quality porno I’ll make from Kitty’s footage. 
While I’m thinking about it, getting girls into my bed has been so much better for me since my roommate, Jacob Lavigne, and his stupid girlfriend, Genevieve Van Sant, both ended up getting murdered in this loft months ago. Yeah, it freaked me the fuck out. I was staying at Rayleen Jones’s dorm that night. One, I forgot a term paper that was there. Two, I’d already had sex with Rayleen before I left. As I was about to come into the loft, she called me back and offered to let me spend the night. Guess we both wanted more of each other, and I needed that term paper. So there you go. The funny thing was . . . I came back here the next day and found this message written in blood that told me I was glad I didn’t actually come in. 
Knowing I had the loft all to myself, I quickly got that blood off the walls and got the room repainted. Since Jacob wasn’t there anymore, that meant I could keep whatever he had. I mean, nobody in his family ever came to claim anything. That included all the cameras he’d set up. See, Jacob and Genevieve were making homemade porn together. Yeah, she knew about it, because she knowingly looked at the cameras. As for me, I managed to cleverly hide the cameras well enough after I took over the loft. Not a single girl I brought here ever discovered them. 
But you know what the beauty of being able to make homemade porn is? There are actually a few websites . . . I won’t say which ones . . . that’ll pay some damn good money for these movies. Being a Mirren, I’ve got more money than I’ll ever know what to do with, but enough’s never enough, right? Every now and then, I’ll just sell a video to one of those sites and make some damn good money. As for the girl in the video, who really cares? She ought to be happy that she’s getting a lot of attention. Talk about getting to the height of your popularity. And if one of them ends up catching a lot of shit for it, oh well . . .
Come to think of it, Kitty has about the same build as a girl I remember sleeping with that I sold a video of – Katherine Pierce. Not only did Katherine get expelled by the dean of Strickfield University himself, her parents disowned her. Now, I do know the thing about the dean is true, but the thing with her parents might be just rumors. Still, not a single girl ever came back to find me. Why would they? They can’t prove that I was in the video. I’m very careful to keep my face out of them. All they see is my body, all of her face and body, and all the compromising positions that we did. What are these girls going to do? Take me to court and sue me? Let them try!
What people fail to understand is that I’m Calvin Mirren! That’s right, I belong to the rich and powerful Mirren family. We’ve got so much money that we actually own a whole section of Strickfield Commons, a housing community made up of mostly rich people on the east side of Strickfield. We even have our own section walled off to separate ourselves from everybody else. It’s been said that we’re the top one percent of the top one percent! That’s the kind of money I’m talking about. Just being a Mirren means that I can get away with . . . pretty much whatever I want. 
But okay, I’m getting too much into myself here, which isn’t really a bad thing. Kitty and I finish our morning sex. I roll off her and onto my back. Then Kitty turns over and gets on top of me. 
“Happy Halloween!” she cheers. Then she kisses me. 
I go ahead and kiss her some more. No! I can’t let this girl become a part of my life. But she’s so fucking hot! Okay, maybe I can keep her around for a little while longer. I have made a few exceptions like this in the past. 
“You’re in a pretty good mood today,” I say. 
She pecks my lips. “Well, we just had fucking incredible sex. And . . . it’s Halloween! I love Halloween! That means trick-or-treating and all kinds of other fun things – like parties. Oooh! And costumes!”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re telling me you go trick-or-treating?”
She groans. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me, Calvin. Strickfield has their yearly tradition of trick-or-treating. It’s not just for kids here. Anybody can do it. No questions asked and no judgments.”
She’s telling the truth. Many years ago, Strickfield got to be this big Halloween town, in addition to being a big college town. Normally, in most other parts of the country, trick-or-treating is basically limited to just kids. But in Strickfield, it doesn’t matter how old you are. Anybody’s welcome to do it. People of all ages drive in from other towns just to trick-or-treat here. Just don’t ever think about coming to our part of town to do it. The gates of our part of Strickfield Commons are never open unless we want them open. 
“Okay, you’re going trick-or-treating,” I reply. 
“Well, not just me,” Kitty reveals. “I’ve got my two roommates coming, too – Jamie and Leena. We’re going to go trick-or-treating and then to a Halloween party afterwards.”
“Sounds like fun,” I say, just to make conversation. 
Then Kitty’s face brightens up. “Ohmygod, you should totally come with us tonight! Come on, it’ll be fun!”
I raise my hand a little and shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not much into Halloween.”
Kitty moves and sits on me. I have to admit, I love Kitty’s naked body from this angle. Then she caresses her tits a little. “I know my girls would just love to meet you. They’re going to ask why I never came home last night. Come on, baby. They’re both hot – like me. It’ll be so much fun.”
“Fine . . .” Kitty’s just guaranteed another night with me tonight. To be honest, I won’t mind taking this fully stacked babe to bed again. 
Kitty squeals with delight and finally gets off me. I actually let her take a shower here, which I usually never let girls I don’t want to see again do. I get in the shower with her, and we make out some more. When we finish, we both get dressed. Then we make arrangements on where to meet. Then we go our separate ways for the time being. 
That night, I’m waiting for Kitty at Wilder Hall. I’m wearing my costume, which is a pirate. I just finish with an energy drink and toss the can away when I see Kitty coming in through the doors on the other side. She has two other girls with her. I can already tell this is going to be a great night! Kitty points to me and then the three of them come to me. 
“Glad you decided to come!” Kitty says excitedly. Of course she would be dressed up as a sexy kitty cat: a full form-fitting bodysuit that tells me she’s still not wearing und

Episode Notes
Two friends explore an urban legend by taking a wrong turn on a bike path, but what they find may lead to no escape!
Boxed In by Morgan Moore
Get the new Young Adult Horror Book! http://unclehenny.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
It was an average day in the small town of Xenia. The weather was warm and humid. In the sky the sun was just beginning to set, bathing the small town in a mix of blue, orange and pink light.
Two boys, both in their mid teens, walked down one of the bike paths, holding gas station slushies. They walked and sipped until they reached the town bike hub and moved over to a shaded area for a bit of rest.
“Jeez it’s hot today.” 
“No kidding. I feel sticky and grimy too. Definitely going to need to wash up when I get home.” 
“Well then we should get going.” 
They started down the paved path, but they soon stopped when confronted by a diverging pathway. The path wasn’t paved like the rest of the trail they were on, rather this part of it led off into trees and bushes. It almost looked like a jungle to the boys. 
“What is this Kyle?”
“Oh… it’s just this path… it always creeps me out… ” Kyle replied, his voice soft but his words were heavy and hung in the air between the two.
Kyle peered down the path, but to Daniel it looked like any other part of the land surrounding the city… dirty and overgrown with wildlife, the ground covered with dead leaves and trash. Normal everyday Xenia.
“What about this is creepy?” Daniel asked.
Kyle turned his head away from the pathway to look at his friend. “You’ve never heard about Patty Short Daniel?” Kyle asked.“Who?” Daniel responded.
Kyle chuckled a little bit. “Yeah, I guess that would make sense. How could you have heard of it with you having only lived here for a few months now.”
He was right. Daniel had moved to Xenia in March and while his dad was quick to get comfortable in the town due to his job, he and his mother had mostly just been at home when not running errands. 
Daniel had only met Kyle since they lived on the same street, his parents electing not to have him start in a local school since the school year was almost over. As such, Daniel hadn’t really interacted with anybody else his own age.
Kyle took a loud sip from his slushie.
“Well, it’s hard to say how much of it is true, I only heard it from my friend’s older brother, but it is something really messed up.”
“Then why bring it up?” Daniel questioned before taking a sip from his own cup.
“‘Because you asked about why that path freaked me out. Aren’t you a little curious? Or are you just scared?” Kyle replied, his tone still the same soft and heavy mix, but it gained a bit of its normalcy when he questioned the bravery of his friend.
“Well if you stopped to tell me then you might as well finish the story. Besides, I’m not scared… ” Daniel told Kyle.
“Alright… alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Kyle responded before taking another sip. The two boys looked at each other and then towards the path.
“There was this girl named Patty Short. My friend’s brother and her went to the same school together when they were about our age. Anyways I guess she started to uh, develop early, if you know what I mean, and she started getting attention from a lot of people.
Well I guess she started to lean into it and became popular… like mega popular with everybody; boys especially. So she starts to date a lot of boys and I don’t mean seriously date, just go out with them and mess around. Time goes on, and she eventually found somebody she liked. Liked liked.
Things got intense, and while she seemed to be really happy, there were some who were totally jealous. Well one boy in particular really didn’t take kindly to the idea that this girl he was head over heels for was now unavailable, and this pissed him off royally… and he began stalking her… staying in the distance and trying not to be seen by her everywhere she went. Really freaky stuff.
Just before school let out for the year, Patty vanishes. Some people say they saw her around town, some say they saw her leave town one night on the bike path, but nobody knows for certain… she just disappeared. 
Now my friend’s brother said he knew the truth… that the boy who would follow her saw her walking one night down here and somehow got her to go down that path. They walked on and come to an abandoned house, and Patty got talked into going inside. 
Things didn’t go as planned, and when Patty tried to get away from the psycho he knocked her out, stuffed her in a rain water barrel, and buried her in the backyard… but she wasn’t dead! Well, he kept her alive down there with just the tiniest hole for air and whatever food and water he brought her. She was now completely his.”
Kyle finished and took another loud sip. 
Daniel however stood in silence… stunned, horrified silence. He had gone pale, and goosebumps popped-out all over his arms and legs…and his expression… pure terror.
“You… you can’t be serious.” Daniel finally spoke out.
“I am. I mean as serious as I can be… it’s an urban legend after-all… or some crap like that.” Kyle replied nonchalantly.
There was a silence between the two, amplifying the growing cricket song as the sun sunk low in the sky.
“So… what happened?” Daniel asked. “What do you mean?” 
“Like, did they find her?” 
“Oh… I mean obviously they tried to find her… but some people say she was dead… or that her family had found her and kept it secret… moved away. Most believe she may still be alive in that barrel, waiting for her boyfriend to find her.” Kyle explained.
“What about the boy… did they catch him?” Daniel questioned.
“Nope. Everybody knew it was him, but I guess the cops could never pin it on him.”
Silence once more fell between the two boys. 
Daniel occasionally took small sips from his drink, his stomach feeling uneasy due to Kyle’s story. It couldn’t be true… could it? The story he had just heard was too horrific… yeah bad things happened to kids, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around this one.
“Wanna go down there?” Kyle asked suddenly. “What?” Daniel responded, startled.
“You want to go down the path… see for ourselves if the story is true or not?”
 Daniel looked on in disbelief.
“But I thought you were creeped out by it… why do you want to go?” 
Kyle chuckled a little bit.
“Yeah, but you know what they say… you gotta face your fears! Are you too scared to go down there?” He asked Daniel teasingly.
Daniel gave his friend a scowl and started down the path without him. Kyle chuckled again and started down the path as well.
The duo walked through the trees and overgrowth for a while, batting away at mosquitoes. By this point the light was scarce, but there was enough to see where they were going. 
Minutes passed and Daniel was beginning to think the story was simply made up, and this uneventful walk through the overgrown weeds of Xenia wasn’t helping.
But after one final stretch of bushes, the boys found themselves standing before a dilapidated house surrounded by a half-standing fence and piles of trash… but most menacing of all were the blue plastic rain water barrels that stood at various locations in the yard.
Daniel couldn’t believe his eyes... everything Kyle described in the story was here and then some. 
“Jesus…” He muttered, the slushie in his hand dropping to the ground.
“It’s true. Everything is true.” Kyle said flatly.
The two boys looked at each other, and in a move spurred by adrenaline and youthful stupidity, began wandering the property.
They poked their heads into some of the barrels only to find them filled with brackish water. They looked at the house in unison.
“What do you think… wanna go check it out?” Kyle asked his friend.
Daniel looked at his friend and then again at the building. He couldn’t believe that Kyle wanted to go in… this was the guy who had said he was afraid of the path to begin with. 
“Well?” Kyle asked again.
Daniel found himself unable to speak. On the one hand he was scared utterly shitless and wanted nothing to do with this horror show… but, and he hated to admit this, he was curious. He had already gone this far, why not go just a little bit more?
His eyes fell on the garage attached to the house.
“The garage. I say let’s check out the garage.” Daniel responded sternly. 
“Alright, it’s your call… lead the way.” Kyle replied.
Daniel gulped… of course Kyle would make him go first. He had been egging him on for the majority of the day. As much as he wanted to leave, he had told himself he simply had to close this chapter, he had to have the knowledge if the story was true.
The young man began to move towards the garage slowly, his heart pounding faster and faster with each step. 
When he reached the garage, Daniel found himself unable to reach out and open the door. His fear paralyzed him, as his heart began to feel like it was going to burst out of his body. Standing there he could feel every inch of his body tensing up and sweating bullets. 
He forced himself to throw an arm forward and open the door with a fury.
Daniel walked inside and looked around. The floor was unpaved, only dirt and some weeds covered the surface. 
Besides some broken shelves and trash, nothing else was present… no girls in barrels or maniac kids… just good ol’ neglect. Daniel sighed and scolded himself for being such a scaredy-cat.
He turned around to leave, and stopped in his tracks. In a corner by the door was a chunk of earth that had been dug up. Thunderous heart pounding became the soundtrack to Daniel’s own private horror film… one he was living in!
His brain told him to run away, but his body didn’t listen… and unbelievably moved towards the hole

Episode Notes
A young boy encounters the famed "Lady of the Lake" in the most unusual of places. She begins granted his wishes but they come at a very high price!
The Lady in the Germ Box by Killian Crane
Buy the book Campfire Stories to Tell in the Dark
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
It’s too hot, Greg thought. He and the other poor kids sat in Squirrel Lodge, packed like rats in foldout chairs. Some of the “rats” laughed, some of them cried. B.O. fumes and chocolate breath stagnated in the heat. Greg doubted he could take this for two weeks.
The head camp counselor, Marty Hartman, took to the stage. His mustache wriggled as he checked something off of his clipboard. “Alright, kids,” he exclaimed, “let’s play the quiet game as I give the Camp Thohmatatchi Safety Talk!”
It was all Greg’s parent’s fault. His father, a pro golfer, won a big tournament and used the money to get his helicopter license. His parents went on an awesome helicopter trip around Europe, while he was forced to learn the importance of rules or whatever for two weeks. He was ready to go home.
Greg didn’t listen as Marty droned on about emergency exits and procedures. He was caught in a game of cat and mouse, digitally.
His fingers danced over the portable game system he held, making his avatar dash across a bridge. A giant fish chased him, mouth gaping.
If he could just get the star over the water, he wouldn’t have to worry about that stupid fish at all, he could sprint all the way to the end. It came down to one, single jump…
Someone bumped him hard on the shoulder, and his avatar miss-stepped. He fell into the water, paddling like mad, but in the end he was pulled down to a watery grave.
“Ugh… ” he grunted as the infamous game over music played, “ …what the heck?”
He turned to see Russel smiling nefariously down at him. Russel had a fire red mullet and was twice the size of any kid in the room. “Pay attention to the assembly,” the fat-head said, sitting back and enjoying himself.
When Greg’s parents had dropped him off, they’d made a fatal error… they’d arrived in the family’s luxury SUV. As Greg brought his things to the cabin, a large chalky hand stopped him.
It was said fat-head. “Hey, was that your ride?”
“One of them… ” Greg corrected, “… we have five.”
The fat-head smiled, his pasty face somehow darkening. “Oh, we’re gonna have some fun, you and I.”
Marty raised a finger. “Before we continue, I will stress to you children, absolutely no pranks and or bullying will be tolerated here at Camp Thohmatatchi!”
Something told Greg that the fat-head behind him would be breaking those two rules, most likely breaking them over his head.
Marty did a cartwheel. “Let me introduce you to your camp counselors!”
There were five underlings total. All of them big kids, probably high-schoolers… and probably losers if they were here and not doing cool kid stuff. Greg didn’t bother learning their names. 
The only person he wanted to get to know was that blond girl over there. Natalie, he thought her name was. Boy was she something. Girls had cooties and whatnot, but Natalie seemed different. Her hair was like strands of gold, and her emerald eyes could start wars. She was walking, talking treasure. Greg just had to know, like, what was her deal?
“Give it up for our Squirrel counselors!” Marty shrieked, clapping madly. Greg gave a golf clap, the one his mother used at his father’s tournaments.
As Marty droned on about how much fun they were all going to have, there was a tap on his arm.
It was the kid next to him. He had thick glasses and scraggly hair. “I’m Simon,” he whispered, “Simon Biles. From upstate. First time on the yard?”
“The yard?” Greg asked low.
“Yeah,” Simon said, “you know, the yard. That’s slang for prison on TV.” 
“Ah,” Greg said nonplussed, “uh, yeah first time.”
Simon smiled, pushing up his glasses. “This makes year three for me. The ‘rents just don’t trust me around the house while they’re gone. Wanna be bunk mates?”
Year three, Greg thought. This guy looked like he could use a friend, and Greg could use some information. He nodded at the blond girl possibly named Natalie. “What’s her deal?”
Simon’s eyebrows danced. “That’s Natalie Carver, real looker, eh? She’s Queen Bee around these parts, sure to get the leading lady role of this years stupid play.”
Greg was intrigued. “Play?”
Simon nodded. “Every year, we put on a play for our parents the day they pick us up. Marty says it shows that we learned about teamwork and dedication, but I think he’s trying to live out some fantasy through us.”
“And you think Natalie will be in this play?”
“We’ll all be in it,” Simon said, “it’s mandatory. But yes, she’ll probably get the leading part.”
Greg could feel himself coming down with a case of the acting bug. Where there was a leading lady, there was a Prince Charming opposite her. And possibly a kiss…
It was clear that Simon was a wealth of information. Greg wondered what else he could tell him about the camp, and more importantly, Natalie.
Greg put out his hand. “You got a deal, bunk mate.”
“Sweet,” Simon said, and they shook on it.
When Marty finally finished the Squirrel Safety Talk, he announced that they would all have hot dogs for dinner, followed by activity sign up.
“But first,” he neighed, “let’s all come up onstage for our camp group photo!”
Cheesy music played. Kids ran to the stage… Greg ran too, stopping next to Natalie. He smiled wide for the camera. Maybe he’d been wrong about this summer camp thing. Maybe this would be the best summer ever.

At 07:30 sharp, Marty Hartman’s bugle woke the dead.
Greg brushed his teeth, thinking about the night before. By pure coincidence, he and Natalie signed up for the same activities, even the same time slots. The play this year was The Wonderful Fairytale. According to the script, a witch casts a spell on a beautiful damsel, and only true love’s kiss could wake her…
Greg would study the script every evening after activities, really getting into the mindset of the prince. He was already rich and handsome, he was a shoe in. He couldn’t wait to show Natalie how amazing he was at literally everything.
He dressed for the day, satisfied with himself. Then he stepped into his shoes… and grimaced. Dollops of shaving cream foamed from around his ankles.
Greg sighed.
Everyone else was already outside. His shoes sloshed as he sprinted.
A camp counselor raised the flag as Marty slid his bugle away, put his hand over his heart and led them in the Pledge of Allegiance.
Greg couldn’t help but look for Russel. He found the fat-head was grinning at him.
Well, he thought, this isn’t gonna be good.
The week went on much in that fashion. Each time he tried to impress Natalie or even just get her attention, there was Russel to ruin it for him. It didn’t matter what sport they played; dodgeball, volleyball, kickball, basketball, tennis… when Russel was on the serving end, Greg was always on the receiving end. And when Greg had the ball, he had to either get rid of it
immediately… or be crushed by a stampeding fat-head.
Sprinkled in between being humiliated at every event, Greg kept discovering little surprises.
And every time he discovered them, Russel wasn’t far away.
Bugs in his backpack. Sand in his toothpaste. A toy snake in his nightstand. Worst of all was when he learned that Russel could sew. He’d sewn all of Greg’s underwear together.
He wanted to report all of this to Marty, but he didn’t dare give either of them the satisfaction. He just accepted Simon’s help getting rid of the evidence and moving on.
“Bunkmates,” Simon would say. And it would genuinely make Greg smile.
Greg didn’t shirk his studies for the play. In drama class, he was by far the loudest and the most expressive. He knew he was a shoe-in for the prince, he just needed to seal the deal. He couldn’t understand why people were laughing, but he was getting a reaction.
The evening before auditions, Greg and Simon sat on the sandbar of Lake Thohmatatchi, talking shop.
Simon shuddered. “That thing is so creepy.”
Greg followed his gaze. There was an electric blue port o potty at the edge of the forest. Marty explained that, because the cabins were so far from the sandbar, they’d installed a blue box in case of “emergencies.”
Greg felt unease knotting his guts. It was fact those things contained all kinds of sickness and disease. And they stank. No one with any sense would ever use one of them. At least that's what his mom said.
“Those things really give me the heebie-jeebies,” Greg said. “I wouldn’t go inside of that thing in a thousand years.”
Behind them, a tall fat-head with a red mullet burst from the bushes. “Really?” Russel asked. “The heebie-jeebies?” He lifted Greg by the shirt, grinning ear to ear. “You don’t say?”
He hauled Greg in the direction of the electric blue germ box. Greg pumped the brakes, digging his bare feet deep into the dirt. His shoes were far behind, next to Simon. No, he thought, no, my bare feet can’t touch that floor in there. NO!
“Put me down, fat-head!” Greg shouted.
Simon, on his heels, echoed “Put him down, fat-head!”
Russel backhanded Simon, sending his glasses flying. The boy quickly shuffled to all fours, searching madly for them.
Greg tried to put up a fight, but Russel shook him like a sack of marshmallows. His brain careened in his skull, making him see double.
The door of the germ box swung open. 
“No,” Greg cried, “please Russel, no!”
Russel threw him inside and shut the door. Greg kicked and yelled, but it wouldn’t budge. He heard Russel laughing as he shoved something against the door, blocking it good.
Greg’s bare feet touched the floor. Germs, he thoug

Episode Notes
After a major betrayal a man is positive that vengeance is coming for him and he's prepared for it to slither into his life!
Silvia by Rob Fields
Check out the new scary book at http://UncleHenny.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
I was sleeping in my bed. I woke up when I heard a loud dripping noise. I groaned and then put my hand down off the bed. As usual, my dog, Sparky, licked it while lying under my bed. I tried to get back to sleep, but that dripping was just too loud. I got out of bed and went across the hall to the bathroom.
I turned on the light and screamed when I saw my dog was hanging on the shower nozzle by his neck. Sparky’s blood was dripping onto the shower floor from his wounds. Then I saw the message on the mirror – written in Sparky’s blood:
PEOPLE CAN LICK TOO!!
I felt my heart drop fast! I turned to see my ex-girlfriend, Silvia Charmer, standing in the doorway now. Her large boa constrictor was wrapped around her like a fur. “Hi, Zach. I told you I’d have my revenge for you killing Coppy.”
I was speechless. I knew Jensen Mirren, my other ex-girlfriend, was crazy. Dead now, but crazy. But Silvia . . . !
Once again, Silvia’s green eyes burned right through me. Before I could say anything, she raised her leg and kicked me hard in the gut. I staggered backward and fell into the shower. I was lying in Sparky’s blood. But what really scared the shit out of me right then was seeing those sickening movements in Sparky’s corpse right above me. 
My eyes were wide open and I gulped hard!
“That’s right, Zach! I got my revenge by killing your dog. What’s sad is that I really loved Sparky and it hurt me to have to kill him, but . . . you killed Coppy.” She produced a sharp knife, the one she killed Sparky with. “And . . . my babies want revenge, too. After all, Coppy was family. Revenge is a bitch . . . isn’t it?! This is for Coppy, you murdering piece of shit!”
Using the knife, she sliced open Sparky’s stomach with one movement. I screamed like hell as a bunch of poisonous snakes hissed loudly as they dropped right on me. After feeling one snakebite after another, I knew that this was . . . THE END!!
I screamed and sat up in my bed. I was gasping for breath, and I was soaked with sweat. “Oh, man! Oh, man!” I gasped in between breaths. “Holy shit!”
Then I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye. I screamed and shot out of bed, only to have my legs get tangled up in the covers and make me fall to the floor. I still managed to free myself and get to the light switch. I turned on the lights and saw . . . “Sparky!”
My German Shepherd stood on my bed and just looked at me, as if he was asking me what was wrong. I went to him and started petting him. I even gave him a hug. “Man, Sparky, you’re still here! I can’t believe I had that fucking awful nightmare!”
But I had to be sure. I let go of Sparky and got off the bed. I moved cautiously across the hall and to the bathroom. I turned on the light and looked at the mirror. No message written in blood. Just clean mirror glass. Then I quickly returned to the bedroom and looked underneath the bed. I knew that Sparky was just underneath it, but I had to know. Aside from some of Sparky’s toys and a few rawhides, nobody was underneath there. Not even Silvia Charmer. 
Fuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!!
Even after everything that happened with Jensen Mirren and her killing my family . . . and all the fucking snakes and everything . . . why can’t I stop thinking about Silvia Charmer?! I sat on the bed and groaned as I put my hands to my head. Then I felt Sparky lay down next to me. I lowered my hands and started petting him again. 
“Why do girls have to be so complicated, boy?” I asked him. “Why can’t they be simple, like you?”
Sparky just barked once to answer me. I patted his head and knew I wasn’t getting back to sleep tonight. Especially when I just couldn’t get Silvia Charmer out of my mind. 
The next morning, I was hanging out in Wilder Hall, our student union building, before I’d have to go to class. I had to drink some extra caffeine just to make sure I wouldn’t fall asleep in class. Like I said, Silvia Charmer haunted me now. I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was I scared to death of her? Then I remembered how she came to confront me that Friday – two weeks ago – in the science lab where I was working. She said she would get revenge on me for killing her pet snake, Coppy. But before that, Silvia and I had actually shared a deep, passionate kiss. I should have been over her, but she kissed me and I gave in and kissed her back. Did I really still love her?
I knew today was going to be a long day. Shit, it would be even longer since it was Friday. I yawned and started to make my way to class. I grabbed an energy drink out of a vending machine along the way. I was ready to crack open the can . . . and then I dropped it and my books. 
There she was!!
Silvia Charmer stood only a good ten feet away from me now. Her naturally flaming red hair looked like fire today. And her glowing green eyes burned hot – burned right through me. Her red lipstick looked like it could have been blood. She just looked right at me. Her stare continued to burn through me. She was still furious with me over killing her snake. I could even see her shaking a little. 
I wanted to move past her or even turn and run. She gave me that look that dared me to try. She remained silent for the longest time. Then she finally spoke one word in a very deadly whisper. 
“Tonight . . .” 
Then she blew me a kiss before she turned and walked away. 
I had just finished locking all the doors and windows. I even found my dad’s shotgun and loaded it. Sparky stood with me. And of all the things that could be happening, there was a fucking thunderstorm outside! A bad one! Damn if it didn’t remind me of all the horror movies Silvia and I used to watch together, with scenes similar to what I was experiencing. 
“Jesus, Sparky, why me?” I groaned. 
Sparky just made a few doggie noises, but he still stood with me like the loyal friend that he was. And then I realized I had forgotten to check the basement windows. I moved to the basement door, turned on the lights, and started downstairs. Then, about halfway down, I remembered that the windows were all thick, one-piece glass blocks that couldn’t be opened. I turned back around and headed back up. As soon as I turned off the basement light, there was a big flash of lightning, followed by a loud crash of thunder. 
Suddenly, the back door burst open! Silvia Charmer just stood right there now. Again, her eyes burned right through me. She was soaking wet from the rain and had a backpack on. She also had her boa constrictor around her neck like a fur stole. Just like in my nightmare!
“Hello, lover,” she purred as she came inside. “Did you miss me? Not like I missed you.”
I didn’t know what to say to her. I was more surprised by how she had just forced open the back door. It had three fucking locks on it – including a deadbolt! Now she stood in the kitchen as she removed the backpack and opened it. Then she turned it upside down. Boy, did I ever scream when all these fucking snakes dropped out of it! 
Silvia laughed now. “Oh, the look on your face.” Then her eyes burned through me again as she pointed right at me. “Corner him, babies! But do not kill him . . . yet!”
Sparky came to my side and started barking at the snakes. Then Silvia gasped when she saw Sparky. “Leave the dog alone! I do not want him hurt – at all!” She pointed at me again. “I’m here for you, you fucking bastard!” She shook and tightened her fists. “You killed my Coppy!!”
I knew the front door was the only way to escape, but there were four locks there. Leave it to my deceased parents. Even with all this security, it didn’t keep Jensen Mirren from killing my family. Of course, she didn’t kick down a heavily bolted door. But I knew that even if I worked the four locks, Silvia’s snakes would reach me before I could escape. 
Sparky barked loudly as three snakes cornered him. They obeyed Silvia and never made any attempt to bite him. They just hissed at him, probably to warn him to stay still. I remembered I had my dad’s shotgun and went to raise it. Too late! I felt something heavy land on me and realized Silvia had thrown her boa constrictor at me. I had no idea just how big that snake really was, until it wrapped itself around me tightly. Then I groaned as it squeezed me more. 
“Strickfaden, no!” Silvia told it. “I don’t want him dead yet.”
The large snake just looked her way and . . . nodded at her. She turned to her remaining snakes. “We’ve got Zach now, babies. I want to talk to him before we kill him.”
Then she looked at me. “I told you I’d get revenge on you for killing Coppy. He was family.” She was so angry that she started heaving as she was breathing. “I’m so beyond pissed at you right now!” Then she yelled some more. “First you broke up with me because you saw I had snakes! You fucking ghosted me for months! On top of that, you get yourself another fucking girlfriend – and a psycho at that!” Her eyes burned into me so much now, I could have sworn they actually burned me hot. Then she screamed, “And you killed my snake! I just wanted us to make things right, and you shoved me to the floor! Then you killed Coppy!”
She heaved and heaved. I knew any second she was going to order her snakes to kill me. She’d probably start by ordering her boa constrictor to crush me to death first. She heaved and heaved even more now. And then I saw that she was starting to cry. Finally, she sank to her knees and began to sob uncontrollably. 
The snakes

Episode Notes
All the Busy Bees by David O'Hanlon
Check out the new scary book at http://UncleHenny.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
My father was in a secret society in college. I’m not sure what good it did him, but that’s why it’s a secret, I suppose. After college, he went to work for a retail giant and made COO in just a couple of years. Maybe it worked out pretty well. That kind of meteoric rise doesn’t facilitate a lot of father-son communication. He still made sure to let me know he cared. His secretary would call to tell me goodnight on his behalf, for example.
I think it was my twelfth birthday when I realized he always called me ‘Rugrat’ because he had forgotten my name years before. The morning commute meant hearing him walk out of the house about the time I got up for school. He worked late every night and usually got home as I was turning off my light. I’m not even sure I remember what he looked like or if I’ve just constructed some amalgamation of Sonny Crockett and MacGyver to save on the therapy bill. I decided I wouldn’t be anything like him when I grew up.
And I’ve succeeded. 
My studio apartment was the size of a motel room. The wallpaper didn’t match anywhere and was peeling like a bad sunburn to reveal festive patches of mold. Other amenities included my neighbor’s radio—since the walls were as well built as a gingerbread house—and a soothing whistle created by the ill-fitting sheet of plexiglass in the cracked frame of my only window. I also had the most social cockroaches in the world. Those little guys snuggled with me in bed and shared my food with the loyalty of a labradoodle and I didn’t even have to pay my slumlord the four-hundred dollar, non-refundable, pet deposit. That’s called a win. 
I watched one of the females dragging an egg sack under the fridge. I wasn’t even sure how roaches had sex and was in the middle of googling it when the knuckles my hit door. I got up and tried to check the time on the microwave, but it just blinked the same seven seconds it had since I plugged it in. I found it on the curb and it was probably there for good reason. The radiation leaking out reduced the heating bill though, so another small victory for Chuck Beyers.
I opened the door and found a man in a cobalt suit that looked expensive and smelled cheap. He was paused mid-knock and lowered his hand with a sneer.
“Charles Beyers?” 
“That’s me.” I leaned into the hall and looked both ways. 
On one end, a kid pissed on skinhead graffiti and down the other I found my geriatric neighbor, Jerry, heating a meth rock in a lightbulb. I looked back at the man and squinted a little. He was tall and lean with a narrow, vespine face. He held a leather briefcase just below a twinkling cufflink. 
“How did you make it up here without getting mugged?” I asked.
“Your neighborhood is full of scavengers,” the man answered calmly.
I pursed my lips and nodded. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point I was making.” 
“Scavengers know to move when the predators come through.”
There was no bravado when he said it. It was just a cold, hard statement of fact that made my ass pucker and my stomach knot up. He asked to come in, so I showed him to the folding lawn chair that counted as my furniture. He sat his briefcase in the chair and turned to me, his hand disappeared into his jacket and my life flashed before my eyes. It was a disappointing show, to say the least. Then he pulled out an envelope. 
“My name is Richard.” He wiggled the envelop.
“For me?”
“No, Mister Beyers. I just find reading my mail more enjoyable in a stranger’s shitty apartment.” He didn’t even blink, let alone smirk. He just wiggled the envelope again.
I took it gingerly and flopped onto the bed. It felt funny, not like a normal envelop but more like an old dollar bill. It was the kind of envelopes you bought when you ran out of ordinary things to blow money on. At least, I guessed it was since I hadn’t used an envelope since 2004. Inside was a letter from Arrant Extirpation Solutions. 
“What is this?”

It was all in the letter. Dad was the majority shareholder in AES and, when he died the week before, it all became mine. I guess I should’ve been upset about his passing, but he wasn’t any less available dead than he had been alive. Still couldn’t remember his face, just his bushy mustache. No loss. Plenty of gains.
I stepped off the private jet with Richard in tow. A withered old man leaned on a cane a midst a sea of suits. 
The old man held out a veiny, liver-spotted hand. “Erwin Squire. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”   
“Likewise.” I shook his hand, which was suspiciously cold and moist like a piece of raw chicken. I rubbed my palm on my secondhand jeans. “The letter you sent didn’t say much. I’ve been asking Richard for more details.”
“Good luck with that.” Erwin’s rasping laugh made me jump a little. It was like one of the alley cats back home hacking up a steel wool hairball. “I don’t employ Richard for his conversational skills. He glares at people and they do what I want. It’s a more efficient method than asking. You’ll be riding in the Bentley. I hope it is too your liking. Your father was a picky bastard.”
“We don’t have to worry about that from him, sir,” Richard said over my shoulder. “Chuck has no standards. Shall I ride with him?”
Erwin nodded and swept a hand towards the burgundy car. The driver stepped out and opened the back door as I approached. I hesitated and then slipped inside the car that cost more than my combined lifetime income. The backseat seemed to melt as I leaned against it and I sighed pleasurably. 
“Does it meet your tastes?” Richard asked as he dropped into the front seat. 
“Oh yes. It’s just fine.” I watched the chauffeur shut my door and slip back behind the steering wheel with the grace of a dancer. “I’ve never ridden in a car like this.”
“Color me shocked.” Richard took a pair of gold-rimmed aviators from his jacket and slipped them over his frigid eyes. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about me, Chuck. For starters, I hate calling you that. Not because it is informal and, thus, unprofessional, but rather because it is the stupidest name ever. I loathe it.”
“Blame my father,” I said with a sympathetic shrug.
“I do. Moving on, you are now the majority shareholder in AES. This also entitles you to a place on our board of directors and the professional assistance of myself… a fact that I find almost as distasteful as your name. I do not like it and I am sure that you will not either.”
The car pulled away from the airplane and found its place in the convoy leaving the private airfield. Richard turned slightly on his hip to face me. 
“Your father was a mean spirited, go-getter. He set his sights on something he wanted,” he made a finger-gun at me and fired, “and then he took it. You’re not that kind of a man.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad one?”
Richard’s eyebrows raised in though and he turned back around. “Neither, I suppose. Not every dog can be a fighter, Chuck. Sometimes a mutt’s only good for a bait dog.”

I thought about what my sociopathic secretary said over the next forty minutes. I fought the urge to ask when we’d arrive and just stared out the tinted windows as rural Arkansas passed by with little to offer. I wasn’t sure what AES did or how my father even learned of the company from his office in Cincinnati. Richard was an odd one too. His terrifying, monotone voice had the slightest hint of an accent… maybe Eastern European. Definitely one of those countries Bond villains come from. Then there were the cars and class of Erwin Squire. Thanks to my ex-girlfriend, I had seen enough Toby Keith videos to know these guys didn’t belong in the trailer-hood. 
So, what the hell were we doing in Arkansas?
I was somewhere between self-realization and reliving a six-month-old argument with my former boss at Hamburger Hamlet when I noticed the factory in the distance. I watched as the vehicles made the turn in sequence. Fascination is the only word that comes to mind at what I saw next. 
The cars wove through a series of concrete barriers like the news shows outside of foreign embassies. We approached a twelve-foot high fence and two guards armed heavily enough to give GI Joe a boner immediately after. The car shook as it rolled over a cattle guard that Richard said was for bomb inspections.
We continued down a long path and more of the facility came into view. For the most part, it looked like any factory from the city—except for the black glass tower rising up from the middle. It wasn’t a tower in big city terms, but the six stories of shimmering darkness stood out in the flat wasteland of eastern Arkansas the same way the surrounding bean fields would have marred the complexities of beautiful, downtown Cleveland. 
The cars pulled into designated parking spaces in the lot under the tower like synchronized swimmers. No movement was wasted as each vehicle halted and its crew disembarked to prepare a line of defense all the way to the elevator. Richard personally escorted me there and we waited for Squire to join us. The old man ambled inside, his cane clicking gravely against the imported macassar flooring. I stepped in and then Richard attempted to but was met by the tip of Squire’s cane squarely over his heart.
“Cecil was a little too hard on the brakes today.” Squire aimed the walking stick and jabbed the button for the top floor. “I want that handled and then I want you to join me and Mister Beyers in the board room.” 
I wasn’t sure what to say and just stuffed my hands in my pockets. Something about Squire was more unnerving than the viciousness

Episode Notes
Eh, Real Monsters from NEPA by Michelle Adler (from Campfire Stories to Tell in the Dark)
Get the book in time for Halloween at HenFlix.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
"I don't know about the new kid, don't you think he's a little weird?" Tom McKullah whispered, leaning slightly over his desk to get closer to his friend.
"A little weird? C'mon, he's a freak" Jacob nodded. They both snickered. In front of them sat Patrick Marshall-Sherwood III, the aforementioned new kid. His incredibly formal sounding name wasn't really befitting his posture: hunched over, staring at his desk and wincing at their laughter. His dyed black shoulder length hair, eye liner, and all black wardrobe should have succeeded in making him look dangerous, but in reality it just made him look tired and pale.
I have to admit, I felt bad for the kid. The rumor around school was that his dad had been killed by a pack of feral dogs while he and Patrick were cramping somewhere in the mountains of Georgia. Patrick had somehow escaped meeting his end there, but he hadn’t gotten away easily. His face and arms were covered in a multitude of deep, gnarly scars from the event. A permanent reminder that he, and only he, had survived something truly horrible, and not by much. To be fair, he'd have been an ugly kid even without the scars. He was just a little too lanky and awkward for me to believe he’d ever been cool. Life ain't really fair, I guess.
I didn’t know how much, if any, of the story was just dumb rumors.  I wasn’t even sure if Georgia had mountains. But if it was true, he'd picked just the worst town to move to if he and his mom were trying to escape their tragic past. Our town, located in a quiet corner of Northeastern Pennsylvania was mostly rural, encompassing part of the valley and a lot of the surrounding woods.  That might sound fine, though maybe boring on paper, but incidents involving feral dogs had always been common here. Usually it was just pets and small animals that went missing, but lately some cows had been found halfway eaten dotting the nearby farms, so more people were on edge than usual. Not really a vacation from their grief, is what I mean.
So back to the story, those chuckle-heads kept up with their insults for a while. Calling him every name they could think of, poking him, sticking gum on his back, you name it. You'd probably have thought that our English teacher, Mrs. Alder, just kept blathering on about Shakespeare during all of this. I wished she’d take notice, but she was so hard of hearing that I wasn't sure she could even hear what she was saying half of the time. She was so old and fragile looking that I often wondered if she escaped a nursing home every morning just to come teach us.
It wasn’t fair though. I sat directly behind Tom, in the last row of desks, against the window, like a true delinquent I was, bouncing my leg, waiting for, I don’t know, a sign that I should jump in. I'm not proud of the fact that it took Patrick brushing teardrops off his desk for me to do something. I reached forward and punched the back of Tom's chair hard enough to get everyone, including our teacher’s attention. "Stop making fun of him or the next thing I punch will be your face!" I shouted. I saw Tom and Jacob flinch from behind. 
"Marisa!" Mrs. Alder spat sternly, miraculously cured of her partial deafness for a moment, "How many outbursts do we really need to have this week??"
"But they were--" I tried.
"No one will be picking on poor Patrick in my classroom. It's not his fault he's covered with horrible scars!" She continued. I watched Patrick cringe and the whole class began to giggle. There I go again, making matters worse.
I left school late that day long after the buses and carpools had gone. Basically my normal routine. Gotta make sure I don't run into any trouble. You see, like our scarred up sad boy, I too was the subject of the other kids' hatred. But unlike him, I actually knew how to stand up for myself and could hold my own in a fight. Still, I didn't like to start trouble, I just relished in it when it came calling. But even if I won, bites and scratches do hurt after all, so it was better to avoid the rest of the student body when we were unsupervised. Especially in the middle of the afternoon, in broad daylight. Who needs that kind of attention?
However on this particular day, waiting until my usual time, 4pm, to leave wasn’t enough. I pushed open the side entrance and there was Patrick. He sat on the curb, his posture the same as earlier, the cool autumn breeze blowing his hair over his face. I held my breath, trying to be comically quiet and sneak away before he noticed. I just wanted to get home and not do my homework. Until again, I realized he was crying.
I sighed and plopped myself down next to him, "Waiting for your folks to pick you up?" Oh right, I forgot, dead dad.. "Your mom, running late?" I corrected myself.
"I don't think she's coming," he said softly, continuing to focus on the puddle of tears collecting on the asphalt. I realized this was the first time I’d heard him speak. "She's been different since... I can tell she doesn’t like to look at me. Sometimes I think she forgets me on purpose. I would just try to walk back, but I don't know how to get home from here. I can’t even look it up because a couple of the kids from class pushed me and my phone broke my fall."
"You just gonna sit here all night then?"
"I was hoping to. I like the dark." I honestly couldn't tell if that line was supposed to be sarcastic.
"C'mon tell me where you live, I'll walk you home." I offered as I stood up and brushed myself off.
"You're not going to trick me, leave me halfway and steal my wallet, right?" He asked expectantly.
"Well geez, not anymore I'm not."
Patrick let out a little chuckle. Okay, maybe we could make this work.
"I'm Marisa," I said helping him up, "and I promise I won't hurt you. Us freaks gotta stick together."
As it turned out, Patrick only lived one block over from me in the cute little cape cod that old Mr. Patel owned before he got sick and had to move in with his kids. It was great because I didn’t really have to go out of my way, but also a little sad because I only live six blocks from the school. He was crying over a ten minute walk. I agreed to help him find his way back to school the next morning and walk home with him again the following afternoon. Like I said, freaks need to stick together. 
"So is it true about what happened to your dad?" I asked on our walk home the following afternoon. Patrick stopped dead in the center of the sidewalk.
"Isn't it obvious it is?" He touched one of the scars on his arm tenderly. "My dad is dead, my mom probably blames me, and I look like some villain from a slasher film. My life is totally ruined."
"Oh..that's a little dark, dude.. I'm sorry"
"No, it's better if I just lean into it. I'm a monster now and I have to get used to it, “ he sighed.
"Us monsters gotta stick together" I said like it was my tag-line or something.
"Marisa,” he said bluntly, “you are not a monster." I furrowed my brow. 
He was silent the rest of the walk home. I felt bad for bringing up his dad and wouldn’t have blamed him if I didn’t even get a goodbye, but when he was halfway up his driveway he stopped. "Marisa, I need to tell you something," he began without turning around, "can you keep a secret?"
"What did I say five minutes ago about us sticking together?"
Patrick paused for a long time like he was having trouble finding the right words. "Listen, you're going to think I'm crazy and that's okay, even I think I'm crazy sometimes..” he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, “…but when we were camping, w-when those dogs showed up, they attacked me first. My dad fought so hard to stop them and lure them away from me, that's why he's dead and I'm just this... thing now.."
"It's not your fault--"
"No that's not what I mean. When I was lying there, when they were tearing my dad to shreds, I could have sworn I heard them talking to each other. I could have sworn they were laughing... what does that even mean? I guess it’s possible that I was delirious from blood loss,  but if that’s true then how come even now, when it’s really quiet, I can almost still hear them laughing?" His voice was shaking. At this point he was staring directly at me again, his eyes full of fear.
"Are you saying--"
"I don't think they were dogs, I think they were... something else" 
“Wolves maybe?” I offered.
Patrick let out a little pitiful laugh. "No, not wolves. So, now you know the truth, I'm crazy. Nice knowing you."
"I don't think you're crazy, Patrick" I said, not sure if I was lying or not. “Either way I don’t think that’s a good enough reason for us to stop hanging out.”
He smiled in a mix of confusion and relief, “Thanks Marisa.”
It seemed that letting someone else share his secret took a lot of weight off of the poor guy’s shoulders because after that, he was a lot more outgoing around me. The edges of his sadness had been sanded down a little and he actually let me get to know him. 
And as it turned out, Patrick was a pretty good kid. We were into the same comics and video games and even got each others humor. We walked to and from school together every day for the next couple weeks and my mom let him stay for dinner most nights and sleep over on the weekends.
As much as I considered myself something of a lone wolf, I had to admit it felt good to have someone around that really got me. So that's what it's like to have friends, huh?
Things stayed good for a while. When the other kids realized that I’d taken him under my wing,

Episode Notes
Cry Baby Bridge by Rob Fields
A young group of friends want to test the legend of their own "Cry Baby Bridge" but things may be more real than they could ever imagine...
Pre-order our new book! only at UncleHenny.com
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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Transcription:
The boys suddenly awoke when they heard the loud noise off in the distance. One of them turned on the battery-powered lantern. The three of them yawned and slowly sat up inside the tent where they were sleeping. 
“Aw, man . . . ! You better not have farted again, Chunker,” the boy with the crewcut on the right side of the tent groaned. 
“I didn’t, dude,” the husky boy on the left side muttered. 
The skinny boy in the middle put his glasses on. “Trust me, if Chunker would have let one go, we’d have known it. We’re all in this tent, right?” 
The right boy pushed the middle one a little. “Why you gotta be such a nerd, Horton?”
Horton looked to his right. “I’m just saying, Chapman. Chunker would have cleared us out of this tent.”
Chunker had a mischievous grin. “What, you mean like this?” He sat up a little bit. BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!
Chapman and Horton quickly fumbled over one another trying to escape from the tent as Chunker sat there and laughed. As soon as the two boys were out and on their feet, Horton turned and pointed to the tent. “Chunker, you sick pig!”
Chunker was still laughing as he crawled out of the tent. Then he stood with his two friends. 
Horton sighed. “Great! Now what are we going to do? Chunker just fumigated the tent.”
Chapman slapped Chunker’s arm. “C’mon, man, you can at least open up the tent and air it out. Geez!”
Chunker raised his hands. “Okay, okay . . .”
As Chunker lifted and tied up the flaps to the tent entrance, Horton was getting the campfire going again. 
“Any idea what time it is?” Chapman asked. 
Chunker had his smartphone on him. “It’s almost four – in the morning!”
Suddenly, the boys were startled when they heard the original sound that work them up in the first place. 
“Aw, man!” Chunker complained. “Really? An owl?”
Chapman groaned. “Well, some stupid owl woke us up, and Chunker ripped inside the tent. What are we gonna do now?”
“Hey, maybe we can sit around the fire and tell more ghost stories,” Horton suggested. “Like we did last night.”
“Sounds good,” Chapman said. 
“Yeah, why not?” Chunker agreed. 
The other boys joined Horton, who began first by telling the urban legend of the Gang High Beam Initiation. When he finished, he stressed that, “It actually happened on the other side of Strickfield, over along Township Road 113.”
Chapman spoke up. “Yeah? Well, I heard a story about this college couple that got murdered in an apartment just near the college.” He told the story as best as he could recall hearing it. Then he finished by saying, “It was said that the roommate came back the next morning and found their bodies, he also found this message on the wall – written in blood! It said, JUST BE GLAD YOU DIDN’T TURN ON THE LIGHT!!!! That part never made the newspapers, by the way.”
“Geez, Chapman, that does sound pretty scary,” Horton said. Then he turned to the other boy. “How about you, Chunker? You got a story?”
Chunker opened the cooler they had brought with them and took out a soda. He cracked it open and took a drink. “Yeah, I got one.” He nodded in the direction of the deserted road they were camping off of. “It’s actually not too far from here, the old Cry Baby Bridge.”
He told the story about how just after the American Civil War, Abigail Tomlin, a poor woman, and her fiancé, Alvin, a rich lord Abigail had been promised to, had been fighting all through their courtship. Prior to their wedding night, when they had had their last fight, Abigail had taken their baby boy, Arthur, and fled. Alvin’s carriage had caught up to Abigail’s as it was nearing the outskirts of Strickfield. 
As Abigail got out of her carriage, Alvin drew his gun and shot at Abigail. She moved, but ended up taking the bullet in her shoulder. She was bleeding all over her wedding dress fast. She knew she couldn’t let Alvin have Arthur. Unbeknownst to Alvin, Abigail also had a gun. She took aim and shot Alvin, wounding him also. 
Abigail took the baby out of the damaged carriage and fled. She was in a great deal of pain from the bullet. She could hear Alvin screaming for her, that he would finish her and take their son back. Abigail couldn’t keep the crying Arthur quiet and knew Alvin would soon be on them. 
By the time Alvin had caught up to his runaway bride, she had reached a metal bridge that spanned the Castalia River. The water below was high and rushing. All little Arthur could do was cry and cry. 
Abigail took a last stand against Alvin and tried to shoot him, but Alvin was faster and shot her first. Abigail was mortally wounded now as she moved to the center of the bridge. She still had both Arthur and her gun. Alvin raised his gun and demanded Abigail give Arthur back. When she wouldn’t, he shot her one last time. Abigail fell over the side of the bridge and into the raging river – with baby Arthur still cradled in her arms! Both she and the baby disappeared down the river. 
A search was conducted by the authorities of many neighboring towns and villages. The bodies of neither Abigail Tomlin nor Arthur were ever found. 
“Now . . . if you go near that same bridge . . . the one over on Indian Hollow Road – this road . . .” Chunker looked from Horton to Chapman and back again. “Just wait a while . . . You just might hear the sounds of little baby Arthur Tomlin crying and crying. That’s why it’s called the Cry Baby Bridge by the people who have told the story over the years.”
Chapman had his arms folded in front of him. “You really expect us to believe that, Chunker?”
Chunker raised both of his hands. “Hey! I’m just telling you the way my dad told my older brother Kenny and me.” He raised his finger. “He also said that anyone who hears the crying baby ends up dying before morning. That’s why no one really drives down this road at night.”
Chapman wasn’t convinced. “Oh, yeah? How?”
Chunker shrugged. “Dad said no one really knows for sure. He said no one lives long enough to say what happens.”
Chapman shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into sleeping out here after we just finished sixth grade.”
“Hey! We could go and check it out,” Horton suggested. “Chunker did say that bridge isn’t too far from here, right?”
Chunker pointed south. “The Cry Baby Bridge is less than a mile from here.”
Chapman considered it. Then he clapped his hands once. “Okay . . . Fine, let’s go check it out.”
The three friends got up and made their way to the one-lane gravel road. The moon was full and helped give them light as they made their way along. Soon they saw the bridge just ahead. 
“What are you looking up on your phone, Chunker?” Chapman asked. 
“Nothing . . . just checking something.”
Chapman pointed to the bridge. “We’re here.”  
“Man, the bridge looks just like it did all those years ago,” Chunker said. “Just like in this picture.”
The three of them looked on Chunker’s smartphone at the old black-and-white picture of the bridge taken after it was completed. The only real difference between then and now was that the bridge in the real world was rust-colored. Chunker put the phone away, and the three of them looked ahead to the bridge. 
After looking at it for a long moment, the boys walked to the bridge. When they reached the edge of it, they stopped. None of them said anything. Finally, Horton got bold and stepped onto the bridge. Chapman wanted to protest, but then he saw Chunker was stepping onto it. Chapman groaned and followed Chunker. 
They reached the center of the bridge. Horton moved to the side and looked down at the water. “It doesn’t look so raging now, like you said in your story, Chunker.”
“It does when it storms for a while,” Chunker said. 
The three of them just stood there and waited. 
“I don’t hear anything,” Chapman said. 
They continued to stand there. Soon, they thought they heard something. It started out softly at first. It sounded like . . . baby cries. The cries sounded innocently enough. Then they started to become louder and more frightening. The three friends looked at one another in fear. 
Suddenly, a figure appeared from behind them and grabbed hold of both Horton’s and Chapman’s shoulders as it screamed loudly! The three of them turned to see the figure was dressed in black and had a glowing white skull in place of its face. 
Horton and Chapman screamed before they turned and run. They quickly noticed that Chunker wasn’t with them. They turned around and saw both the figure and Chunker pointing at them and laughing hysterically. 
Chapman raised his arms outward. “What the heck is this?!”
“Kenny? Is that you?” Horton asked. 
The figure removed the glowing mask. Kenny Chunk turned to his younger brother and slapped a high-five with him. “We got’em, little bro. I knew after Dad told us the story, we could scare people with it.”
“Yeah, it sure worked,” Chunker agreed. “Just like you said it would. Those owl hoots were a nice touch, too.”
Chunker explained that he was awake in the tent. He and Kenny were texting each other and came up with the idea on how to scare Horton and Chapman with the local urban legend of the Cry Baby Bridge. 
“Okay, Kenny, so how did you get the baby crying to happen, then?” Chapman demanded. 
Kenny motioned for them to come with him. They walked off the bridge and made their way down to the water. Sure enough, there was a big speaker attacked to the side of the bridge. Kenny raised his smartphone.

Episode Notes
Somethings you can't escape, but what happens when you realize it isn't only memories that are following you everywhere you go?
The Triangle People by Shane Migliavaca
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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Transcription:
Sarah Hoffman was nervous.
Sitting at a table outside the cafe, she felt exposed.
Sarah hated open places, so she had picked a table with a clear view of the entrance and parking lot… better to see everyone's comings and goings, not to mention she’d seen them again.
Just out of the corner of her eye… a figment of her fragile mind no doubt… brief flashes of people watching her, just out of focus. Sarah had started seeing them after the incident.
_You’re messed up kid. _
Sarah picked up the folder on the table. Inside was a stack of of glossy photos.
She flipped through them, hands were trembling. They were all crap. Damn. What was wrong with her? She used to have a good eye for setting up a shot, but these were all framed bad. Beginner’s shit, not something you’d see from a pro.
_Let’s face it. You’ve lost the passion. _
Sarah loved photography. Setting up shots… making every one of them a work of art. All she’d need was the next assignment to keep her going. And now, what had changed?
You saw that man die.
He hadn’t just died.
He died in your arms.
Sarah had been covering a flower expo of all things. Should have been an easy payday… a real piece of cake… except for the man with a gun. He opened fire on the crowd. Ten wounded, four dead… including the shooter. He’d been there to kill his ex-wife… she’d been only wounded.
One of the dead: Tom Hillston. He’d been in front of Sarah when the shooting started. Had he not been standing there…
She took a deep breath.
The image of his face as Tom died; It was always there… just below the surface… ready to come out at a moment’s notice. The sadness… emptiness in his eyes. Sarah could still taste the blood on her lips.
His blood.
Blood on her hands.
Blood that wouldn’t wash off no matter how many times she tried.
There were times at night… sleepless nights, where she prayed they could switch places. She should have died that day, not Tom Hillston, father of three.
Post-traumatic stress disorder they call it. Well she certainly had it… and her work was suffering for it. Missed appointments, outbursts, and shitty work.
That’s why this assignment was so important. A job for a clothes catalog… a chance to get the ball rolling again on her career.
The cafe was busy with the afternoon lunch crowd… far too many people here for Sarah to feel comfortable. She was waiting for the editor of the catalog to show. They’d had a date for noon, but It was already quarter to one. Sarah had the urge to just fucking leave; the photos were shit anyway.
A few more minutes she told herself, then she’d leave. Piss on this whole fucking rotten thing.
A red corvette pulled into the lot. Music played loudly within for a few seconds before the car shut off. Was that Rick Astley?
It could only be Irene Dellanger, an old friend and the person responsible for getting her this job. Sarah hadn’t realized she’d be meeting Irene. This would be doubly hard… showing her the disappointing photo shoot, after Irene had gone out of her way to get Sarah the job.
Some of the patrons shot Irene dirty looks as she strode over. No doubt they weren’t fans of her choice of music. Before Irene could reach her, a waitress cut her off.
“Can I help you ma’am?” The hapless young women asked.
Irene simply pointed to Sarah. “I’m with her kid. Would you be a sport and bring me a glass of wine.” The waitress left, tail between her legs.
Irene gave Sarah a weary smile. “There’s my girl!” She sat languidly in the chair across from her. “Lay ‘em on me baby.”
Sarah held the folder tight, her heart beat fast in her chest. “Well…” She wanted to tell her not to bother, that the photos were all garbage… but her courage went out the door as Irene smiled at her, waiting with her hand outreached.
No, instead Sarah handed them off, defeated. She was weak, no doubt about it.
Irene took the folder, and rifled through it a couple times without comment. Sarah tried to read her friend’s face. Was that disappointment, or just tiredness? It was hard to say.
Finally, after a few agonizing minutes Irene handed it back. Before either of them commented, the poor waitress from before brought that glass of wine.
Sarah worked up the nerve to say something to her friend. “Listen, I’m sorry that they’re so poor. The photos. I can do them again perhaps… ”
Irene put a hand up, cutting her off. She took a large sip of wine, setting the glass back down and spilling droplets of wine on the white tablecloth.
“Hahaha! Good one Sarah.”
Sarah looked at her puzzled. “What?”
“Is this like one of our collage pranks? Or is today April first?”
“Uh, neither?”
“Then you have a weirder sense of humor then I thought. They’re fantastic!”
Fantastic? Was Irene still smoking pot? That’s the only explanation. No, no, she was being nice. That’s it… she could tell how messed up Sarah was feeling.
“Y-You like them?” Sarah stammered. “I didn’t think they came out all that great.”
“Love ‘em!” She took another sip of wine. “In fact I think I’m giving you the location shoot too.”
“What? Really?” Sarah asked, maybe Irene was the one pulling a prank.
“Yeah.” She answered, a little annoyed. “I’m not joking. You killed the studio shoot. Let’s see what you can do with a location. I’ve already got it picked out. You’ll love it.”
They’d had a pretty good lunch afterwards; dropping all the business talk and just talking about old times. It was the first time in so long she felt good… felt human, and not like a lump of scar tissue.
As Sarah was walking back to the car, she stopped and waved to Irene as she pulled out, music again loudly pouring from the car’s speakers. It was in fact Rick Astley.
Over the din of Rick’s voice and the car engine, Irene hollered to her.
“It was fun home slice. Catch you tomorrow!” With that she sped off, breaking god knows how many traffic laws.
Sarah couldn’t help herself, she smiled. Perhaps it was the turning point she’d hoped for. A second chance… redemption.
Irene might have thought she’d love the location, but Sarah had other feelings about it altogether. The place was horrible… an old abandoned building at the center of the city. It had served as the City Hall back in the 70’s, but a scandal of some sort had led to the building falling into disuse. In fact most of this area of the city had been vacated.
Blocks and blocks of old, abandoned buildings. Some hundreds of years old. It wasn’t too hard to tell her models: Allie and Paige were less then thrilled by their surroundings as well.
Paige, a pale, leggy redhead looked up at the old city hall. “Really?”
Sarah nodded. “That’s what she told me.”
Allie, a pretty blonde with long curly hair cracked her knuckles. “I don’t know guys, I’m feeling it. Let’s get shooting.”
They headed into the building.
Sarah was surprised that the front door wasn’t locked or boarded up. Maybe Irene had arranged something… wouldn’t surprise her at all. Irene always got her way.
Inside it was pretty much as Sarah expected; a mess. The floor was littered with trash… the walls covered in graffiti. She had to admit to herself though, there were plenty of interesting places to shoot here.
The next couple of hours went rather well. Sarah felt her confidence coming back.
Paige was taking a break, sitting on an old desk. She stretched a long leg, rubbing it. She watched Sarah as she was taking some photos of Allie, clicking away with an old style camera.
“You now, they have digital ones now.” Paige said, a little sarcasm in her voice.
Sarah watched Allie take a new pose. “I’m a little old fashioned I guess.”
After another hour of shooting and they’d finished up. The crew was packing up their equipment as the girls and make-up guy took a break. Sarah decided that she wanted some photos of the place… it was too good a location to pass up.
There were plenty of good shots she could get. She was feeling it, that thrill again, after so long.
Perhaps that was why it didn’t bother her walking down the hallway alone… that and the fact that after the shooting she preferred solitude. Sarah had a hard time trusting people, even those she knew, after all, that woman had been married at one time to the man that tried to kill her. You never knew who might snap and try to kill you.
Among the graffiti were people’s names, crude drawings of sex organs and various obscene words… but one thing kept popping up.
The Triangle People are coming.
Sarah counted at least five times so far she found it written on a wall or door. Was it the name of a gang?
She walked further down the hall, clicking photos of the graffiti. She found a couch further down the hall. Resting against a wall. Spray painted across the cushions was the word ASS. She chuckled before taking a picture of it. ‘Whoever did it had some skill… a letter on each cushion and everything’ Sarah thought caustically.
Clack-tap, clack-tap, clack-tap.
Sarah looked up from the couch, glancing back they way she’d come. Was there somebody coming? Maybe one of the crew come to fetch her. But the hall was empty. She turned and looked further down the other end of the hall where it turned a corner.
“Hello?” Sarah called out, tightening her grip on the camera. If one of them was playing a prank on her, she’d let them have it. “Guys c’mon, don’t even.”
Clack-tap, clack-tap, clack-tap.
The sound was coming closer. It sounded like heavy boots, none of the others

Episode Notes
A group of kids decides to whip out their Ouija board at the old rock quarry after dark, what could go wrong? More importantly, what is after them?!
Suffer the Little Children by Dennis Freeman
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
1
“You’re not goddamn going,” Anthony said, trying his father’s favorite epithet on for size. He was only twelve but, thanks to Jacob Anderson, he had quite a colorful vocabulary for his age. He surveyed his little brother’s face and saw no sign of shock at the use of “the GD word” but only a solemn, pouting lower lip.
Greg was eleven and, even though they both went to middle school, there was an unspoken but well-defined hierarchy. Anthony hung out with kids from his class who were mostly twelve and thirteen and despite being only a year and nineteen days older than Greg, he knew his little brother would be categorized as a “baby big kid” by his friend James.
“Come on, Tony!” Greg whined. “All my friends are gone for Thanksgiving break. Let me hang out with you guys.”
“Can’t do it, sprat.”
“I’ll tell mom you and your friends were playing at the quarry!” Greg exclaimed.
Tony was momentarily worried by this threat but let it slide. He knew Greg would be upset he couldn’t go but he’d never endanger his own well-being by telling their mother something that would surely land Anthony in his room with no Xbox One and the cable disconnected for no less than two weeks.
“Do that and you’ll never get to hang out with us,” Anthony said. “What am I supposed to do, Tony?”
“Stop whining for starters.” He said it much more harshly than he intended. Greg cast his eyes down at his feet and Anthony sighed. He put his arm around Greg after checking around the street to make sure nobody was watching) and tried to comfort his brother. “If you get hurt playing at the quarry with us mom would shit a bird!”
Greg giggled at this like Anthony knew he would. The mental image of their mother shitting feathers tickled Greg and the first time Anthony had said it his little brother had nearly died laughing.
“I guess I’ll just play Xbox. You better be home by five though. Mom and Dad will be asking where you are, and I hate pretending like I don’t know,” Greg said.
“Promise!” Anthony raised a three-finger scout salute.
“Look, I’ll talk to James and the guys and see if I can’t get them to let you come with us next time. Okay?”
Greg smiled and nodded. Anthony would probably mention it to the guys but he knew he wouldn’t put up to much of a fight if they said no. Anthony wasn’t a mean brother by any means, but he was a follower by nature. Greg knew this even if he didn’t know exactly how to articulate it. He watched as Anthony mounted his big red Mongoose and took off down the street to meet the rest of the “James Gang” as they called themselves. Once his brother was out of sight Greg sighed and went inside to get a soda and retire to his room to play Xbox.
2
Greg sat in the floor by his bed surrounded by a plethora of empty soda cans and candy wrappers. Had his mother walked in at that exact moment she would have “shit a bird” at the sight. He turned off his console and began to stuff the wrappers into his already overflowing waste basket. He took the cans downstairs and put them in the recycling and plopped down onto one of the bar-stools in the kitchen. It was only eleven-thirty and Greg had already exhausted his patience at the new Madden game.
“It’s going to be exactly the same as the last three,” Anthony had said one day when Greg had excitedly described the commercial to him. As usual his brother had been correct in his assumption. Great graphics aside, the Xbox wasn’t keeping Greg’s attention and he started to think about what Anthony and his friends could be doing down at the quarry. Anthony was only a year older than he was and Greg couldn’t imagine that he and his friends were doing anything that he himself couldn’t do.
“Fuck it,” Greg muttered under his breath. His cheeks flushed hot at the vocalization of what his mother called “the really bad word” and he went into the garage to grab his bike. He would ride down to the quarry and see just what his brother’s friends were up to. He would go what his father called “incognito” and watch from afar at first.
He grabbed the backpack his parents had bought him for hiking trips and put on his khaki Brahmas which clashed with the black athletic shorts and orange Clemson basketball jersey, but he wasn’t out to win any fashion contests. He pulled his curly locks back out of his face and put them into a ponytail. He had had long hair since he was a baby and with exception of a handful of trims he had always worn his hair long. The older he got, the less serious the teasing about his hair got, and now he even received a few compliments. Mostly from girls.
Greg mounted his blue Huffy and started off down the street. He rode down Alberta Street and took a detour between a pair of houses on Jackson. The trip itself only took about ten minutes but it felt like forever to Greg, whose mind wouldn’t stop speculating as to what he’d see when he got there. He wondered if the James Gang would be doing dangerous stunts on their bikes or perhaps they were wrestling by the scummy pond that was in the pit left over from the rainy weather they had had.
“They may be hanging out with girls.” He thought.
This brought a fresh flush to his cheeks. He was eleven and his “girls are icky” stage had been over for almost a full year but he still wasn’t sure about the fairer sex. He had a basic grasp on what boys and girls did together when they were older but the thought of it still caused a weird mix of emotions he wasn’t able to understand. He felt his pants begin to tighten in the
crotch and forced himself to think of something else. The last thing he needed was to run into his brother and his friends with a raging hard on. He wouldn’t live that down in this lifetime.
The next one either for that matter.
Greg dropped his foot down and drug it through the gravel as he decelerated . He approached the edge of the quarry warily. He saw Anthony’s bike parked by some bushes among four others and left his own a few feet away. He adjusted his backpack and crouch- walked down the narrow path beaten down by adolescent foot traffic and made his way to the edge of the pit. He looked down and saw the five boys who made up the James Gang laid out on the rocks by the water that was pooled down there. He didn’t see any girls, but he did see that two of them were smoking cigarettes. He did a double take when he realized that his brother was one of the ones smoking. A cigarette hung lackadaisically from the corner of his mouth and his eyes squinted against the smoke as he skipped rocks across the surface of the water.
Mom would shit a bird. He grinned maniacally at this. Two of the kids looked like they were playing a board game, checkers it looked like, and James and another boy that Greg didn’t recognize were talking next to Anthony.
Not talking, Greg thought. Arguing.
A little shoving match broke out between James and the other boy and Anthony moved to in between them to break it up. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and moved it nimbly between his fingers as he did this. Greg noted that it probably wasn’t the first time his brother had smoked. Greg couldn’t tell what the boys were arguing about, so he decided he was going to try and sneak to a pile of broken stones about ten feet away from the boys. He once again began to crouch walk but avoided the path. He would be too easy to spot.
3
“You’re a fucking liar!” Charles exclaimed.
James regarded him menacingly, but Anthony held him back to avoid a full-on fist fight. “I am not! My dad told me the story himself! You calling my dad a liar, fat ass?” James
shouted indignantly.
Charles cast his eyes down not wanting to meet James’ angry gaze. He was thirteen and although the jibe about his weight hurt, he was still young enough to believe that everything their parents told them was the truth. He was okay with calling James a liar but to call his father, an ADULT, a liar was an entirely different animal.
“Sorry James,” Charles said, his face glowing red.
James blinked at the sudden shift the conversation had taken. “Me too.” His face softened a bit. “I’m sorry I called you a fat ass.”
“It’s okay.”
Anthony, sensing the drama was over, moved back over by the water. He flicked his cigarette into the scummy pond and went back to skipping rocks.
“He told me that back then the water was a lot higher and kids would jump off the rocks and into the water,” James said. “He said after a couple of guys died that they closed the place up. Some of the kids that did sneak in said they saw ghosts or some shit.”
“That make sense,” Charles said. “It’s the other part that sounds weird.” “That’s what he said.”
“Maybe it’s true though. Like a horror movie or something,” Anthony added.
“Dad said that some of the kids kept coming down here even after they closed it up. They saw things. Like, weird things,” James said.
Anthony nodded as if this were to be expected. The idea of ghosts was not unfathomable for his twelve-year-old mind. “If they died suddenly, like, broke their necks when they dove in or drown or whatever they probably stuck around. Unfinished business or to try and keep other people from dying,” Anthony offered.
He spoke in a scholarly tone like a professor teaching the ways of the worlds to his pupils. Even Eddie and Tim had stopped playing checkers to regard Anthony with intense, wide eyes. Anthony looked up and saw that all his friends were staring at him now.
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Tha

Episode Notes
While self isolating to avoid a global pandemic an eccentric rich man begins to realize his past is after him as much as any virus.
Quarantine: A Story of Isolation by Keith Tomlin
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
Chester Lytle stretched his legs and turned the page in the book he was reading.  Although he rarely allowed himself to think it, he was alone in the world.  He had no friends and his father, the last of his relatives, died when he was a teenager. When Chester turned eighteen, he inherited a small family fortune in a trust that took care of all of his needs.   He never had to work a day in his life, which gave him plenty of time to pursue his only passion, books.  
With a book, he could be transported anywhere in the world, anywhere in the galaxy.  He can be a captain of a ship hunting a great white whale, he can command starships, pursue criminals through the streets of 1920’s Chicago, and be a great ball player, beloved by an entire nation.  Books were his refuge, his safe place from horrors and pains of life.  The world outside his door may crazy and deadly but he was safe and sound, alone, in his comfortable house in a small town in Connecticut. 
When Chester first heard reports of a mysterious new disease rising out of China, he knew it would only be a matter of time before it came to America.  He had read enough novels about pandemics, plagues, and outbreaks to know that someone, somewhere, screwed up and unleashed a demon upon the world.  He was not surprised when a lockdown was instituted and, to tell the truth, it wasn’t much of a change for him.  Chester liked the isolation, it felt comfortable, like an old friend, not that he knew what a friend felt like.  
On this night, the night of Chester’s death, he was reading a story about a pirate king who fell in love with a serving wench and was now facing a ship full of mutinous sailors.  His first mate, the instigator of the mutiny, had just grabbed the pirate king’s one true love and held a knife to her throat.  Chester’s breath quickened as he hurriedly turned the page to see how the pirate king would prevail and save his queen.
Scratch
The strange noise broke Chester’s concentration.  He shook his head as if waking from a dream and looked around the room.  Every wall in the living room was lined with bookshelves, each one stuffed with hard cover books, paperbacks, and manuscripts of all kinds.  The room was dimly lit by a gas fireplace, throwing strange and mysterious shadows around the room.
He cocked his head and listened for the noise again.  
“What was that?”, he mumbled to himself.  He spent a few minutes more listening, silently trying to probe the deep shadows around the bookcases.  When the noise did not repeat itself, he shrugged and bent his head back to his book.  He started reading again but the spell was broken.  He couldn’t summon up the scene that had been playing in his head.  He tried going back a few pages to see if that would kickstart the story but it was no use, the magic had faded.  Sighing, he put the book down, carefully inserting a bookmaker to preserve his spot.  
Chester stood and stretched, his back cracking as he arched backwards.  He realized that he has been slacking on his calisthenics.  Maybe he’ll try to get in 20 jumping jacks before bed, he thought absently.  He walked to the doorway, turning sideways to slide between the two bookshelves that partially blocked the opening between the living room and dining room.  
The dining room was also lined with bookcases.  These shelves were even more crammed with books than the den.  Stacks of well-read paperbacks covered most of the floor, leaving only a path to get from the small table and single chair in the middle of the room to the three doorways, leading to the living room, kitchen, and hallway.  
Squeak
Chester stopped.  He stared, confused, at the floor.  He gingerly began applying more pressure to his front foot, testing the floorboard that he was standing on.  When he first heard the noise, he thought it may have come from there but the more he thought about it, the more he was sure it came from his left, towards the hallway.  
“This is strange”, he said out loud.  His voice cracked as he spoke.  He wasn’t used to speaking above a whisper but he felt he had to say something to break the eerie silence that had dropped over the room.  
Chester held his breath and listened, thinking that he had to be alone, no one else could have gotten in here without him hearing them.  Each of the windows and the backdoor have been boarded up and the house was sealed tight to keep out light, sound, and disease.  The front door had nearly a dozen locks on it.  He only opened it every other week when he received his supply of food and reading material and that was only after he was sure the delivery person was long gone. 
Chester had no idea who delivered his supplies, the family trust took care of everything. To him, it was almost like magic, everything he needed seemed to show up without him having to ask for it.  He then wondered if he had a book with a story about a dashing young hero that fought off home invaders.  That may be a good for a thrill before bedtime. He seemed to remember a book of short stories in the bathroom…. He stumbled as he suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath this whole time. He loudly exhaled, taking a few quick deep breaths to clear the dizzy feeling from his head.  
The strange noise already forgotten, he headed into the kitchen to make himself dinner.  He absently stepped over the stack of paperbacks that line the kitchen doorway and walked to the kitchen cabinets.  Opening up a cabinet door, he selected the lone plate sitting on a shelf.  He then reached into the breadbox and pulled out 2 slices of white bread, placing them on the plate.  Turing to the fridge, he opened the door and looked over the shelves which housed a partial gallon of milk and several packages of butcher paper containing various types of lunch meat. He thoughtfully pondered over what type of sandwich he wanted before finally selecting a package of sliced turkey.  He deliberately pulled out 4 slices of turkey meat and placed them onto a slice of bread.  He put the second piece of bread on top and made sure the sandwich was centered on the plate.  
Next comes his favorite part of dinner; desert.  Chester opened up a drawer and looked longingly at a pack of vanilla crème cookies.  Whomever delivered his supply of groceries only give cookies once a month so he was careful to ration them.  Shivering with anticipation, he reached into the drawer to grab the three cookies that he would eat with his meal.    
“What?” he exclaimed when he found nothing but crumbs.  There should have been enough for at least three more days but the package was empty.  Dumbfounded, he picked it up and shook it, showering the counter with crumbs that fell from a ragged hole in the back of the package.  Turning it over, he stared at that hole for several seconds.
It slowly dawned on him that something had chewed through the plastic wrapper and ate his cookies, that something was loose in the house, that something had invaded his space, his safe zone.  His mind flashed through the endless possibilities of what this creature may be.  He thought of stories with creatures from outer space, demons from the darkest pits of hell, and fairies from tales of old.  He finally realized the only logical explanation would be…
“A mouse?”, he whispered out loud.  
“A mouse.”, he said, in a firm voice.
“A mouse!  A goddamn mouse in my goddamn house!”, he exclaimed loudly.
At the edge of his peripheral vision, he seen something dart out of the kitchen, running between stacks of books, into the dining room.  Chester gave a guttural growl and picked up the closet object he could reach and threw it at the creature.  The empty package of cookies only flew a few feet before slowly floating to the ground.  Chester’s face turned red with the shame he used to feel as a child when he tried to play sports with the other kids.  The indignity of it was too much and he charged into the dining room, kicking over stacks of paperbacks as he ran.  
Breathing hard, he stopped to listen and, upon hearing nothing, he arbitrarily chose to proceed down the hall.  He paused every few stops, drawing on the lessons he learned reading countless stories about great hunters stalking prey in the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa.  He made a point not to think about the fact that a great hunter would not accidentally kick a copy of The Great Gatsby down the hall causing a stack of mid-century French poetry books to topple over.  He stopped at the bathroom and flicked on the light.  Looking at the piles and piles of books, for the first time he no longer saw adventure and romance, he only saw all the dark places where an enemy could hide.   
Chester nudged a pile of books with his foot, jumping back in anticipation of a rabid rodent leaping out to attack him.  When nothing happened, he felt like a fool, his face once again turning red with shame.  Disgusted with himself, he kicked another pile of book.  He shrieked with panic when a mouse did pop out from behind that pile, ran across his foot, and out into the hall.  Falling back and landing on his rear, he caught a quick glance of the small furry brown creature squirming under the door of the spare bedroom, across the hall from the bathroom.  
Trying to rise to his feet, Chester slipped on some paperbacks before his feet found purchase and he smashed into the bathroom doorknob. He grunted as pain exploded from his hip but h

Episode Notes
We've all heard the stories of the maniac on the loose who has a razor sharp hook for a hand, but for the first time ever we are presenting his side of the gory story!
The Hook by Rob Fields
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
facebook.com/WeeklySpooky
[email protected]
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
For everything else visit WeeklySpooky.com
Transcription:
How many times have I been asked this question? How many times have I been asked, “Why, Farley? Why’d ya do it?” 
Police, reporters, headshrinkers, an even the guards here at Grafton Prison. They all ask me the same question. An every time, I give ’em the same answer. “Because I could.”
Have ya figured it out yet? I’m a murderer. That’s right, a murderer. I been killin’ people since I got outta high school. It all started twenty years ago with my high school sweetheart. We were supposed to get married. Problem was she liked to keep naggin’ an naggin’ on. One day, she got drunk off her ass, came to my back door, an started pickin’ at me. I coulda just closed the door on her, but I decided I really didn’t hafta just take her shit. I was a man an she was just a panty-dropper. So I came outside an picked up the ax. Her head sure sailed quite a ways before it came to land at the back door. Ya know what? It felt mighty good! 
So I been targetin’ bitches for many years after that. One right after another . . . I had such a good time choppin’ an hackin’ ’em up. Bitches ain’t nothin’ but leeches. All they do is take an take an take from ya. Way I saw it, I was doin’ their fellas a tremendous favor. 
Of course, I wasn’t gonna get away with it forever. Ya probably knew that already, right? One day, I was killin’ this panty-dropper in her nice home. Next thing I know, her fella comes in. Turned out to be a pig. Instead of tryin’ to arrest me, he lost his head an came at me. The two of us had a big fight. Guess the pig fella really loved his bitch, because he eventually got hold of the ax I used to chop her up with . . . an he cut off my freakin’ hand as I was pushin’ myself off a dresser. 
That was the last thing I remembered before I woke up in jail, a few days after the incident. I now had a neatly-bandaged stump where my hand used to be, probably from when I was rushed to the hospital. A few weeks later, I’m in Grafton Prison. Yeah, there was no question of my guilt. Especially when I told the bitch judge I’d come for her once I get outta here. 
There are even a few bitches here as guards. Two of ’em work on my block. They can never help but just look at me. An every now an then, they still ask me, “Why, Farley, why did ya do it?”
“Because I could!” I tell ’em again an again. 
So every day I just sit here in my cell. They don’t put nobody in here with me. Let’s just say I ended up killin’ my last two cellmates. Even with one hand, I can still get the job done. Teeth can work just as well as a hand when yer tearin’ their throats out. Especially when they get stupid an fall asleep. 
I just sit in my cell an workin’ out my escape plan. Then, after all these years, I get some rather interestin’ news. Turns out I’m gettin’ a hook to replace my lost hand. I end up bein’ taken to the infirmary where the people there will put it on my stump. Wouldn’t ya know it? There’s a doctor bitch here that’s gonna put the hook on. 
I’m secured tight an put to sleep as the bitch puts the hook on. When it’s all done, I get wheeled back to my cell. Problem here is that I now have a deadly weapon attached to my body an the sleep stuff wears off too soon. The guards don’t even expect me to just turn on ’em after they remove the straps to put me back in my cell. With my new hook, I can easily rip out their throats. I even go back to kill the doctor bitch who put the hook on. Had to give her my thanks an appreciation, right?
Long story short, I end up escapin’ Grafton Prison an decide to make my way back to Strickfield to even the score with that bitch judge. I know, I know . . . Why, Farley, why do ya do it? 
Because I can! Because I will again!
I end up takin’ an old pickup truck from the prison to Strickfield. It’s nice to actually have some air conditionin’ for once. It doesn’t last long, though. The pickup truck breaks down just a few miles from Strickfield. I hafta leave it an walk the rest of the way. At least now it’s dark outside. 
Pretty soon, I end up comin’ up to a car parked off to the side of the road, underneath a streetlight that’s there. I can hear some music playin’. I turn an look down the hill an see Strickfield. Yeah, I remember this place now. This is Strickfield Overlook. Fellas bring their bitches here to try an score some nookie. I killed many bitches up here.
From a safe enough distance, I can hear the two of ’em talkin’. Definitely a boy an a girl. Sounds like they’re from that college on the other side of Strickfield. 
“I really can’t believe you let me take you out tonight, Raige,” the fella tells her. Yeah, definitely a wimpy mama’s boy type. 
“It’s quite all right,” the bitch tells him. “It’s good to get out sometimes. So thank you for getting me off campus for a little while.” An what kind of a name is Raige? Sounds like she’s always pissed off or somethin’. I’m guessin’ she’s a Plain Jane. 
“Listen, I hope you don’t mind that I brought you up here,” the fella says. “I’ve always admired the view from Strickfield from up here. I’m from here, you know.”
“Nothing wrong with that, Franklin,” Raige tells him. “I’m from North Ridgeway, which is on the other side of the state.”
The two of ’em talk about why they came to college an all that stupid shit. I can feel the anticipation mountin’ up. Ya just know I want that panty-dropper all to myself. But it’s been so long, I think I’ll kill the milksop too. 
Then Raige gets outta the car an looks up at the night sky. The milksop gets out, too. Yeah, he’s definitely a milksop. He’s one of ’em nerdy types: skinny, polo shirt, trousers, loafers, an glasses. Only he don’t have the tape around the middle of his glasses like some wimps I used to know around these parts. 
An who does this wimp think he is? That bitch looks way too good for someone like him. She looks like one of those girls ya see in the nudie mags that the inmates back at Grafton would pass around. Such an angelic face an a nice chassis. She’s even got some nice big milk jugs to go with that chassis. She should be with a real fella, not this milksop of a mama’s boy. Oh well . . . it’ll all be the same to me when I kill ’em both. 
This Franklin comes over to Raige, an the two of ’em start talkin’ again. 
“You okay, Raige?” he asks. Yeah, even he ain’t sure this girl would wanna drop her panties for him. Probably wonderin’ if he’s even gonna get any. 
She turns to face him. “I’m fine, Franklin. It was a little stuffy in the car. It’s much cooler out here. There’s even a breeze.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We can roll up the windows an I can run the air conditioning,” he tells her. 
She makes herself smile. “But then we couldn’t see this nice view that you wanted me to see. And besides, it’s not like we can’t . . .” An then she actually steps up to the milksop and starts kissin’ him!
Next thing ya know, the two of ’em are both swappin’ spit an wrappin’ their arms around one another. I’ll kill ’em, but first I wanna see if the milksop can get Milk Jugs nice an naked. 
Eventually, the two of ’em go to the front of the car. He lifts her up so that her perfect behind is on the hood. Then their kissin’ becomes more hot an heavy. I just don’t get it. Why would a nice-lookin’ bitch like that go for for a milksop like him? 
An then the romantic music is interrupted by a news bulletin. The two of ’em stop their kissin’ to listen to it. 
“This is a breaking news bulletin from the Strickfield University newsroom here at WSTR Radio. Convicted murder, Farley McFaine, has escaped from Grafton Prison. If you see him, do not approach him – under any circumstances. He is easy to identify by the hook he wears as his right hand, which was amputated in a skirmish with a police officer twenty years ago. If you see him, you should immediately inform your local authorities.” 
From there, the radio guy keeps rattlin’ on about how dangerous I am. That much he’s got right. 
Raige tells her milksop that perhaps they’d best head back into town. “You just never know, Franklin.”
Franklin the Milksop isn’t so convinced. “But, Raige, why would McFaine climb all the way up here? That would be pointless.”
Raige doesn’t hesitate an sounds deadly serious now. “You’d be surprised at what serial killers like McFaine are capable of, Franklin.” She takes his hand now. “Please. We can still continue our date. I’d rather we just head back into town.”
“Okay, Raige, you win.” He helps her down off the hood. 
The two of ’em get back into his car. Now’s the time to strike! I move from the bushes to get to the car. As I reach it, I’m about to use my hook to pull open the passenger door an grab the bitch. 
“Oh shit!” I hear the milksop cry out. No doubt he heard me at his bitch’s door. 
Before I realize it, the milksop quickly stomps on the gas an the car speeds away. Suddenly, I’m in a lot of pain as the hook has been ripped clean away from me. Stupid! The milksop had the motor runnin’ all that time! My mind was too much on the bitch that I ain’t thinkin’ straight. I hafta get my shirt off – fast! It’s a little hard to do with only one hand, but I manage to get the shirt tied up enough to stop the bleedin’. 
Just then, another car stops close enough. A fella gets out an asks me if I’m okay. Then he recognizes me. “Oh, my god! You’re Farley McFaine! You’re the guy who escaped from – gaak!”
His mistake was yappin’ when he shoulda been runnin’. He falls on the ground after I use my teeth to