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Ep.27 – The Cat's Out of the Bag - Death and Revenge!
Released on 04/29/2020
Episode Notes
After running over her brother's cat with her car young Michelle becomes tormented by feelings of guilt but is that the only thing haunting her?
The Cat's Out of the Bag by Morgan Moore
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
Transcript:
The sound of tires screeching tore through the air as a Mitsubishi Lancer came to a sudden and jerky stop.
Bursting out of the drivers side of the car came a girl of about 15. She made her way to the back of the car, as her passenger… a girl as well, joined her.
The two girls looked down at the ground and saw a black cat in rough shape.. its midsection had been crushed in, and it’s brains oozed out.
“Oh shit!” The former driver croaked out, panic flooding over her face.
“What’s the matter?” Her friend asked. “It’s only a cat.”
“No it’s not just a cat. It’s my brother’s cat!” She explained as her face grew red and her voice jumped between panic and frustration.
“Oh. Well shit is right then. You’re screwed Michelle.”
“Like I didn’t figure that one out Arianna!” Michelle nearly shouted at her friend.
It didn’t take her long to figure it out at all. The cat had been living with Michelle and her family for a couple of months now. They had noticed it coming around the neighborhood and specifically that it was hanging around their house.
Michelle’s mom figured it was maybe because some old cat food from their last cat might still be in the yard since it lived outside, or that it was trying to just find scraps from the garbage. Cats in general always seemed to roam around their neighborhood, and so they paid no attention to it.
That is until the darn thing somehow got itself stuck in their attic.
Her dad managed to get it down and once it saw her brother Mark it became attached to him and vice-versa.
Mark loved the cat and never let it outside out of fear it, which he later named ‘Munk’, would leave and never come back. To the credit of Mark and her parents, the cat was never let out and they did everything they could to make sure it couldn’t escape.
Unfortunately it seemed they didn’t do the best of jobs today.
Michelle didn’t know how Munk got out, she could only guess that maybe she and Arianna didn’t shut a door as well as they normally would in their rush to go meet up with some friends.
No matter how the cat got out, it did, and in their focus on friends and fun, didn’t pay attention as Munk began to cross the road in front of them… they only knew they had run over the poor cat as they did the deed.
“Dammit, what am I going to do?!” Michelle questioned.
The two teenagers looked again at the cat, their stomachs churning at the grotesque image.
Arianna was the first to break the sudden silence.
“Just get rid of it. It’s just a dead cat… nobody saw us hit the stupid thing, so just throw it away somewhere and problem solved.”
Michelle looked at her friend in astonishment.
“You want me to just dump it? You want me to just dump my brother’s cat?” Her voice grew in anger.
“Well… yeah. It’s not like he’ll know you did it. He’ll figure it jus… ran away or something.”
“You do realize how protective he is of the stupid thing right? He goes apeshit if it even looks like it might escape or get hurt.”
“Look,” Arianna started in a soothing tone. “Mistakes happen. Maybe we didn’t close the door all the way… maybe the wind blew it open enough for it to escape… heck, you said the cat once got in your attic… maybe it did a similar thing this time. Point being… shit happens, and cats are tricky little shits. He will never know and never has to know.”
The two girls looked down at the cat again, the image of its corpse becoming a bit easier to handle.
Michelle had to admit that Arianna had a point.
To the best of their knowledge, no one had seen them hit the cat, and even if they did they wouldn’t know whose it was.
Michelle sighed and took a deep breath.
“You’re right. Shit happens. Besides, cats tend to just… leave anyway.” Michelle opined.
“See? Now you’re thinking. Plus it’s a black cat, they’re unlucky. Maybe it rubbed some of that bad luck on him.” Arianna suggested as a smile grew on her face. “Hell it crossed your path, maybe you’ve been marked for bad luck now.” She added with a small snicker.
“Oh shut up and help me get rid of this stupid thing.” Michelle returned.
The two girls leaned down and picked up the cat, their faces twisted in disgust as the unfortunate animal’s blood ran through their fingers and down their arms… a final warmth before the coldness of death.
They moved quickly over to Michelle’s car and put the cat in the back seat.
Each girl gave a quick look around the area before getting in the car and speeding off.
Later the girls arrived on a secluded bike path and, once deep into it, threw Munk’s body into a group of trees before running back to the car.
Once inside Michelle and Arianna looked at each other. After a moment they nodded their heads and drove away, off to spend time with their friends.
It didn’t take long for Mark to notice.
That night, when Michelle came home, she found her parents and Mark trying to hunt down the cat… Mark was in an outright frenzy.
Her parents explained that Munk had somehow ran out from the house and they couldn’t find her.
They had driven and walked around the neighborhood and even had asked some of the neighbors, but neither they, nor anybody, knew where the cat may have gone.
This brought some relief to Michelle… enough so that she was able to fall into a deep, guilt-free slumber that night.
As the days went on the search for Munk grew. Her folks put up posters throughout town and made posts on social media asking friends to keep an eye out… and Michelle did so as well, never letting on that the cat’s blood was on her hands.
Mark however went from searching in a frenzy, to searching in flat out hysteria.
He would stay up all night looking around the neighborhood, putting out her favorite treats to try and lure her back to him.
This led to him skipping school to continue the search, something which both the school and their parents became more than upset about.
This resulted in Michelle’s parents trying to reign in the grief… to regain the control… to make restrictions on the time allotted to searching for the feline.
All this did was make Mark angrier at the situation… and while he would go to school, the random unprovoked fights he instigated proved he had nothing but hostility regarding the situation of losing his beloved cat.
Days became weeks and then weeks became a month and no sign of Munk had yet to surface… not that one ever would.
It was at this point that Michelle and Mark’s parents simply stopped looking and caring. They kept reminding people on social media about the reward, but the intensity they first had vanished and they simply came to the conclusion Munk was gone forever.
Michelle went through the motions of her normal life, but the guilt was bubbling more and more as she watched her brother become more obsessed and depressed over Munk being gone.
Whenever she and Arianna hung out they would never bring it up, only acknowledging it every so often with a knowing look… even in private they never discussed it save for Arianna asking how Mark was doing and leaving it at that.
And so their days became ever more hellish;Mark was falling into a deep depression, and Michelle was overwhelmed with guilt and shame that continually churned inside of her. Any cat she saw made her think of Munk.
When she would be alone in the dark she could swear she saw the cat moving in the darkness,waiting for an opportunity to strike and exact revenge on her.
Soon it was becoming clear to her that she was falling into a pit of paranoia.
In the back of her mind she thought that it was due to the folly of her and Arianna, their rush to go meet with friends, that gave Munk the chance to sneak out. At first she would blame Mark for not teaching the dumb thing to not even approach a door, let alone to fear going back outside now that it had a home.
But in the end there was no clear sign as to how the door was able to open enough and why Munk decided to go out for a stroll. The only thing crystal clear was that it was Michelle who ran over the poor thing. It was Michelle who went along with the idea to simply just dispose of the body. It was Michelle who made the decision to not tell her parents what had happened, and it was she that made the decision to not tell her brother. No matter how she spun it in her head, no matter what Arianna told her, no matter what it was purely and simply Michelle at fault, and she was tired of the guilt she felt.
After about two months of searching Michelle decided it was time to come clean about the whole situation.
She came home from school one day and saw a note from her parents saying that they’d be gone for the weekend to visit some relatives. The siblings were on their own.
Michelle went upstairs to tell her brother about it and saw him sitting on his bed, his face distraught and filled with sadness. Now was the time to tell him. Michelle knocked on his door and her brother turned his head some to see what the cause of the noise was.
“Mind if I come in?”
“No… ” Mark replied solemnly as he returned his gaze downward.
Michelle walked over to his bed and sat down. She never really enjoyed being in her brother’s room. It always smelled putrid even with both him and mom going through cans of air freshener and wax melts.
Her parents theorized it was due to Mark’s room having a little crawlspace that tended to catch a lot of water whenever it rained, and so the smell probably came from rotting wood. Arianna had once said her brother’s room smelled too
After running over her brother's cat with her car young Michelle becomes tormented by feelings of guilt but is that the only thing haunting her?
The Cat's Out of the Bag by Morgan Moore
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
Transcript:
The sound of tires screeching tore through the air as a Mitsubishi Lancer came to a sudden and jerky stop.
Bursting out of the drivers side of the car came a girl of about 15. She made her way to the back of the car, as her passenger… a girl as well, joined her.
The two girls looked down at the ground and saw a black cat in rough shape.. its midsection had been crushed in, and it’s brains oozed out.
“Oh shit!” The former driver croaked out, panic flooding over her face.
“What’s the matter?” Her friend asked. “It’s only a cat.”
“No it’s not just a cat. It’s my brother’s cat!” She explained as her face grew red and her voice jumped between panic and frustration.
“Oh. Well shit is right then. You’re screwed Michelle.”
“Like I didn’t figure that one out Arianna!” Michelle nearly shouted at her friend.
It didn’t take her long to figure it out at all. The cat had been living with Michelle and her family for a couple of months now. They had noticed it coming around the neighborhood and specifically that it was hanging around their house.
Michelle’s mom figured it was maybe because some old cat food from their last cat might still be in the yard since it lived outside, or that it was trying to just find scraps from the garbage. Cats in general always seemed to roam around their neighborhood, and so they paid no attention to it.
That is until the darn thing somehow got itself stuck in their attic.
Her dad managed to get it down and once it saw her brother Mark it became attached to him and vice-versa.
Mark loved the cat and never let it outside out of fear it, which he later named ‘Munk’, would leave and never come back. To the credit of Mark and her parents, the cat was never let out and they did everything they could to make sure it couldn’t escape.
Unfortunately it seemed they didn’t do the best of jobs today.
Michelle didn’t know how Munk got out, she could only guess that maybe she and Arianna didn’t shut a door as well as they normally would in their rush to go meet up with some friends.
No matter how the cat got out, it did, and in their focus on friends and fun, didn’t pay attention as Munk began to cross the road in front of them… they only knew they had run over the poor cat as they did the deed.
“Dammit, what am I going to do?!” Michelle questioned.
The two teenagers looked again at the cat, their stomachs churning at the grotesque image.
Arianna was the first to break the sudden silence.
“Just get rid of it. It’s just a dead cat… nobody saw us hit the stupid thing, so just throw it away somewhere and problem solved.”
Michelle looked at her friend in astonishment.
“You want me to just dump it? You want me to just dump my brother’s cat?” Her voice grew in anger.
“Well… yeah. It’s not like he’ll know you did it. He’ll figure it jus… ran away or something.”
“You do realize how protective he is of the stupid thing right? He goes apeshit if it even looks like it might escape or get hurt.”
“Look,” Arianna started in a soothing tone. “Mistakes happen. Maybe we didn’t close the door all the way… maybe the wind blew it open enough for it to escape… heck, you said the cat once got in your attic… maybe it did a similar thing this time. Point being… shit happens, and cats are tricky little shits. He will never know and never has to know.”
The two girls looked down at the cat again, the image of its corpse becoming a bit easier to handle.
Michelle had to admit that Arianna had a point.
To the best of their knowledge, no one had seen them hit the cat, and even if they did they wouldn’t know whose it was.
Michelle sighed and took a deep breath.
“You’re right. Shit happens. Besides, cats tend to just… leave anyway.” Michelle opined.
“See? Now you’re thinking. Plus it’s a black cat, they’re unlucky. Maybe it rubbed some of that bad luck on him.” Arianna suggested as a smile grew on her face. “Hell it crossed your path, maybe you’ve been marked for bad luck now.” She added with a small snicker.
“Oh shut up and help me get rid of this stupid thing.” Michelle returned.
The two girls leaned down and picked up the cat, their faces twisted in disgust as the unfortunate animal’s blood ran through their fingers and down their arms… a final warmth before the coldness of death.
They moved quickly over to Michelle’s car and put the cat in the back seat.
Each girl gave a quick look around the area before getting in the car and speeding off.
Later the girls arrived on a secluded bike path and, once deep into it, threw Munk’s body into a group of trees before running back to the car.
Once inside Michelle and Arianna looked at each other. After a moment they nodded their heads and drove away, off to spend time with their friends.
It didn’t take long for Mark to notice.
That night, when Michelle came home, she found her parents and Mark trying to hunt down the cat… Mark was in an outright frenzy.
Her parents explained that Munk had somehow ran out from the house and they couldn’t find her.
They had driven and walked around the neighborhood and even had asked some of the neighbors, but neither they, nor anybody, knew where the cat may have gone.
This brought some relief to Michelle… enough so that she was able to fall into a deep, guilt-free slumber that night.
As the days went on the search for Munk grew. Her folks put up posters throughout town and made posts on social media asking friends to keep an eye out… and Michelle did so as well, never letting on that the cat’s blood was on her hands.
Mark however went from searching in a frenzy, to searching in flat out hysteria.
He would stay up all night looking around the neighborhood, putting out her favorite treats to try and lure her back to him.
This led to him skipping school to continue the search, something which both the school and their parents became more than upset about.
This resulted in Michelle’s parents trying to reign in the grief… to regain the control… to make restrictions on the time allotted to searching for the feline.
All this did was make Mark angrier at the situation… and while he would go to school, the random unprovoked fights he instigated proved he had nothing but hostility regarding the situation of losing his beloved cat.
Days became weeks and then weeks became a month and no sign of Munk had yet to surface… not that one ever would.
It was at this point that Michelle and Mark’s parents simply stopped looking and caring. They kept reminding people on social media about the reward, but the intensity they first had vanished and they simply came to the conclusion Munk was gone forever.
Michelle went through the motions of her normal life, but the guilt was bubbling more and more as she watched her brother become more obsessed and depressed over Munk being gone.
Whenever she and Arianna hung out they would never bring it up, only acknowledging it every so often with a knowing look… even in private they never discussed it save for Arianna asking how Mark was doing and leaving it at that.
And so their days became ever more hellish;Mark was falling into a deep depression, and Michelle was overwhelmed with guilt and shame that continually churned inside of her. Any cat she saw made her think of Munk.
When she would be alone in the dark she could swear she saw the cat moving in the darkness,waiting for an opportunity to strike and exact revenge on her.
Soon it was becoming clear to her that she was falling into a pit of paranoia.
In the back of her mind she thought that it was due to the folly of her and Arianna, their rush to go meet with friends, that gave Munk the chance to sneak out. At first she would blame Mark for not teaching the dumb thing to not even approach a door, let alone to fear going back outside now that it had a home.
But in the end there was no clear sign as to how the door was able to open enough and why Munk decided to go out for a stroll. The only thing crystal clear was that it was Michelle who ran over the poor thing. It was Michelle who went along with the idea to simply just dispose of the body. It was Michelle who made the decision to not tell her parents what had happened, and it was she that made the decision to not tell her brother. No matter how she spun it in her head, no matter what Arianna told her, no matter what it was purely and simply Michelle at fault, and she was tired of the guilt she felt.
After about two months of searching Michelle decided it was time to come clean about the whole situation.
She came home from school one day and saw a note from her parents saying that they’d be gone for the weekend to visit some relatives. The siblings were on their own.
Michelle went upstairs to tell her brother about it and saw him sitting on his bed, his face distraught and filled with sadness. Now was the time to tell him. Michelle knocked on his door and her brother turned his head some to see what the cause of the noise was.
“Mind if I come in?”
“No… ” Mark replied solemnly as he returned his gaze downward.
Michelle walked over to his bed and sat down. She never really enjoyed being in her brother’s room. It always smelled putrid even with both him and mom going through cans of air freshener and wax melts.
Her parents theorized it was due to Mark’s room having a little crawlspace that tended to catch a lot of water whenever it rained, and so the smell probably came from rotting wood. Arianna had once said her brother’s room smelled too
Ep.26 – Echoes - Ghosts Among Us!
Released on 04/22/2020
Episode Notes
An unwitting waitress falls in love with a man who seems to be out of time, but perhaps her time is up as an apparition begins stalking her.
Echoes by Shane Migliavacca
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
Transcript:
I first met him last week. I'd heard about the new guy in town before that. Castle, New York was the smallest of small towns. Word travels fast when somebody new moves to town. People speculate on the stranger in town. Travis looked like he stepped out of one of those '50's biker films. Last Thursday he walked into the diner I work at. I couldn't take my eyes off him. And he knew it. He caught me looking at him and smiled that sly smile of his. My eyes darted away. I tried to make it look like I was just looking around the diner. But it was too late. He strode over to me.
"Hello there." He said.
"Hey."
I tried to sound confident. Like I didn't give a fuck, but my voice cracked. He smiled at me.
"Can I get a chocolate milkshake to go?"
"Su-Sure.
"Heard they're like wow here."
I started making the shake as he leaned on the counter. He looked at his reflection in the glass case of donuts. Adjusting his hair.
"Yeah, they're really good." I said. I was trying to think of something cool to say. But I was managing to think of one damn thing.
"lived here all your life?" He asked.
"Unfortunately."
"Ain't so bad. I've been to worse."
I finished the shake and brought it over to him. He gave me a wink and took a sip. Before I could say anything he slid a ten dollar bill across the counter. A large silver ring gleamed on his hand. He turned and started to leave.
"Let me get your change."
"The rest is for you dolly."
I watched him go. Dolly? I felt a bit offended. But at the same time I was feeling something else. Love? Lust?
Whatever it was it made me somewhat forgiving of the dolly remark.
"So, that's the new guy? Not bad."
I turned it was my coworker and friend Bren. She adjusted her raven hair.
"What'd he say to you Ronny?"
"Nothing much. Just wanted a milkshake."
"Yeah yours."
We both laughed. Bren has this obnoxious laugh that usually ends up making me laugh harder.
The next day he didn't show up. But the day after he was there again. This time wanting a milkshake and a burger. No matter who waited on him he always ended up talking to me. Usually asking me about some town thing or whatnot. Always coming in at the same time, every other day.
It continued like this for a month. We'd small talk a little and then he'd leave. I never saw him outside of the diner. Then one day he changed the routine.
I got of work one sunny Monday afternoon and Travis was waiting for me. He was leaning ever so slightly against the side of the diner. He smiled at me.
"Hey." I said.
"Hey." He answered. He flicked out a metal lighter and lit a really slim cigarette. "So what do you do for a kick around here?"
"There's the movie theater or the bowling alley."
"No. No. You." He took a puff.
"Me? Uh, not much."
"Naw? Dang shame. Pretty girl like you."
"Uh, thanks."
The flattery made me blush. Was he hitting on me? I sucked at this kind of thing. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to say anything.
"I haven't found much in town to get excited about." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "So I was wondering if you want to hang?"
I thought for a second. He's asking me out. I suck at dating. He's good looking and seems nice, but there's no way a date between us won't end in embarrassment for me and perhaps him too. How to talk him out of it?
"It's kind of been a rough day, you know? Mondays. I just want to go back home and chill."
"It don't have to be today."
"Oh, cool."
"So, wanna see a flick?" He said. "Show the new guy the sights?"
"Sure." I guess. Am I really going to really do this?
Yeah. I guess I was. Why not? I deserved some fun, right? Right. You do. Bren was always trying to get me to go out. This would really shock her.
"Tomorrow night good?"
I thought about it. Did he know I didn't have work the day after?
"Sure."
"Aces. It's a date then. I'll let you pick the flick. Cool?"
"Yeah."
He looked a me. "You should always have you hair like that."
I touched my hair. I forgot I tie it back at work. This was probably the first time he saw it lose.
"It's so beautiful and red. Like a Rose."
"Thanks."
My face lit up as I blushed. Great.
"Gotta run babe. Be seeing you." He did a little point at me and winked before leaving.
What had I got myself into?
Our first date went well. As did the next three. Before I realized it we were a "thing" in town. I think Bren was jealous. For our fifth date Travis wanted to take me on a picnic to Harmony Lake. It would be our first date in a less public place. I wasn't to worried. On every date Travis had been quite the gentlemen.
I was getting ready in the apartment I share with Bren. I stood doing my hair. Bren was watching me.
"You look good. Let it go." She said.
I turned from the mirror and presented myself. "You think?" Twirling around in my dress. It's maybe only the third time I've ever worn the thing.
"Your hideous."
"Hilarious."
"Seriously hon, you look amazballs."
She hugged me. "Have fun at the lake, try not to get too lucky."
"Hey. It's been awhile. But not that long."
Travis picked me up in his in his 1957 Plymouth Fury. It was a convertible. The thing looked like a shark that decided to crawl out of the ocean and start looking for meals on land. He tooted the horn as he pulled up.
"You look stunning babe." He said.
Ever the gentleman he wouldn't let me into the car until he got out and opened the door for me. Some real old song was playing on the car radio. I don't think he listened to anything after the '50's.
We headed out of town as The King sang on the radio.
"I can't get over your car Travis." I said. "It looks so good for it's age."
"I take care of this baby. Means a lot to me, sentimental value. I keep her cherry. I try to get maximum performance."
He steps on the gas and we're moving a little too fast through town. I look at him nervous as he speeds up.
"Don't sweat it Rose. I got this."
Travis had started calling me Rose. Honestly I didn't mind. He took my hand.
"I think today is gonna be special."
The lake looked beautiful in the summer sun as we walked to a nice secluded spot under a large tree. Travis left the car radio on. An old song started.
"Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet"
He set down a large blanket. "My dear." He said. Ushering me to the blanket.
We'd brought quite the selection of food. Travis popped open a bottle of wine. Was that weird for a picnic? He caught me making a face.
"Don't tell me you don't drink wine?"
"No. Just seems a bit much for an afternoon picnic."
"Well it's a celebration too babe."
"It is? What are we celebrating?"
"Five dates."
I laugh. "Okay. I'll drink to that."
"My love she did not know"
The odd song played on as he pours us each a glass of wine. We eat and I take a couple sips of wine. I haven't had much in the way of wine, but this is really good. Wonder where he dug it up around here? As we ate we talk, mostly about me. He's always has so many questions. Every time I ask him something about him, he seems sad. Almost on the verge of tears. I don't want to bring up any bad memories. As we talk my head starts to feel light. The sun seems to get brighter. I get a whole hell of a lot of dizzy.
"Which was a dreadful sign"
"What's up Ronny?"
"Wow, getting a head rush."
I try to stand up but my legs feel like rubber. Travis catches me as I come crashing back down.
On the radio, the song keeps repeating.
"A dreadful sign"
He brushes the hair out of my face and gives me a sad smile.
"I'm so sorry doll."
"Wha-What? Sorry about..." I stammer. My mouth doesn't want to move.
"I'm sorry. You have to die. All beauty must die. It's my curse."
I summon up all my strength and push away from Travis. He tries to grab me, pull me back and I scratch his face with my nails. Trying to stand again I fall to my knees. The world shaking apart at the seams. My eyelids feel heavy. Every time I blink it's feels like it'll be my last. Maybe if I just sleep it'll be better. I'll wake up from this nightmare.
No! Fight it!
I start crawling on all fours. Dragging myself. Digging my nails into the ground. My nails....I scratched him. Have to get away. Have to fight. Get to the car.
"A dreadful sign"
I see someone standing by Travis' car. Can't make them out. Why won't they...
"Help! Please!"
"Rose. No one can help. I'm sorry."
He grabs me by the leg pulling me back. Travis turns me over. Glaring at me. The scratches on his face aren't bleeding.
"I like playing with you Rose." He said. "But my dear your breaking my heart."
"Fu-Fuck you."
I try to hit him, but I have no strength left. Why won't that person do something?
He stands up, pulling a large knife from his leather jacket.
"I could gut you. But that's no fun. Not any more."
He looks at his reflection on the knife blade. He adjusts his hair. I used to find his vanity cute. Bastard.
"The poison isn't killing you. Just making it hard for you to do anything."
"Why?"
"Why not."
I tried to move my head to see if that person was still standing there.
"A dreadful sign"
Why is that song repeating? Is that an effect from the drugs?
Travis notices me trying to look at the car. He walks towards the car. I can hear him talking to somebody I think.
"Go away." He says. "You're not welcome here."
He turns the radio off. The song ending with a loud hiss of static. I hear the car door slam shut.
Who was that? Who was he talking to?
After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes Travis comes back holding a large cinder block and rope.
"Comfortable doll?"
"Go to h
An unwitting waitress falls in love with a man who seems to be out of time, but perhaps her time is up as an apparition begins stalking her.
Echoes by Shane Migliavacca
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
Transcript:
I first met him last week. I'd heard about the new guy in town before that. Castle, New York was the smallest of small towns. Word travels fast when somebody new moves to town. People speculate on the stranger in town. Travis looked like he stepped out of one of those '50's biker films. Last Thursday he walked into the diner I work at. I couldn't take my eyes off him. And he knew it. He caught me looking at him and smiled that sly smile of his. My eyes darted away. I tried to make it look like I was just looking around the diner. But it was too late. He strode over to me.
"Hello there." He said.
"Hey."
I tried to sound confident. Like I didn't give a fuck, but my voice cracked. He smiled at me.
"Can I get a chocolate milkshake to go?"
"Su-Sure.
"Heard they're like wow here."
I started making the shake as he leaned on the counter. He looked at his reflection in the glass case of donuts. Adjusting his hair.
"Yeah, they're really good." I said. I was trying to think of something cool to say. But I was managing to think of one damn thing.
"lived here all your life?" He asked.
"Unfortunately."
"Ain't so bad. I've been to worse."
I finished the shake and brought it over to him. He gave me a wink and took a sip. Before I could say anything he slid a ten dollar bill across the counter. A large silver ring gleamed on his hand. He turned and started to leave.
"Let me get your change."
"The rest is for you dolly."
I watched him go. Dolly? I felt a bit offended. But at the same time I was feeling something else. Love? Lust?
Whatever it was it made me somewhat forgiving of the dolly remark.
"So, that's the new guy? Not bad."
I turned it was my coworker and friend Bren. She adjusted her raven hair.
"What'd he say to you Ronny?"
"Nothing much. Just wanted a milkshake."
"Yeah yours."
We both laughed. Bren has this obnoxious laugh that usually ends up making me laugh harder.
The next day he didn't show up. But the day after he was there again. This time wanting a milkshake and a burger. No matter who waited on him he always ended up talking to me. Usually asking me about some town thing or whatnot. Always coming in at the same time, every other day.
It continued like this for a month. We'd small talk a little and then he'd leave. I never saw him outside of the diner. Then one day he changed the routine.
I got of work one sunny Monday afternoon and Travis was waiting for me. He was leaning ever so slightly against the side of the diner. He smiled at me.
"Hey." I said.
"Hey." He answered. He flicked out a metal lighter and lit a really slim cigarette. "So what do you do for a kick around here?"
"There's the movie theater or the bowling alley."
"No. No. You." He took a puff.
"Me? Uh, not much."
"Naw? Dang shame. Pretty girl like you."
"Uh, thanks."
The flattery made me blush. Was he hitting on me? I sucked at this kind of thing. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to say anything.
"I haven't found much in town to get excited about." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "So I was wondering if you want to hang?"
I thought for a second. He's asking me out. I suck at dating. He's good looking and seems nice, but there's no way a date between us won't end in embarrassment for me and perhaps him too. How to talk him out of it?
"It's kind of been a rough day, you know? Mondays. I just want to go back home and chill."
"It don't have to be today."
"Oh, cool."
"So, wanna see a flick?" He said. "Show the new guy the sights?"
"Sure." I guess. Am I really going to really do this?
Yeah. I guess I was. Why not? I deserved some fun, right? Right. You do. Bren was always trying to get me to go out. This would really shock her.
"Tomorrow night good?"
I thought about it. Did he know I didn't have work the day after?
"Sure."
"Aces. It's a date then. I'll let you pick the flick. Cool?"
"Yeah."
He looked a me. "You should always have you hair like that."
I touched my hair. I forgot I tie it back at work. This was probably the first time he saw it lose.
"It's so beautiful and red. Like a Rose."
"Thanks."
My face lit up as I blushed. Great.
"Gotta run babe. Be seeing you." He did a little point at me and winked before leaving.
What had I got myself into?
Our first date went well. As did the next three. Before I realized it we were a "thing" in town. I think Bren was jealous. For our fifth date Travis wanted to take me on a picnic to Harmony Lake. It would be our first date in a less public place. I wasn't to worried. On every date Travis had been quite the gentlemen.
I was getting ready in the apartment I share with Bren. I stood doing my hair. Bren was watching me.
"You look good. Let it go." She said.
I turned from the mirror and presented myself. "You think?" Twirling around in my dress. It's maybe only the third time I've ever worn the thing.
"Your hideous."
"Hilarious."
"Seriously hon, you look amazballs."
She hugged me. "Have fun at the lake, try not to get too lucky."
"Hey. It's been awhile. But not that long."
Travis picked me up in his in his 1957 Plymouth Fury. It was a convertible. The thing looked like a shark that decided to crawl out of the ocean and start looking for meals on land. He tooted the horn as he pulled up.
"You look stunning babe." He said.
Ever the gentleman he wouldn't let me into the car until he got out and opened the door for me. Some real old song was playing on the car radio. I don't think he listened to anything after the '50's.
We headed out of town as The King sang on the radio.
"I can't get over your car Travis." I said. "It looks so good for it's age."
"I take care of this baby. Means a lot to me, sentimental value. I keep her cherry. I try to get maximum performance."
He steps on the gas and we're moving a little too fast through town. I look at him nervous as he speeds up.
"Don't sweat it Rose. I got this."
Travis had started calling me Rose. Honestly I didn't mind. He took my hand.
"I think today is gonna be special."
The lake looked beautiful in the summer sun as we walked to a nice secluded spot under a large tree. Travis left the car radio on. An old song started.
"Down in the willow garden where me and my love did meet"
He set down a large blanket. "My dear." He said. Ushering me to the blanket.
We'd brought quite the selection of food. Travis popped open a bottle of wine. Was that weird for a picnic? He caught me making a face.
"Don't tell me you don't drink wine?"
"No. Just seems a bit much for an afternoon picnic."
"Well it's a celebration too babe."
"It is? What are we celebrating?"
"Five dates."
I laugh. "Okay. I'll drink to that."
"My love she did not know"
The odd song played on as he pours us each a glass of wine. We eat and I take a couple sips of wine. I haven't had much in the way of wine, but this is really good. Wonder where he dug it up around here? As we ate we talk, mostly about me. He's always has so many questions. Every time I ask him something about him, he seems sad. Almost on the verge of tears. I don't want to bring up any bad memories. As we talk my head starts to feel light. The sun seems to get brighter. I get a whole hell of a lot of dizzy.
"Which was a dreadful sign"
"What's up Ronny?"
"Wow, getting a head rush."
I try to stand up but my legs feel like rubber. Travis catches me as I come crashing back down.
On the radio, the song keeps repeating.
"A dreadful sign"
He brushes the hair out of my face and gives me a sad smile.
"I'm so sorry doll."
"Wha-What? Sorry about..." I stammer. My mouth doesn't want to move.
"I'm sorry. You have to die. All beauty must die. It's my curse."
I summon up all my strength and push away from Travis. He tries to grab me, pull me back and I scratch his face with my nails. Trying to stand again I fall to my knees. The world shaking apart at the seams. My eyelids feel heavy. Every time I blink it's feels like it'll be my last. Maybe if I just sleep it'll be better. I'll wake up from this nightmare.
No! Fight it!
I start crawling on all fours. Dragging myself. Digging my nails into the ground. My nails....I scratched him. Have to get away. Have to fight. Get to the car.
"A dreadful sign"
I see someone standing by Travis' car. Can't make them out. Why won't they...
"Help! Please!"
"Rose. No one can help. I'm sorry."
He grabs me by the leg pulling me back. Travis turns me over. Glaring at me. The scratches on his face aren't bleeding.
"I like playing with you Rose." He said. "But my dear your breaking my heart."
"Fu-Fuck you."
I try to hit him, but I have no strength left. Why won't that person do something?
He stands up, pulling a large knife from his leather jacket.
"I could gut you. But that's no fun. Not any more."
He looks at his reflection on the knife blade. He adjusts his hair. I used to find his vanity cute. Bastard.
"The poison isn't killing you. Just making it hard for you to do anything."
"Why?"
"Why not."
I tried to move my head to see if that person was still standing there.
"A dreadful sign"
Why is that song repeating? Is that an effect from the drugs?
Travis notices me trying to look at the car. He walks towards the car. I can hear him talking to somebody I think.
"Go away." He says. "You're not welcome here."
He turns the radio off. The song ending with a loud hiss of static. I hear the car door slam shut.
Who was that? Who was he talking to?
After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes Travis comes back holding a large cinder block and rope.
"Comfortable doll?"
"Go to h
Ep.25 – The God Tongue - Monsters of the Woods Are Coming
Released on 04/15/2020
Episode Notes
Ezra was born without a tongue, but now something devious will allow him to speak for them... Urban legends meet body horror in this frightening tale!
The God Tongue by Dan Wilder
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
Transcript:
Born without a tongue to grant him the power of speech, Ezra had long been the target of derision by his peers, so much so that when his beloved mother had breathed her last he abandoned the home in which he was raised and took to the hills and forests that bordered the microcosm of the World’s backwards notions that was the town of Jayden’s Cross. Once there, Ezra built himself a modest cabin, financed with his meager inheritance, where he could find solace away from the chorus of mocking voices.
Living off the land, Ezra killed only that which he could consume, and his growling stomach, coupled with his barren icebox, had told him it was high time to venture out into the crisp Autumnal evening. After long, fruitless hours Ezra had seen nary a hint of prey, and though the moon hung swollen in the sky, a mist had begun to encroach upon the landscape of stoic pines that pointed like accusing fingers at the heavens. Ezra exhaled wearily and sat down at the base of the nearest pine. The miasma played seductively at his neck and chin, causing his skin to turn to gooseflesh as the fog was a great deal cooler than the air that surrounded it.
Ezra closed his eyes for a moment and let the symphony of the forest fill his ears, and for minutes it did just that until his placid repose was shattered by the sound of a twig breaking that echoed through the cool air like the report of a shotgun being discharged. Ezra’s eyes snapped open and, as his gaze furtively darted to and fro, he spied majestic antlers rising from the fog. In a fluid motion, he rose to his feet and brought the sight of his Remington rifle to bear on the dark shape that stood just below the mist. Ezra squeezed the trigger sending fire and thunder forth into the night, and as soon as they appeared the antlers fell.
He bolted forward through the swirling grey, which seemed to recoil from his advancing form as if it fearful of his presence, to his quarry. As he approached, the fog had now parted and refused to trespass where the beast lay. And while Ezra was unable to give voice to his shock, his slack jaw and bulging eyes more than conveyed his emotions, for while he expected to find a stag he instead found a caricature of a man, albeit a man with antlers.
Ezra kneeled and rolled the creature on its back; its lifeless eyes were large, dark and set wide upon a face covered in course black fur. It wore little in the way of clothing, just a simple robe from which extended limbs that resembled a dog’s leg that ended in long tapered fingers tipped in crimson nails. It was in one such appendage that the creature clutched what at first appeared to Ezra to be a smooth ebony stone. He reached for the object and found it malleable and warm; more flesh than mineral. As he turned the artifact over and over in his palm the mist began to slowly creep back…and with it came the inhuman wailing.
Ezra panicked as the mist around him produced it’s litany of grief, which resulted in a mad flight through the dense pines. As he ran, Ezra could feel the miasma strike his legs as it began to solidify into long, lashing tendrils. As if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, the wailing had now transformed into protracted screams of pure rage.
Onward he flew, tripping and struggling as the fog continued its battery. Finally he saw the familiar outline of his cabin in the clearing just beyond the forest. He threw his weight against the unlocked front door and exploded into his domain. In an instant he slammed shut the door, threw the bolt into place, and collapsed to the floor in a crumpled mass of pure exhaustion.
He sat for long minutes as hot tears ran down his cheeks and his heart beat so fast and hard that at any other time he would have been sure he was having a heart attack. Indeed, his hammering pulse was all he could hear, and it was that fact that made him realize that whatever outré abominations he had left behind in the woods, they had decided not to stray from that realm.
Finally he gained control of his faculties. Moving his hands to his face to rub the last vestiges of tears from his eyes, Ezra realized he still clutched that preternatural stone, and where once it was merely matte black, now it glowed a brilliant gold from a thousand hairline cracks that crossed it’s surface like arteries no wider than a human hair.
Ezra was entranced by the artifact, so entranced he failed to notice the mist that crept ever closer along the floorboards as it issued forth from the small wood burning stove behind him. Ever onward it came, crawling up his back until finally it plunged deep into his brain via his left ear canal. Ezra’s brain exploded with a thousand images of a history not his own.
He saw an endless array of beings; more beast than man; hideous and beautiful in equal measure. He floated onward, through a great city beneath the forest floor. Finally he saw a diaphanous stag; over twenty feet high, its head adorned with seven sets of antlers. The image swirled and rippled as the sight of that ebony edifice he held filled his field of vision.
Ezra felt his arm move of its own accord, and while he struggled to make it remain at rest, he was powerless to stop its ascent or the action which followed; his hand simply placed the glowing midnight hued object into his mouth which had mechanically opened to accept it. For the briefest of seconds he could taste infinity, and with that he could feel a new organ grow inside him; a tongue which pulsed and throbbed within his mouth. His first words were a scream, then came blackness.
“You murdered the historian…you must take his place!” The voice echoed so loud in his mind that it snapped him awake. Ezra found himself lying on the cold floor of his cabin. “Historian?” He said involuntarily. His eyes grew wide as the memory of that dark tongue which had replaced his own missing organ.
With a start he lifted himself from the floor, and sped to the bathroom. Examining himself in the mirror he opened his mouth to view that demon tissue, which he seemed to know by some arcane intuition was connected to that ancient stag.
There sat the obsidian stone-like mass of the previous night, but now it pulsed and throbbed with an unearthly power which flowed through those golden veins which now had spread throughout the interior of his mouth. Ezra began clawing at the offending member, but to no avail…the flesh though supple was completely unyielding. His thoughts locked upon its removal, Ezra ran to the kitchen to procure a large steak knife. As he steeled his nerves Ezra stuck out his tongue and brought the blade into place for the amputation. The air split with static before he could begin that dreaded surgery.
The small shortwave radio, his one mechanical distraction which provided for him a chance to voyeuristically listen to the voices of others without being pressed to respond in kind, had come to life from its home atop his rough-hewn dining room table.
As he dashed into the room, his eyes beheld yet another incomprehensible sight; the mist now solidified into the contours of a vaguely humanoid shape, save for the long horns protruding from its incorporeal forehead, hunched over the device and exhaled streams of vapor directly into the microphone. From somewhere that sounded both close and at the opposite end of the galaxy came a sound that at first was not unlike the purring of a large cat, but quickly turned into a low, guttural growl before finally becoming words that simply could not have been formed by human lips. “Pass on old friend. We are coming.”
Ezra reached for the figure which dissipated into the ether at his touch accompanied by a chorus of melodic laughter. He grabbed the microphone in one hand, and with the other tried furiously to find the proper channel to connect him with the one agency he felt would be able to help him fend off whatever malevolence was creeping his way, the town militia of Jayden’s Cross. Finally he arrived at the proper frequency, and parted his dry lips to do that which had eluded him lo these many years.
Pressing the button which would allow his voice to travel the waves, Ezra began to speak. What followed was not one voice, but legion…some were mere growls, others came like gently chirping birds, and a few were close to human yet still possessing a preternatural timber, but above all rang the impossibly deep tones of their God, for the stag did speak; the great animal whose voice was known when the universe was a mere speck of dust hanging like a mote in the eye of infinity. With that the radio exploded in a shower of acrid smoke and sparks that knocked Ezra to the floor.
Ezra began to weep, yet the sound of crying that issued from his mouth was again the product of that unholy throng. Unable to retain his tenuous grasp on sanity, he was determined to rip the organ from his mouth with his bare hands; hands that he noticed were covered in runes and glyphs carved deep upon the surface of his skin. Furiously he flew again to the bathroom where he exhaled in shock at the face that met his gaze within the mirror.
Like his hands, and every other scrap of visible flesh, he was covered in those strange markings. Ezra clawed at the skin which gave way in thin sheets to reveal layers of fresh dermis below marked the same as the skin above. He attempted to scream, but what came instead was the shouting of every supernatural being that had ever or wil
Ezra was born without a tongue, but now something devious will allow him to speak for them... Urban legends meet body horror in this frightening tale!
The God Tongue by Dan Wilder
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
Transcript:
Born without a tongue to grant him the power of speech, Ezra had long been the target of derision by his peers, so much so that when his beloved mother had breathed her last he abandoned the home in which he was raised and took to the hills and forests that bordered the microcosm of the World’s backwards notions that was the town of Jayden’s Cross. Once there, Ezra built himself a modest cabin, financed with his meager inheritance, where he could find solace away from the chorus of mocking voices.
Living off the land, Ezra killed only that which he could consume, and his growling stomach, coupled with his barren icebox, had told him it was high time to venture out into the crisp Autumnal evening. After long, fruitless hours Ezra had seen nary a hint of prey, and though the moon hung swollen in the sky, a mist had begun to encroach upon the landscape of stoic pines that pointed like accusing fingers at the heavens. Ezra exhaled wearily and sat down at the base of the nearest pine. The miasma played seductively at his neck and chin, causing his skin to turn to gooseflesh as the fog was a great deal cooler than the air that surrounded it.
Ezra closed his eyes for a moment and let the symphony of the forest fill his ears, and for minutes it did just that until his placid repose was shattered by the sound of a twig breaking that echoed through the cool air like the report of a shotgun being discharged. Ezra’s eyes snapped open and, as his gaze furtively darted to and fro, he spied majestic antlers rising from the fog. In a fluid motion, he rose to his feet and brought the sight of his Remington rifle to bear on the dark shape that stood just below the mist. Ezra squeezed the trigger sending fire and thunder forth into the night, and as soon as they appeared the antlers fell.
He bolted forward through the swirling grey, which seemed to recoil from his advancing form as if it fearful of his presence, to his quarry. As he approached, the fog had now parted and refused to trespass where the beast lay. And while Ezra was unable to give voice to his shock, his slack jaw and bulging eyes more than conveyed his emotions, for while he expected to find a stag he instead found a caricature of a man, albeit a man with antlers.
Ezra kneeled and rolled the creature on its back; its lifeless eyes were large, dark and set wide upon a face covered in course black fur. It wore little in the way of clothing, just a simple robe from which extended limbs that resembled a dog’s leg that ended in long tapered fingers tipped in crimson nails. It was in one such appendage that the creature clutched what at first appeared to Ezra to be a smooth ebony stone. He reached for the object and found it malleable and warm; more flesh than mineral. As he turned the artifact over and over in his palm the mist began to slowly creep back…and with it came the inhuman wailing.
Ezra panicked as the mist around him produced it’s litany of grief, which resulted in a mad flight through the dense pines. As he ran, Ezra could feel the miasma strike his legs as it began to solidify into long, lashing tendrils. As if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, the wailing had now transformed into protracted screams of pure rage.
Onward he flew, tripping and struggling as the fog continued its battery. Finally he saw the familiar outline of his cabin in the clearing just beyond the forest. He threw his weight against the unlocked front door and exploded into his domain. In an instant he slammed shut the door, threw the bolt into place, and collapsed to the floor in a crumpled mass of pure exhaustion.
He sat for long minutes as hot tears ran down his cheeks and his heart beat so fast and hard that at any other time he would have been sure he was having a heart attack. Indeed, his hammering pulse was all he could hear, and it was that fact that made him realize that whatever outré abominations he had left behind in the woods, they had decided not to stray from that realm.
Finally he gained control of his faculties. Moving his hands to his face to rub the last vestiges of tears from his eyes, Ezra realized he still clutched that preternatural stone, and where once it was merely matte black, now it glowed a brilliant gold from a thousand hairline cracks that crossed it’s surface like arteries no wider than a human hair.
Ezra was entranced by the artifact, so entranced he failed to notice the mist that crept ever closer along the floorboards as it issued forth from the small wood burning stove behind him. Ever onward it came, crawling up his back until finally it plunged deep into his brain via his left ear canal. Ezra’s brain exploded with a thousand images of a history not his own.
He saw an endless array of beings; more beast than man; hideous and beautiful in equal measure. He floated onward, through a great city beneath the forest floor. Finally he saw a diaphanous stag; over twenty feet high, its head adorned with seven sets of antlers. The image swirled and rippled as the sight of that ebony edifice he held filled his field of vision.
Ezra felt his arm move of its own accord, and while he struggled to make it remain at rest, he was powerless to stop its ascent or the action which followed; his hand simply placed the glowing midnight hued object into his mouth which had mechanically opened to accept it. For the briefest of seconds he could taste infinity, and with that he could feel a new organ grow inside him; a tongue which pulsed and throbbed within his mouth. His first words were a scream, then came blackness.
“You murdered the historian…you must take his place!” The voice echoed so loud in his mind that it snapped him awake. Ezra found himself lying on the cold floor of his cabin. “Historian?” He said involuntarily. His eyes grew wide as the memory of that dark tongue which had replaced his own missing organ.
With a start he lifted himself from the floor, and sped to the bathroom. Examining himself in the mirror he opened his mouth to view that demon tissue, which he seemed to know by some arcane intuition was connected to that ancient stag.
There sat the obsidian stone-like mass of the previous night, but now it pulsed and throbbed with an unearthly power which flowed through those golden veins which now had spread throughout the interior of his mouth. Ezra began clawing at the offending member, but to no avail…the flesh though supple was completely unyielding. His thoughts locked upon its removal, Ezra ran to the kitchen to procure a large steak knife. As he steeled his nerves Ezra stuck out his tongue and brought the blade into place for the amputation. The air split with static before he could begin that dreaded surgery.
The small shortwave radio, his one mechanical distraction which provided for him a chance to voyeuristically listen to the voices of others without being pressed to respond in kind, had come to life from its home atop his rough-hewn dining room table.
As he dashed into the room, his eyes beheld yet another incomprehensible sight; the mist now solidified into the contours of a vaguely humanoid shape, save for the long horns protruding from its incorporeal forehead, hunched over the device and exhaled streams of vapor directly into the microphone. From somewhere that sounded both close and at the opposite end of the galaxy came a sound that at first was not unlike the purring of a large cat, but quickly turned into a low, guttural growl before finally becoming words that simply could not have been formed by human lips. “Pass on old friend. We are coming.”
Ezra reached for the figure which dissipated into the ether at his touch accompanied by a chorus of melodic laughter. He grabbed the microphone in one hand, and with the other tried furiously to find the proper channel to connect him with the one agency he felt would be able to help him fend off whatever malevolence was creeping his way, the town militia of Jayden’s Cross. Finally he arrived at the proper frequency, and parted his dry lips to do that which had eluded him lo these many years.
Pressing the button which would allow his voice to travel the waves, Ezra began to speak. What followed was not one voice, but legion…some were mere growls, others came like gently chirping birds, and a few were close to human yet still possessing a preternatural timber, but above all rang the impossibly deep tones of their God, for the stag did speak; the great animal whose voice was known when the universe was a mere speck of dust hanging like a mote in the eye of infinity. With that the radio exploded in a shower of acrid smoke and sparks that knocked Ezra to the floor.
Ezra began to weep, yet the sound of crying that issued from his mouth was again the product of that unholy throng. Unable to retain his tenuous grasp on sanity, he was determined to rip the organ from his mouth with his bare hands; hands that he noticed were covered in runes and glyphs carved deep upon the surface of his skin. Furiously he flew again to the bathroom where he exhaled in shock at the face that met his gaze within the mirror.
Like his hands, and every other scrap of visible flesh, he was covered in those strange markings. Ezra clawed at the skin which gave way in thin sheets to reveal layers of fresh dermis below marked the same as the skin above. He attempted to scream, but what came instead was the shouting of every supernatural being that had ever or wil
Ep.24 – The Rest Area - A Maniac With an Axe!
Released on 04/08/2020
Episode Notes
Two pals are on their way back from a fun road trip when they make a pit stop, but now an axe wielding maniac wants to make them into a road snack!
The Rest Area 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
Transcript:
Brad and Robbie were traveling north along U.S. 23 while coming back from the Ohio State Fair one Saturday evening late in the summer. The two friends were talking about all the fun they had had while at the fair, when eventually they came to a very dark part of the freeway nearly devoid of traffic.
As Robbie was driving, Brad came up with a mischievous idea. He grinned slightly and turned to face Robbie. “Hey, Robbie, have you heard the stories about Aaron Rutter? He’s supposed to be an ax murderer who just escaped from the state mental hospital, you know.”
Robbie sighed, but kept his eyes on the road.
“It’s been said that he’s hacked up about ten people around this area in the last two days,” Brad continued, talking in a more quiet, eerie voice.
Robbie muttered a sigh. “You are so weird, man.”
Brad continued. “Rumor also has it that he eats his victims, too.”
Robbie tried to ignore him, but Brad kept on going. “Sometimes he even fillets them.”
Robbie groaned. “Would you please shut up?”
Brad just laughed. “Oh, Robbie, you scare way too easy.”
Robbie didn’t pay any attention. They continued on down the freeway. Eventually, they passed a sign that said that a rest area was one mile ahead.
“Hey, Robbie, could you pull off at the rest area when we get to it?” Brad asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Robbie sighed. “I guess . . .”
When they got to the rest area’s off-ramp, Robbie pulled off the freeway and parked the car. They both got out.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Brad said.
“Take your time,” Robbie replied.
Brad walked to the men’s restroom and went in. After taking a piss, he washed his hands and came back outside. He looked to the car to see Robbie wasn’t in it.
Suddenly, he heard something snap not too far off in the distance. He waited there for a moment. When he didn’t hear anything, he started walking back toward the car.
Suddenly, he heard another snap, only it was closer this time.
“Robbie?” Brad uttered. “Is that you?”
There was no answer.
“Robbie?” Brad repeated, now sounding tense.
There was still no answer.
He heard another snap.
As before, it was closer.
Brad was feeling really uneasy. Then, as if on impulse, he turned and headed toward the area where the vending machines were.
As he was about to open the door and head in, he heard yet another snap. And again . . . it was closer. He turned around to look behind him.
Suddenly, a figure leapt out from nearby!
Brad felt a straight edge strike him at the back of his right shoulder blade. He was struck again almost immediately. Brad screamed with each chop.
And again!
And again!
And again . . .
“Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!” the ax murderer shouted with glee.
Brad then realized something wasn’t right. For one thing, he didn’t feel anything actually cutting into his skin. Second, he recognized who it was that was ‘attacking’ him.
Brad quickly turned around to see him.
“Robbie!” Brad shouted. “It was you!”
Robbie burst out into wild laughter.
“It was you all the time!” Brad cried.
Robbie managed to collect himself. He pointed to Brad. “You should’ve seen your face.”
Brad’s face twisted in anger. “I could just kill you!”
Robbie stopped laughing and became serious. “Oh, but it was okay for you to keep carrying on about Aaron Rutter in the car, huh?”
When Brad heard this, he calmed down knowing Robbie was right. He sighed. “All right, we’re even.”
“All right,” Robbie agreed. “Let’s get out of here and get home.”
“Sure.”
As they were walking back to their car, Brad said, “You know, that was clever how you broke those sticks on the way to the vending machines.”
Robbie looked at Brad oddly. “I didn’t break any sticks, man.”
Brad looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t?”
“No,” Robbie answered. “I was hiding behind the car. When I saw you going to the vending area, I came out from behind the car and got you. I know I didn’t break any sticks.”
Now Brad was really confused. “Then if it wasn’t you –”
“I did,” a deep, rumbling voice not belonging to either of them answered from behind them.
They quickly turned around to see a big man with an ax in his hands. And he was smiling at them in a very demented way.
“So nice of you guys to show up for a late-night dinner,” the man said to them in a crazed tone.
Robbie and Brad knew at once who this man was, and they screamed in terror.
They quickly turned and ran for their car. Aaron Rutter was right behind them.
As Robbie tried to get into the car, he heard the slam and immediately saw the ax blade embedded in the car roof.
Brad was already a long ways away from the car.
Robbie lashed out and kicked Rutter in the stomach to stun him, then he turned away from the car and ran himself.
“Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!” Robbie gasped as he ran for all he was worth, so much so that he was feeling his own heart pounding.
Robbie and Brad were both running into the woods behind the rest area in separate directions. They both knew Rutter would likely catch up to them.
Robbie pressed himself up against a tree to try and catch his breath. “I’ve got to find Brad!” he thought as he continued to catch his breath, trying to make as little noise as possible as he quickly tried to process the hell he currently found himself in.
Suddenly, Robbie screeched as he just barely avoided the ax blade that damn near embedded itself in his throat.
He pushed himself away from the tree and resumed running.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron Rutter trying to pull the ax out of the tree. Robbie knew he didn’t have much time before this insane psycho would be after him again.
And he still had to find Brad!
Robbie bolted into the darkness barely avoiding oncoming trees.
He knew he had to try and get back to the car somehow. He needed to get to his cell phone which he remembered leaving in one of the cupholders… or better yet, maybe he could get the hell out of that place. Rationality set in quickly, and he knew he couldn’t just leave Brad behind.
What the fuck am I gonna do? he demanded of himself.
Robbie backed himself up against another large tree. Again, he tried to take breaths without being too loud and alerting Rutter to his location – if he didn’t know already!
“Okay! Okay! You . . . you gotta . . . gotta think straight now!” he mouthed to himself. “Okay . . . where are you? You gotta think straight now! Where is the car? Where is it?”
He took one more long, deep breath and decided to try to get back to the rest area and get to the car.
Robbie looked both ways to make sure that Aaron Rutter wasn’t ready to chop off his head again, and slowly pushed himself away from the tree and turned around. Cautiously, he started to make his way back to the car.
After taking several careful steps, he muttered a curse as he heard the stick that broke under his foot. “Fuck!” he mouthed to himself. “Shit!”
Robbie forced himself to keep moving pissed at Brad for not shutting the fuck up about that insane psycho… and just why the batshit crazy fucking hell did Aaron Rutter really have to even be at that rest area? Robbie didn’t used to believe in things like fate, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“Maybe Brad is on his way back to the car,” he mouthed to himself.
Robbie moved from one tree . . . to another . . . to another . . . cautiously . . . carefully . . . quietly . . . !
SNAP!!
“God damn it!” Robbie whispered loudly when he felt another stick break under his shoe.
Robbie forced himself to remain focused and saw the lights in the distance. This had to be the rest area. What else was lit-up brightly at that part of outer Marion, Ohio at that hour of the night?
He kept looking left . . . right . . . having eyes in the back of his head . . . face front . . . ! The lights were so close . . . and so far away.
Robbie also considered that Aaron Rutter might even be waiting at the car for either one of them. Okay, maybe Rutter wasn’t hanging out at the car, but it was possible that he was keeping an eye on it.
Okay, I just have to get my cell phone, Robbie thought. Or if Brad is there, we can get the hell out of here.
Robbie felt his pockets. He felt some relief in knowing that he still had the keys on him. But then, he never just left his keys in the car – for any reason. He still had his wallet, not that he could buy Rutter off, right?
But I just had to leave my fucking cell phone in my car! Of all the fucking things I could leave in my car, I just had to leave my fucking cell phone! How fucking dumb can I get?
Robbie decided there was no point in crying over spilled milk. He continued to creep further towards the rest area, felt as if the rest area was moving further away from him. He shook his head quickly and kept moving.
After agonizing minutes, Robbie had finally returned to the rest area.
He moved to the back wall and made his way around to get back to the front. He was in such a big hurry to get to the main entrance that he didn’t see the person who had suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.
Robbie shrieked and started to run.
“Robbie!”
He quickly stopped when he saw it was Brad. The two of them both backed themselves up against the wall and looked each other over. Robbie looked at Brad as if saying, “You’re alive!”
Brad nodded in acknowledgement.
They turned and started to creep along the wall, until they were both looking out at the parking lot.
A lone car suddenly sped by the rest area.
Both of them looked around to see if Aaron Rutter was nearby.
Two pals are on their way back from a fun road trip when they make a pit stop, but now an axe wielding maniac wants to make them into a road snack!
The Rest Area 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
Transcript:
Brad and Robbie were traveling north along U.S. 23 while coming back from the Ohio State Fair one Saturday evening late in the summer. The two friends were talking about all the fun they had had while at the fair, when eventually they came to a very dark part of the freeway nearly devoid of traffic.
As Robbie was driving, Brad came up with a mischievous idea. He grinned slightly and turned to face Robbie. “Hey, Robbie, have you heard the stories about Aaron Rutter? He’s supposed to be an ax murderer who just escaped from the state mental hospital, you know.”
Robbie sighed, but kept his eyes on the road.
“It’s been said that he’s hacked up about ten people around this area in the last two days,” Brad continued, talking in a more quiet, eerie voice.
Robbie muttered a sigh. “You are so weird, man.”
Brad continued. “Rumor also has it that he eats his victims, too.”
Robbie tried to ignore him, but Brad kept on going. “Sometimes he even fillets them.”
Robbie groaned. “Would you please shut up?”
Brad just laughed. “Oh, Robbie, you scare way too easy.”
Robbie didn’t pay any attention. They continued on down the freeway. Eventually, they passed a sign that said that a rest area was one mile ahead.
“Hey, Robbie, could you pull off at the rest area when we get to it?” Brad asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Robbie sighed. “I guess . . .”
When they got to the rest area’s off-ramp, Robbie pulled off the freeway and parked the car. They both got out.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Brad said.
“Take your time,” Robbie replied.
Brad walked to the men’s restroom and went in. After taking a piss, he washed his hands and came back outside. He looked to the car to see Robbie wasn’t in it.
Suddenly, he heard something snap not too far off in the distance. He waited there for a moment. When he didn’t hear anything, he started walking back toward the car.
Suddenly, he heard another snap, only it was closer this time.
“Robbie?” Brad uttered. “Is that you?”
There was no answer.
“Robbie?” Brad repeated, now sounding tense.
There was still no answer.
He heard another snap.
As before, it was closer.
Brad was feeling really uneasy. Then, as if on impulse, he turned and headed toward the area where the vending machines were.
As he was about to open the door and head in, he heard yet another snap. And again . . . it was closer. He turned around to look behind him.
Suddenly, a figure leapt out from nearby!
Brad felt a straight edge strike him at the back of his right shoulder blade. He was struck again almost immediately. Brad screamed with each chop.
And again!
And again!
And again . . .
“Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!” the ax murderer shouted with glee.
Brad then realized something wasn’t right. For one thing, he didn’t feel anything actually cutting into his skin. Second, he recognized who it was that was ‘attacking’ him.
Brad quickly turned around to see him.
“Robbie!” Brad shouted. “It was you!”
Robbie burst out into wild laughter.
“It was you all the time!” Brad cried.
Robbie managed to collect himself. He pointed to Brad. “You should’ve seen your face.”
Brad’s face twisted in anger. “I could just kill you!”
Robbie stopped laughing and became serious. “Oh, but it was okay for you to keep carrying on about Aaron Rutter in the car, huh?”
When Brad heard this, he calmed down knowing Robbie was right. He sighed. “All right, we’re even.”
“All right,” Robbie agreed. “Let’s get out of here and get home.”
“Sure.”
As they were walking back to their car, Brad said, “You know, that was clever how you broke those sticks on the way to the vending machines.”
Robbie looked at Brad oddly. “I didn’t break any sticks, man.”
Brad looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t?”
“No,” Robbie answered. “I was hiding behind the car. When I saw you going to the vending area, I came out from behind the car and got you. I know I didn’t break any sticks.”
Now Brad was really confused. “Then if it wasn’t you –”
“I did,” a deep, rumbling voice not belonging to either of them answered from behind them.
They quickly turned around to see a big man with an ax in his hands. And he was smiling at them in a very demented way.
“So nice of you guys to show up for a late-night dinner,” the man said to them in a crazed tone.
Robbie and Brad knew at once who this man was, and they screamed in terror.
They quickly turned and ran for their car. Aaron Rutter was right behind them.
As Robbie tried to get into the car, he heard the slam and immediately saw the ax blade embedded in the car roof.
Brad was already a long ways away from the car.
Robbie lashed out and kicked Rutter in the stomach to stun him, then he turned away from the car and ran himself.
“Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!” Robbie gasped as he ran for all he was worth, so much so that he was feeling his own heart pounding.
Robbie and Brad were both running into the woods behind the rest area in separate directions. They both knew Rutter would likely catch up to them.
Robbie pressed himself up against a tree to try and catch his breath. “I’ve got to find Brad!” he thought as he continued to catch his breath, trying to make as little noise as possible as he quickly tried to process the hell he currently found himself in.
Suddenly, Robbie screeched as he just barely avoided the ax blade that damn near embedded itself in his throat.
He pushed himself away from the tree and resumed running.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron Rutter trying to pull the ax out of the tree. Robbie knew he didn’t have much time before this insane psycho would be after him again.
And he still had to find Brad!
Robbie bolted into the darkness barely avoiding oncoming trees.
He knew he had to try and get back to the car somehow. He needed to get to his cell phone which he remembered leaving in one of the cupholders… or better yet, maybe he could get the hell out of that place. Rationality set in quickly, and he knew he couldn’t just leave Brad behind.
What the fuck am I gonna do? he demanded of himself.
Robbie backed himself up against another large tree. Again, he tried to take breaths without being too loud and alerting Rutter to his location – if he didn’t know already!
“Okay! Okay! You . . . you gotta . . . gotta think straight now!” he mouthed to himself. “Okay . . . where are you? You gotta think straight now! Where is the car? Where is it?”
He took one more long, deep breath and decided to try to get back to the rest area and get to the car.
Robbie looked both ways to make sure that Aaron Rutter wasn’t ready to chop off his head again, and slowly pushed himself away from the tree and turned around. Cautiously, he started to make his way back to the car.
After taking several careful steps, he muttered a curse as he heard the stick that broke under his foot. “Fuck!” he mouthed to himself. “Shit!”
Robbie forced himself to keep moving pissed at Brad for not shutting the fuck up about that insane psycho… and just why the batshit crazy fucking hell did Aaron Rutter really have to even be at that rest area? Robbie didn’t used to believe in things like fate, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“Maybe Brad is on his way back to the car,” he mouthed to himself.
Robbie moved from one tree . . . to another . . . to another . . . cautiously . . . carefully . . . quietly . . . !
SNAP!!
“God damn it!” Robbie whispered loudly when he felt another stick break under his shoe.
Robbie forced himself to remain focused and saw the lights in the distance. This had to be the rest area. What else was lit-up brightly at that part of outer Marion, Ohio at that hour of the night?
He kept looking left . . . right . . . having eyes in the back of his head . . . face front . . . ! The lights were so close . . . and so far away.
Robbie also considered that Aaron Rutter might even be waiting at the car for either one of them. Okay, maybe Rutter wasn’t hanging out at the car, but it was possible that he was keeping an eye on it.
Okay, I just have to get my cell phone, Robbie thought. Or if Brad is there, we can get the hell out of here.
Robbie felt his pockets. He felt some relief in knowing that he still had the keys on him. But then, he never just left his keys in the car – for any reason. He still had his wallet, not that he could buy Rutter off, right?
But I just had to leave my fucking cell phone in my car! Of all the fucking things I could leave in my car, I just had to leave my fucking cell phone! How fucking dumb can I get?
Robbie decided there was no point in crying over spilled milk. He continued to creep further towards the rest area, felt as if the rest area was moving further away from him. He shook his head quickly and kept moving.
After agonizing minutes, Robbie had finally returned to the rest area.
He moved to the back wall and made his way around to get back to the front. He was in such a big hurry to get to the main entrance that he didn’t see the person who had suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.
Robbie shrieked and started to run.
“Robbie!”
He quickly stopped when he saw it was Brad. The two of them both backed themselves up against the wall and looked each other over. Robbie looked at Brad as if saying, “You’re alive!”
Brad nodded in acknowledgement.
They turned and started to creep along the wall, until they were both looking out at the parking lot.
A lone car suddenly sped by the rest area.
Both of them looked around to see if Aaron Rutter was nearby.
Ep.23 – The Devil Reaps the Harvest - Scientific Monstrosity!
Released on 04/01/2020
Episode Notes
Who would ever imagine that buying stole organs could get so complicated? And messy...
The Devil Reaps the Harvest by John Oak Dalton
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
Transcript:
The laboratory at the end of the dead-end road had been closed for so long now that people had
forgotten about it, or tried to forget about it, and now everybody said it was an abandoned factory.
It was there that Peter O’Day was supposed to meet a guy who had a couple of kidneys in a beer cooler.
So Peter parked in a weed-choked employee lot and walked about a quarter mile into the woods, where
the old laboratory sat. There he was meeting Octavius.
Octavius sounded like a mad scientist’s name, and as it happens Octavius kind of was a mad scientist.
He had worked at the lab long ago doing things that are frowned upon in the mainstream medical world,
but that gig dried up. He ended up harvesting organs, which wasn’t much of a step down. He still liked
meeting people there for the handoff, because his greatest triumphs had been at that lab.
Also his greatest failures, but those were buried here and there around the property.
Peter had a bag of money and Octavius had a cooler with organs in it and a New England Patriots sticker
on it, so that went down about like you’d expect.
Peter was a dot com guy the bubble never burst on so he had plenty of money, and could jump the
transplant list and buy a new kidney for their little girl, Alondra. People with money can pretty much do
what they want.
Just look at celebrities. They do drugs and get married eight or ten times but can adopt all the kids they
want and go on TV talking about various causes. If they did all the same things but lived in that trailer
park on the other edge of town--the one called Morningside but everybody actually called Homicide--
nobody would give them kids, or want them on TV talking for their causes.
When Peter took the Patriots cooler from Octavius, that had a kidney and a spare for Alondra, his hands
were shaking pretty badly, and some blood sloshed out from under the lid and onto his shoes and into
the dirt, and it wasn’t until that very moment that Peter sort of realized what the hell he was doing.
Octavius stepped back easily and missed the sloshing, but he was used to blood spraying out all over the
place.
Peter nodded and walked away, but Octavius stayed where he was, to his misfortune. He had parked
behind the old lab, on an access road everybody had forgotten about too, because he did not want
Peter or anybody else to see the car he drove.
Peter was hardly out of sight when something just under Octavius’s feet, where the blood was soaking
in, sniffed and swallowed and opened its eyes.
If this lab had been that good at black science, they would still be in business. But they weren’t, so they
made the mistake of burying their problems instead of burning them in a big bonfire so that there was
no trace.
Or, in this case, so something could not bite and claw its way with long fingernails and sharp teeth out of
the dirt and grab Octavius by the ankles. Then pull him to the ground and bite him right on his face.
But his face was kind of bony so it started working on some soft parts.
Peter had stopped not far away to call his wife, but never heard a damn thing. It was ironic, because as
soon as that creature’s hand popped out of the dirt Octavius’s heart popped like a balloon. All those
times, Octavius had arranged for guys to meet Russian women off the internet for a night of passion,
only for those guys to wake up in the hotel tub packed in ice…or dumped in a landfill and never waking
up at all. All those times, Octavius never knew he needed an organ for himself. He ignored the
shortness of breath and the tingling in his fingers and all the rest.
Like I said, if they were better at science, they would still have been in business. And if they weren’t also
lazy, they would have buried these things deeper.
Peter’s wife was named Stacy, and was waiting in a big McMansion out in the suburbs for news of
Alondra’s kidney. Do I even need to say this was his second wife, and very young?
“We’re halfway there,” Peter told her.
“It’s not like a pig kidney or anything?” she asked.
“How would I know?”
“I don’t know,” she fretted.
“Look, this guy came highly recommended. And when it comes to Alondra, we don’t have another
choice.”
“I know,” said Stacy, and there was a lot in those words. In those two words were all the feelings Stacy
had growing for little Alondra and all the feelings Peter lacked. But Peter did what he had to do.
What Peter had to do next was walk out to the edge of the overgrown parking lot and wait for a guy
from the transplant organization he had paid off too. Actually this guy, whose name was Rollo, knew
Ocatvius quite well, but neither man wanted anyone to know they were connected. Rollo had worked
at the lab too, back in the day. Not so much in the sciences, as in the more…nebulous parts of the
organization.
Octavius could have just given the organ to Rollo, but Octavius and Rollo always wanted a middleman. It
wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than nothing.
“Look, just go to the hospital and wait,” Peter said. “The guy is on his way here, and then he is going to
be bringing the kidneys within the hour.”
“Okay,” said Stacy, but there was so much she could not face she knew she was staying right where she
was.
“Okay.” And Peter hung up.
Peter had only taken a few steps before he saw something moving in the trees, just out of the corner of
his eye.
Of course, Peter was thinking it was a cop, or the FBI, or maybe an investigative reporter trying to entrap
him and put him on TV with all the pedophiles.
So Peter stepped off the road and hid behind a tree, which was stupid because unlike cops and FBI
agents and reporters, what was shambling towards him could smell the blood on his shoes.
Peter peeked around the tree and realized he was wrong about the cops and the reporters because how
this person was dressed—how this shape was dressed—was in things Goodwill would not take. They
looked like clothes somebody took out of a compost pile.
Peter started moving quickly through the trees, trying not to slosh the beer cooler too much, and cut
cross-country towards the parking lot.
All the bones and muscles and ligaments in the thing sniffing along behind Peter, which seemed barely
connected to each other, still let the thing move faster than you would think.
But it would not have mattered if Peter had watched where he was going, which he did not, so he
overshot the parking lot and thrashed deeper into the woods.
And the thing that could smell his bloody footprints, who saw the shoe prints glowing like fire, kept on
coming.
Peter saw the bland gray concrete block of the lab building looming in front of him and he realized he
had been a dumbass, and circled back on himself. He was ultimately a tech guy. He had never been
much out in nature and did not really know how to navigate even a small forest of trees, much less tell
one from another.
And he had never seen a dead body, but he recognized that Octavius was dead when he saw what was
left of him in the small clearing where they had met minutes ago. The chewed parts and the parts that
should have been tucked inside but were glistening in the sun.
The thing behind Peter was getting closer, so close now Peter could hear a slurping noise, and Peter
turned and looked.
And what he saw sent his heart plummeting, and his balls scurrying up inside himself to meet it, and his
butthole slammed shut with the finality of a coffin lid.
Peter dropped the beer cooler, and this time a lot more blood sloshed out than was good, and the thing
moved faster somehow.
Peter grabbed the cooler back up and started running.
Peter was running, and the only place he knew he was running was “Away,” wherever that was. And he
was bouncing off of trunks and getting whipped in the face by branches and all that, because instead of
joining Boy Scouts he had taught himself computer programming. He was richer, but very close to being
dead, so some of his life choices seemed poorer today.
He kept splashing blood out of that cooler and that wasn’t great for Alondra but more importantly for
Peter, it wasn’t great for him at all.
So Peter stopped, and opened the cooler. He plunged his hand in and grabbed out a kidney that was in a
leaky sandwich bag, and he flung that kidney in a long red arc that hit the thing’s chest with a wet sound
and plopped into the grass.
And the creature looked down at it with yellow eyes, and it gave Peter a chance to catch his breath.
Then the creature showed broken teeth, and reached down with those long nails and grabbed the
kidney up, and it went down in one gulp, and Peter threw up in his mouth a little.
When Peter ran this time he didn’t even pick up the cooler.
The thing tipped the cooler back and gulped the other kidney down, and that bought Peter a little more
time.
Peter ran and looked back, ran and looked back, and sure enough in a minute or two he saw that
raggedy shape moving between the trees again.
Peter was looking back when his foot touched asphalt and he was out on a county road.
The woman driving the minivan was leaning over pushing the Hocus Pocus DVD into the dash, for her
kids in the backseat to watch for the millionth time. So she did not even tap the brake before she hit
Peter head on.
Rather than explain what that looked like, it’s simpler to say the kids never asked to watch Hocus Pocus
ever again.
As it happens, Rollo was not too far behind the woman in a truck that looked like a medical vehicle but
really wasn’t.
Rollo was very quick on his feet and looked l
Who would ever imagine that buying stole organs could get so complicated? And messy...
The Devil Reaps the Harvest by John Oak Dalton
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
Transcript:
The laboratory at the end of the dead-end road had been closed for so long now that people had
forgotten about it, or tried to forget about it, and now everybody said it was an abandoned factory.
It was there that Peter O’Day was supposed to meet a guy who had a couple of kidneys in a beer cooler.
So Peter parked in a weed-choked employee lot and walked about a quarter mile into the woods, where
the old laboratory sat. There he was meeting Octavius.
Octavius sounded like a mad scientist’s name, and as it happens Octavius kind of was a mad scientist.
He had worked at the lab long ago doing things that are frowned upon in the mainstream medical world,
but that gig dried up. He ended up harvesting organs, which wasn’t much of a step down. He still liked
meeting people there for the handoff, because his greatest triumphs had been at that lab.
Also his greatest failures, but those were buried here and there around the property.
Peter had a bag of money and Octavius had a cooler with organs in it and a New England Patriots sticker
on it, so that went down about like you’d expect.
Peter was a dot com guy the bubble never burst on so he had plenty of money, and could jump the
transplant list and buy a new kidney for their little girl, Alondra. People with money can pretty much do
what they want.
Just look at celebrities. They do drugs and get married eight or ten times but can adopt all the kids they
want and go on TV talking about various causes. If they did all the same things but lived in that trailer
park on the other edge of town--the one called Morningside but everybody actually called Homicide--
nobody would give them kids, or want them on TV talking for their causes.
When Peter took the Patriots cooler from Octavius, that had a kidney and a spare for Alondra, his hands
were shaking pretty badly, and some blood sloshed out from under the lid and onto his shoes and into
the dirt, and it wasn’t until that very moment that Peter sort of realized what the hell he was doing.
Octavius stepped back easily and missed the sloshing, but he was used to blood spraying out all over the
place.
Peter nodded and walked away, but Octavius stayed where he was, to his misfortune. He had parked
behind the old lab, on an access road everybody had forgotten about too, because he did not want
Peter or anybody else to see the car he drove.
Peter was hardly out of sight when something just under Octavius’s feet, where the blood was soaking
in, sniffed and swallowed and opened its eyes.
If this lab had been that good at black science, they would still be in business. But they weren’t, so they
made the mistake of burying their problems instead of burning them in a big bonfire so that there was
no trace.
Or, in this case, so something could not bite and claw its way with long fingernails and sharp teeth out of
the dirt and grab Octavius by the ankles. Then pull him to the ground and bite him right on his face.
But his face was kind of bony so it started working on some soft parts.
Peter had stopped not far away to call his wife, but never heard a damn thing. It was ironic, because as
soon as that creature’s hand popped out of the dirt Octavius’s heart popped like a balloon. All those
times, Octavius had arranged for guys to meet Russian women off the internet for a night of passion,
only for those guys to wake up in the hotel tub packed in ice…or dumped in a landfill and never waking
up at all. All those times, Octavius never knew he needed an organ for himself. He ignored the
shortness of breath and the tingling in his fingers and all the rest.
Like I said, if they were better at science, they would still have been in business. And if they weren’t also
lazy, they would have buried these things deeper.
Peter’s wife was named Stacy, and was waiting in a big McMansion out in the suburbs for news of
Alondra’s kidney. Do I even need to say this was his second wife, and very young?
“We’re halfway there,” Peter told her.
“It’s not like a pig kidney or anything?” she asked.
“How would I know?”
“I don’t know,” she fretted.
“Look, this guy came highly recommended. And when it comes to Alondra, we don’t have another
choice.”
“I know,” said Stacy, and there was a lot in those words. In those two words were all the feelings Stacy
had growing for little Alondra and all the feelings Peter lacked. But Peter did what he had to do.
What Peter had to do next was walk out to the edge of the overgrown parking lot and wait for a guy
from the transplant organization he had paid off too. Actually this guy, whose name was Rollo, knew
Ocatvius quite well, but neither man wanted anyone to know they were connected. Rollo had worked
at the lab too, back in the day. Not so much in the sciences, as in the more…nebulous parts of the
organization.
Octavius could have just given the organ to Rollo, but Octavius and Rollo always wanted a middleman. It
wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than nothing.
“Look, just go to the hospital and wait,” Peter said. “The guy is on his way here, and then he is going to
be bringing the kidneys within the hour.”
“Okay,” said Stacy, but there was so much she could not face she knew she was staying right where she
was.
“Okay.” And Peter hung up.
Peter had only taken a few steps before he saw something moving in the trees, just out of the corner of
his eye.
Of course, Peter was thinking it was a cop, or the FBI, or maybe an investigative reporter trying to entrap
him and put him on TV with all the pedophiles.
So Peter stepped off the road and hid behind a tree, which was stupid because unlike cops and FBI
agents and reporters, what was shambling towards him could smell the blood on his shoes.
Peter peeked around the tree and realized he was wrong about the cops and the reporters because how
this person was dressed—how this shape was dressed—was in things Goodwill would not take. They
looked like clothes somebody took out of a compost pile.
Peter started moving quickly through the trees, trying not to slosh the beer cooler too much, and cut
cross-country towards the parking lot.
All the bones and muscles and ligaments in the thing sniffing along behind Peter, which seemed barely
connected to each other, still let the thing move faster than you would think.
But it would not have mattered if Peter had watched where he was going, which he did not, so he
overshot the parking lot and thrashed deeper into the woods.
And the thing that could smell his bloody footprints, who saw the shoe prints glowing like fire, kept on
coming.
Peter saw the bland gray concrete block of the lab building looming in front of him and he realized he
had been a dumbass, and circled back on himself. He was ultimately a tech guy. He had never been
much out in nature and did not really know how to navigate even a small forest of trees, much less tell
one from another.
And he had never seen a dead body, but he recognized that Octavius was dead when he saw what was
left of him in the small clearing where they had met minutes ago. The chewed parts and the parts that
should have been tucked inside but were glistening in the sun.
The thing behind Peter was getting closer, so close now Peter could hear a slurping noise, and Peter
turned and looked.
And what he saw sent his heart plummeting, and his balls scurrying up inside himself to meet it, and his
butthole slammed shut with the finality of a coffin lid.
Peter dropped the beer cooler, and this time a lot more blood sloshed out than was good, and the thing
moved faster somehow.
Peter grabbed the cooler back up and started running.
Peter was running, and the only place he knew he was running was “Away,” wherever that was. And he
was bouncing off of trunks and getting whipped in the face by branches and all that, because instead of
joining Boy Scouts he had taught himself computer programming. He was richer, but very close to being
dead, so some of his life choices seemed poorer today.
He kept splashing blood out of that cooler and that wasn’t great for Alondra but more importantly for
Peter, it wasn’t great for him at all.
So Peter stopped, and opened the cooler. He plunged his hand in and grabbed out a kidney that was in a
leaky sandwich bag, and he flung that kidney in a long red arc that hit the thing’s chest with a wet sound
and plopped into the grass.
And the creature looked down at it with yellow eyes, and it gave Peter a chance to catch his breath.
Then the creature showed broken teeth, and reached down with those long nails and grabbed the
kidney up, and it went down in one gulp, and Peter threw up in his mouth a little.
When Peter ran this time he didn’t even pick up the cooler.
The thing tipped the cooler back and gulped the other kidney down, and that bought Peter a little more
time.
Peter ran and looked back, ran and looked back, and sure enough in a minute or two he saw that
raggedy shape moving between the trees again.
Peter was looking back when his foot touched asphalt and he was out on a county road.
The woman driving the minivan was leaning over pushing the Hocus Pocus DVD into the dash, for her
kids in the backseat to watch for the millionth time. So she did not even tap the brake before she hit
Peter head on.
Rather than explain what that looked like, it’s simpler to say the kids never asked to watch Hocus Pocus
ever again.
As it happens, Rollo was not too far behind the woman in a truck that looked like a medical vehicle but
really wasn’t.
Rollo was very quick on his feet and looked l
Ep.22 – Just a Dream - Horrifying Nightmares
Released on 03/25/2020
Episode Notes
A young boy is tormented by a terrifying nightmare, but a dream can hurt you... or can it?
Just a Dream by Joe Solmo
PennedinBlood.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
Transcript:
David sat up in the cold darkness of his room unable to breathe. His Superman Underoos were soaked with a cold sweat. He listened in the darkness, wide-eyed, but heard nothing. He tried to scream but nothing came out. It must have only been a dream he thought as rational thought returned to his eight year old mind.
He laid back down on the bottom bunk, finally able to breathe. His older brother William started to snore above him, at least his sleep was undisturbed. This was the fourth night this week that David woke in this manner. He looked down on the floor over the edge of his bed adorned in Thundercats bed sheets.
On the floor he saw his stuffed owl he named Woodsy. Woodsy had a small radio embedded inside its stomach and when he got scared in the darkness he could turn the radio on low and hear another human voice. It helped sometimes. The radio kept him company until light started to shine through the window.
He was already awake when William’s alarm went off. It was summertime, but William took a summer job working with the neighbor, helping on his farm. David watched as his brother climbed down the wooden ladder built into the foot of their beds.
“William?” he asked.
“What are you doing up, it’s five a.m.” William said running his hands through his hair. “Bad dream again?”
“Yeah, this time it was worse. They made it inside,” David said.
“Don’t worry. Even if they get inside they can’t hurt you. I won’t let them,” William said smiling at his younger brother.
“Your snoring sounded like KITT from Knight Rider,” David said in response.
“And I am sure that would scare them off, see. No problem,” William joked and headed for the small bathroom attached to their room to get ready for work on the farm.
“So reassuring,” David said pulling his blanket off the bed and walking out to the living room. He climbed on the couch and closed his eyes. Tonight maybe I will sleep out here, maybe the dreams can’t find me, David thought as sleep overtook him.
When David’s eyes opened the first thing he noticed was how bright it was. The T.V was on and the godawful show Guiding Light was on. HE could smell French toast being cooked in the kitchen and knew his mom was making breakfast.
He twisted his head around to look through the open arch into the kitchen. He heard clanking as he watched his mother set the table for breakfast, her eyes glued to their television. The cinnamon she added to the egg made his mouth water, and David got up and headed for the kitchen.
“Good morning honey,” his mother said with a smile. “Rough night?”
“Yeah. I had a bad dream,” David replied.
“Oh I am sorry baby. Did coming out to the couch help?” she asked.
“A little yeah. Can I sleep there tonight?” David asked.
“Not tonight, your father is having some friends over and they will be watching the game,” his mother said.
“It’s ok I can watch the game with them,” David said hopefully.
“Not tonight. I am sorry. Did your brother get off to work this morning?” she asked.
“Yeah he said he would be home for lunch today,” David said. “He wants bologna.”
“Did he really?” his mother asked with a smile. “Your brother asked for your favorite sandwich for lunch? I thought he hated bologna,” his mother said.
“Well he didn’t come out and exactly say it. It was kind of implied,” David said.
“Uh huh,” his mother said placing two pieces of french toast on his plate. “Eat up. I got to go to the store and you have to come with me,” she said.
“Do I have too?” David whined.
“Yes, you’re too young to stay by yourself,” She said.
After dinner David went to his room to play with his Castle Greyskull play set. His brother came in shortly after and turned on his radio that sat on a shelf opposite their beds. Soon Pat Benetar’s unique voice came from the speakers mounted on the wall.
“Do you have to listen to that so loud?” David asked.
“Sure do. Sorry,” William said climbing up onto his bunk. David sighed. He put his action figures into his toy box and closed up the castle. Sometimes his brother could be a real jerk. He wished they didn’t have to share rooms, but their house just wasn’t big enough.
He left their shared room to hang out in the living room. When he got there, it was full of people he had never seen before, all of them smoking, with drinks in their hands. The game was on the T.V. “What are you doing out here,” his father asked smiling.
“William is listening to music so loud I can’t hear my action figures talk to each other,” David said with a pout.
“Well I will have a talk with him. You shouldn’t be out here with all of us adults,” his father said putting out his nonfilter Lucky Strike cigarette. David let his father lead him back to his room. He knew he would get it from his brother once his father left the room.
“William, turn that shit down!” David’s father yelled.
“Come on, it’s not even that loud,” William retorted.
“You have to share your room with your brother, try to find a happy medium will ya? I got guests over and it’s a cloud of smoke. No place for a kid,” their father said.
“Alright fine, can I go over to Brians?” William asked. “He asked me to spend the night.”
“No!” David said.
“Yeah, it’s fine with me, just check with your mother. Why do you care, Davey?” their father asked.
“I would be all alone tonight…” he said. He didn’t want to show his dad he was afraid of the dark.
“Exactly, you can play as late as you want, I promise,” his father said and winked, like he was doing David a favor.
“Cool let me call Brian,” William said and left the room. David watched his brother leave the room, carrying his chances of a good night’s sleep. His father left to return to his friends and suddenly the shadows in the corners of the room seemed more sinister.
Three hours later David sat in his bed with a flashlight and a Spider-Man comic. His mom had tucked him in but he got back up. She had noticed the light spilling under the door into the hall so he had to pilfer the flashlight from under the bathroom sink.
He secretly wished Spider-Man was real and could save him from the bad dreams. He yawned as he turned the pages. It didn’t take long for his week of little sleep to catch up to him and less than twenty minutes later he was asleep.
David’s eyes suddenly flipped open. The room was completely dark. He turned his head and looked at the clock on radio across the room. 2:15. Oh no, he thought. It was the same time every night. He listened and heard the sound of the tires on the gravel driveway. He jumped up and ran to the window. He saw the black car with no headlights coming up the driveway. The car looked like an old hearse, with black tinted windows. There wasn’t a single color on the car besides, black. The bumper, lights, hubcaps, everything covered in black.
The car stopped about twenty feet from the house. He watched as the doors opened and four beings stepped out. They were tall and skinny, wearing what looked like tuxedos, but without a shirt underneath. Their pale skin almost shone in the moonlight. He couldn’t make out their faces. It wasn’t that they didn’t have one, it was just…fuzzy, like when the reception goes out on their T.V. and his father swears and has to adjust the rabbit ears fuzzy, except for their mouths. They didn’t have lips, the mouths were almost a complete circle, lined with sharp, glistening teeth, rows of them, like a sharks mouth, only round.
They didn’t make a sound as they lined up next to each other in the driveway. They more glided then walked towards the house in complete unison Swirls of fog flickered with red, yellow and orange lights, parted for them as they closed the gap between car and house. He watched as they came straight towards his room, not the front door. He ducked under the covers.
David started to shake. It had to be a dream, it’s only a dream, he thought. WAKE UP he yelled inside his head. There was no sound from outside the blankets. He wanted to peak so badly, but couldn’t muster up the courage to do so.
A minute passed, then two, still no sound from outside the blankets. He looked at the Thundercats on his sheets and wished he had their courage. He tried to calm his breathing, fearing that the blankets moving up and down would alert them to his hiding place. He imagined them in his room looking in the toy box for him and checking the small bathroom.
He moved his arm slowly, as slowly as he could, hoping they wouldn’t notice the movement if it was slow enough. He held his breath for a second, still no sounds came from the room. Was it possible they couldn’t get inside his room? The dream never went that far. They would peer into his windows, like he was on display for them, like some kind of zoo.
Suddenly the blankets were yanked off of him. He looked up at the top bunk of the bed, no longer against the wall. Mist filled his room, flickering red, orange and yellow light reflecting on the white wisps. On each side were two of the beings, people, aliens, demons? whatever. They bent their pale heads under the top bunk. David was paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t move. He felt his pajama top rise up and tuck it’s self under his chin.
His eyes opened as wide as they could as the one closest to him on the right side reached into a pocket on the black suit it wore. David’s imagination ran wild with what it had in there. Some torture device? He followed the movement of the things pale hand, the only muscle he could move, as it pulled something out of the pocket.
He s
A young boy is tormented by a terrifying nightmare, but a dream can hurt you... or can it?
Just a Dream by Joe Solmo
PennedinBlood.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
Transcript:
David sat up in the cold darkness of his room unable to breathe. His Superman Underoos were soaked with a cold sweat. He listened in the darkness, wide-eyed, but heard nothing. He tried to scream but nothing came out. It must have only been a dream he thought as rational thought returned to his eight year old mind.
He laid back down on the bottom bunk, finally able to breathe. His older brother William started to snore above him, at least his sleep was undisturbed. This was the fourth night this week that David woke in this manner. He looked down on the floor over the edge of his bed adorned in Thundercats bed sheets.
On the floor he saw his stuffed owl he named Woodsy. Woodsy had a small radio embedded inside its stomach and when he got scared in the darkness he could turn the radio on low and hear another human voice. It helped sometimes. The radio kept him company until light started to shine through the window.
He was already awake when William’s alarm went off. It was summertime, but William took a summer job working with the neighbor, helping on his farm. David watched as his brother climbed down the wooden ladder built into the foot of their beds.
“William?” he asked.
“What are you doing up, it’s five a.m.” William said running his hands through his hair. “Bad dream again?”
“Yeah, this time it was worse. They made it inside,” David said.
“Don’t worry. Even if they get inside they can’t hurt you. I won’t let them,” William said smiling at his younger brother.
“Your snoring sounded like KITT from Knight Rider,” David said in response.
“And I am sure that would scare them off, see. No problem,” William joked and headed for the small bathroom attached to their room to get ready for work on the farm.
“So reassuring,” David said pulling his blanket off the bed and walking out to the living room. He climbed on the couch and closed his eyes. Tonight maybe I will sleep out here, maybe the dreams can’t find me, David thought as sleep overtook him.
When David’s eyes opened the first thing he noticed was how bright it was. The T.V was on and the godawful show Guiding Light was on. HE could smell French toast being cooked in the kitchen and knew his mom was making breakfast.
He twisted his head around to look through the open arch into the kitchen. He heard clanking as he watched his mother set the table for breakfast, her eyes glued to their television. The cinnamon she added to the egg made his mouth water, and David got up and headed for the kitchen.
“Good morning honey,” his mother said with a smile. “Rough night?”
“Yeah. I had a bad dream,” David replied.
“Oh I am sorry baby. Did coming out to the couch help?” she asked.
“A little yeah. Can I sleep there tonight?” David asked.
“Not tonight, your father is having some friends over and they will be watching the game,” his mother said.
“It’s ok I can watch the game with them,” David said hopefully.
“Not tonight. I am sorry. Did your brother get off to work this morning?” she asked.
“Yeah he said he would be home for lunch today,” David said. “He wants bologna.”
“Did he really?” his mother asked with a smile. “Your brother asked for your favorite sandwich for lunch? I thought he hated bologna,” his mother said.
“Well he didn’t come out and exactly say it. It was kind of implied,” David said.
“Uh huh,” his mother said placing two pieces of french toast on his plate. “Eat up. I got to go to the store and you have to come with me,” she said.
“Do I have too?” David whined.
“Yes, you’re too young to stay by yourself,” She said.
After dinner David went to his room to play with his Castle Greyskull play set. His brother came in shortly after and turned on his radio that sat on a shelf opposite their beds. Soon Pat Benetar’s unique voice came from the speakers mounted on the wall.
“Do you have to listen to that so loud?” David asked.
“Sure do. Sorry,” William said climbing up onto his bunk. David sighed. He put his action figures into his toy box and closed up the castle. Sometimes his brother could be a real jerk. He wished they didn’t have to share rooms, but their house just wasn’t big enough.
He left their shared room to hang out in the living room. When he got there, it was full of people he had never seen before, all of them smoking, with drinks in their hands. The game was on the T.V. “What are you doing out here,” his father asked smiling.
“William is listening to music so loud I can’t hear my action figures talk to each other,” David said with a pout.
“Well I will have a talk with him. You shouldn’t be out here with all of us adults,” his father said putting out his nonfilter Lucky Strike cigarette. David let his father lead him back to his room. He knew he would get it from his brother once his father left the room.
“William, turn that shit down!” David’s father yelled.
“Come on, it’s not even that loud,” William retorted.
“You have to share your room with your brother, try to find a happy medium will ya? I got guests over and it’s a cloud of smoke. No place for a kid,” their father said.
“Alright fine, can I go over to Brians?” William asked. “He asked me to spend the night.”
“No!” David said.
“Yeah, it’s fine with me, just check with your mother. Why do you care, Davey?” their father asked.
“I would be all alone tonight…” he said. He didn’t want to show his dad he was afraid of the dark.
“Exactly, you can play as late as you want, I promise,” his father said and winked, like he was doing David a favor.
“Cool let me call Brian,” William said and left the room. David watched his brother leave the room, carrying his chances of a good night’s sleep. His father left to return to his friends and suddenly the shadows in the corners of the room seemed more sinister.
Three hours later David sat in his bed with a flashlight and a Spider-Man comic. His mom had tucked him in but he got back up. She had noticed the light spilling under the door into the hall so he had to pilfer the flashlight from under the bathroom sink.
He secretly wished Spider-Man was real and could save him from the bad dreams. He yawned as he turned the pages. It didn’t take long for his week of little sleep to catch up to him and less than twenty minutes later he was asleep.
David’s eyes suddenly flipped open. The room was completely dark. He turned his head and looked at the clock on radio across the room. 2:15. Oh no, he thought. It was the same time every night. He listened and heard the sound of the tires on the gravel driveway. He jumped up and ran to the window. He saw the black car with no headlights coming up the driveway. The car looked like an old hearse, with black tinted windows. There wasn’t a single color on the car besides, black. The bumper, lights, hubcaps, everything covered in black.
The car stopped about twenty feet from the house. He watched as the doors opened and four beings stepped out. They were tall and skinny, wearing what looked like tuxedos, but without a shirt underneath. Their pale skin almost shone in the moonlight. He couldn’t make out their faces. It wasn’t that they didn’t have one, it was just…fuzzy, like when the reception goes out on their T.V. and his father swears and has to adjust the rabbit ears fuzzy, except for their mouths. They didn’t have lips, the mouths were almost a complete circle, lined with sharp, glistening teeth, rows of them, like a sharks mouth, only round.
They didn’t make a sound as they lined up next to each other in the driveway. They more glided then walked towards the house in complete unison Swirls of fog flickered with red, yellow and orange lights, parted for them as they closed the gap between car and house. He watched as they came straight towards his room, not the front door. He ducked under the covers.
David started to shake. It had to be a dream, it’s only a dream, he thought. WAKE UP he yelled inside his head. There was no sound from outside the blankets. He wanted to peak so badly, but couldn’t muster up the courage to do so.
A minute passed, then two, still no sound from outside the blankets. He looked at the Thundercats on his sheets and wished he had their courage. He tried to calm his breathing, fearing that the blankets moving up and down would alert them to his hiding place. He imagined them in his room looking in the toy box for him and checking the small bathroom.
He moved his arm slowly, as slowly as he could, hoping they wouldn’t notice the movement if it was slow enough. He held his breath for a second, still no sounds came from the room. Was it possible they couldn’t get inside his room? The dream never went that far. They would peer into his windows, like he was on display for them, like some kind of zoo.
Suddenly the blankets were yanked off of him. He looked up at the top bunk of the bed, no longer against the wall. Mist filled his room, flickering red, orange and yellow light reflecting on the white wisps. On each side were two of the beings, people, aliens, demons? whatever. They bent their pale heads under the top bunk. David was paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t move. He felt his pajama top rise up and tuck it’s self under his chin.
His eyes opened as wide as they could as the one closest to him on the right side reached into a pocket on the black suit it wore. David’s imagination ran wild with what it had in there. Some torture device? He followed the movement of the things pale hand, the only muscle he could move, as it pulled something out of the pocket.
He s
Ep.21 – Basket Hound - Horrors of the Old West!
Released on 03/18/2020
Episode Notes
Midnight strikes a sleepy Old West town, and a stranger has come with a sinister need to fill...
Basket Hound by Scott S. Phillips
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BMN3IQ
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
Transcript:
Orel Hamlin stared up at the night sky, wondering if the flying monkey would ever come back.
This was his favorite part of the day, round about 2 AM, when it came time to empty the spittoons. They reeked, of course, from the rotten-toothed spit of a hundred cowboys and cheap chewing tobacco. On occasion, a drunk would piss in one rather than stagger out back to the outhouse, and the stink got a hell of a lot worse when someone had puked in one of them, but even that Orel could live with, because being the designated dumper-of-spittoons meant he got to go outside by himself. Mr. Teevins didn’t much let Orel go outside on his own otherwise, day or night.
Orel carried a lantern in one hand and a spittoon in the other. It was black as hell out there and he didn’t want to fall in the trench again. Some nights — when the moon was real bright — he didn’t need the lantern, but bringing it meant he had to make four trips to empty the spittoons and he was happy for every one of them. Early on, right after Orel was given the task as a responsibility Mr. Teevins felt he could handle, the saloon's bartender — a one-eyed crotchety sonofabitch named Branlyn — insisted he dump all the spittoons into a big bucket and carry that out, one trip, easy and done. Orel consistently made a point of spilling the contents of the spittoons while dumping them into the bucket and Branlyn eventually gave up on the idea. Orel suspected Mr. Teevins had caught on to his scheme, but the older man never mentioned it. When it came time to dump the chamber pots from upstairs, though, Orel didn't bring the lantern. He didn't much enjoy taking the chamber pots out, and with one in each of the upstairs rooms (except for Mr. Teevins's office), Orel wanted it over with as quickly as possible.
Orel was seventeen years old and had been with Mr. Teevins since he was eight, when Orel's daddy beat him senseless and he pretty much stuck that way. It was just after the war and Mr. Teevins had come west minus a leg but full of big dreams, looking to make his fortune in the liquor and whore trade. He was literally stepping off the train when he saw Orel trip and fall in the mud, doing great disservice to his best clothes but nothing to incur the sort of whipping his Daddy unleashed as a result. Mr. Teevins hop-stepped on his wooden leg into the middle of the dust-up and threw a beating on Orel's daddy that left the man with a limp of his own, not to mention a busted-up face that would insure he'd remember what he'd done every time he looked in a mirror till the day he died. The beating also did wonders for Mr. Teevins's standing in the town, since no one much liked Orel's daddy and felt it was a long time coming.
Teevins had purchased the Stone House (which Orel thought was funny since the place was made out of wood), the larger of the town's two saloons, and the only one that came equipped with prostitutes and Branlyn. Teevins moved into one of the upstairs rooms, and when Orel
wandered into the joint a few days later, his daddy having run off in the night, Teevins took him in. Orel's room was basically a closet at the end of the hall with a cot in it, but he'd lived there happily ever since.
"What you gazin' at, kid?"
Orel jumped, slopping some of the spittoon's contents out onto the ground. Standing a dozen or so yards away was a man, watching him. Orel raised the lantern, trying to get a better look, but the light refused to cooperate, as if it were sliding off the figure.
"Who's that there?" Orel asked, voice unsteady.
"Ain't scared, are ya?"
"No," Orel lied.
After a moment, the man walked towards Orel. When he was a few feet away, the light from
the lantern finally took hold, illuminating his features. Whip-thin, about five and a half feet tall — Orel was relieved to see the man was shorter than him — clad in dusty gray trousers, stained shirt with frilled cuffs, and a black leather vest. His bowler hat was tilted far back on his head, like he was walking away from it and it was struggling to keep up. Unlike the rest of his clothing, his boots were new but covered in dust. His eyes were close together, deep-set, and focused on Orel in a way that made him uncomfortable, like he was in trouble for something.
The man's lips pulled back in a smile that bunched up the weathered skin on the sides of his face like a washrag being wrung out. "Name's Malcolm, George Malcolm."
Malcolm George Malcolm, Orel thought, first name same as last. No, that ain't right. He just said it funny, is all. George Malcolm. "Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Malcolm." Orel went to stick out a hand, realized they were both full, then settled on a nod towards the man. “My name’s Hamlin, Orel Hamlin.”
"Why you out here in the night with a cuspidor full of Christ-knows-what, son?"
"Just spit n' chew is all," Orel said, taking a quick look to be sure. "It's my job — one of 'em." Malcolm cocked an eye at Orel. "You some kinda simpleton?"
"No sir, I took an injury as a boy, somewhat scrambled my brains."
"You sound like a simpleton."
Orel frowned. "No sir." Setting the lantern down on the ground, he upended the spittoon over
the trench he'd dug a few days prior. The foul-smelling stew of saliva and tobacco (and, as Malcolm pointed out, Christ-knows-what) spattered into the thicker sludge in the bottom of the trench. "I have a job and I do okay for myself, I reckon." He straightened, fixing Malcolm with a stern gaze.
"Didn't mean no offense, son. This job a' yours, I'm guessing it's in a saloon or some other joint serves liquor?"
"Yes sir, the Stone House, not a hunnerd paces from where we stand now." "Mind if I walk with you?"
Orel puzzled on it for a moment.
"Again, I meant no offense," Malcolm said, bowing slightly. "And I could sure stand to pour some whiskey into myself."
"No, it ain't that," Orel said. "Just that Branlyn's closin' up the bar about now. I don't think he'd turn away your business, though."
Malcolm made a sweeping gesture towards the nearby buildings. "Then if you're finished pourin' out your slop, by all means lead the way, son."
Orel started back to the Stone House, Malcolm falling into step next to him. After a few paces, Orel glanced at the man, catching the tail end of an odd expression that sent something wriggling up Orel's spine to settle coldly at the base of his skull. The only time he'd felt anything similar was when his daddy was about to go on a tear.
"Ain't my place to pry, what with us just havin' met an' all, Mr. Malcolm, but I was wonderin' why you'd be out walking in the desert late at night like this."
Malcolm took so long to answer, Orel thought he hadn't heard the question and was about to ask again when the man finally spoke. "Guess I got lost just a little bit. Was on my way from Bell's Creek."
Orel wanted to press him further but they'd reached the back door of the Stone House and Malcolm took the opportunity to steer things in a different direction. "How many in here, son — yourself included?"
Orel hung the lantern on a hook near the back door. "Just a few, plus the whores, and some or all a' them might be with customers." He made to open the door but Malcolm's hand darted out, grabbing the handle.
"You know that ain't no real answer, don't you, boy?" Malcolm said, making another of his fancy gestures as he opened the door to allow Orel in.
Orel gave Malcolm a confused look as he stepped past him, entering a narrow, dark hallway. Lamplight from the saloon's main room spilled in at the other end. "There's the three of us plus four whores and whatever men they's with," Orel said. "We got two girls wait tables, but they gone home awhile ago."
Malcolm stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. “Fine. Let’s have that drink.”
Orel led the way down the hall and into the main room of the saloon, its dozen or so tables empty at this late hour. To their right was a staircase to the upper floor. On the left was the bar, an L-shaped counter with wooden stools running the length of it. Liquor bottles topped the shelves behind the bar, and a carefully lettered sign read Tabs for liquor only! NOT whores. Branlyn, looking six hundred years old but meaner than hell, a puckered scar where his left eye had been, wiped the bar with a towel that looked as unpleasant as he did. His gray hair hung stringy past his shoulders, and his cheeks, trenched with age, were covered in salt-and-pepper stubble. His single eye settled on Orel and Malcolm and he stopped wiping to stare at them.
“What’s this you brung in?” Branlyn said.
“Found him out back,” Orel said. “He was hopin’ he could get a drink.”
“Or two,” Malcolm said, stepping up to the bar and proffering a hand. “Malcolm, George Malcolm.”
He done it again, Orel thought.
Branlyn’s eye looked at the hand, then at Malcolm’s face. He wiped his right hand with the bar towel and shook with him. “Well, Mr. Malcolm, technically we’s closed for business, but I think we can accommodate you. If you got money, a’ course.”
“A pocketful,” Malcolm said, stepping up and resting his elbows on the bar. “Whiskey, please. Don’t care how cheap or how shitty.”
“We don’t serve shitty whiskey in this joint.”
Malcolm turned his head to find Mr. Teevins coming down the stairs, stepping with his good leg, then swinging the wooden one after. With the saloon closed, he’d taken off the jacket but still wore the rest of his favorite white suit, the vest unbuttoned. Teevins was about 35, probably
Midnight strikes a sleepy Old West town, and a stranger has come with a sinister need to fill...
Basket Hound by Scott S. Phillips
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BMN3IQ
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
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Transcript:
Orel Hamlin stared up at the night sky, wondering if the flying monkey would ever come back.
This was his favorite part of the day, round about 2 AM, when it came time to empty the spittoons. They reeked, of course, from the rotten-toothed spit of a hundred cowboys and cheap chewing tobacco. On occasion, a drunk would piss in one rather than stagger out back to the outhouse, and the stink got a hell of a lot worse when someone had puked in one of them, but even that Orel could live with, because being the designated dumper-of-spittoons meant he got to go outside by himself. Mr. Teevins didn’t much let Orel go outside on his own otherwise, day or night.
Orel carried a lantern in one hand and a spittoon in the other. It was black as hell out there and he didn’t want to fall in the trench again. Some nights — when the moon was real bright — he didn’t need the lantern, but bringing it meant he had to make four trips to empty the spittoons and he was happy for every one of them. Early on, right after Orel was given the task as a responsibility Mr. Teevins felt he could handle, the saloon's bartender — a one-eyed crotchety sonofabitch named Branlyn — insisted he dump all the spittoons into a big bucket and carry that out, one trip, easy and done. Orel consistently made a point of spilling the contents of the spittoons while dumping them into the bucket and Branlyn eventually gave up on the idea. Orel suspected Mr. Teevins had caught on to his scheme, but the older man never mentioned it. When it came time to dump the chamber pots from upstairs, though, Orel didn't bring the lantern. He didn't much enjoy taking the chamber pots out, and with one in each of the upstairs rooms (except for Mr. Teevins's office), Orel wanted it over with as quickly as possible.
Orel was seventeen years old and had been with Mr. Teevins since he was eight, when Orel's daddy beat him senseless and he pretty much stuck that way. It was just after the war and Mr. Teevins had come west minus a leg but full of big dreams, looking to make his fortune in the liquor and whore trade. He was literally stepping off the train when he saw Orel trip and fall in the mud, doing great disservice to his best clothes but nothing to incur the sort of whipping his Daddy unleashed as a result. Mr. Teevins hop-stepped on his wooden leg into the middle of the dust-up and threw a beating on Orel's daddy that left the man with a limp of his own, not to mention a busted-up face that would insure he'd remember what he'd done every time he looked in a mirror till the day he died. The beating also did wonders for Mr. Teevins's standing in the town, since no one much liked Orel's daddy and felt it was a long time coming.
Teevins had purchased the Stone House (which Orel thought was funny since the place was made out of wood), the larger of the town's two saloons, and the only one that came equipped with prostitutes and Branlyn. Teevins moved into one of the upstairs rooms, and when Orel
wandered into the joint a few days later, his daddy having run off in the night, Teevins took him in. Orel's room was basically a closet at the end of the hall with a cot in it, but he'd lived there happily ever since.
"What you gazin' at, kid?"
Orel jumped, slopping some of the spittoon's contents out onto the ground. Standing a dozen or so yards away was a man, watching him. Orel raised the lantern, trying to get a better look, but the light refused to cooperate, as if it were sliding off the figure.
"Who's that there?" Orel asked, voice unsteady.
"Ain't scared, are ya?"
"No," Orel lied.
After a moment, the man walked towards Orel. When he was a few feet away, the light from
the lantern finally took hold, illuminating his features. Whip-thin, about five and a half feet tall — Orel was relieved to see the man was shorter than him — clad in dusty gray trousers, stained shirt with frilled cuffs, and a black leather vest. His bowler hat was tilted far back on his head, like he was walking away from it and it was struggling to keep up. Unlike the rest of his clothing, his boots were new but covered in dust. His eyes were close together, deep-set, and focused on Orel in a way that made him uncomfortable, like he was in trouble for something.
The man's lips pulled back in a smile that bunched up the weathered skin on the sides of his face like a washrag being wrung out. "Name's Malcolm, George Malcolm."
Malcolm George Malcolm, Orel thought, first name same as last. No, that ain't right. He just said it funny, is all. George Malcolm. "Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Malcolm." Orel went to stick out a hand, realized they were both full, then settled on a nod towards the man. “My name’s Hamlin, Orel Hamlin.”
"Why you out here in the night with a cuspidor full of Christ-knows-what, son?"
"Just spit n' chew is all," Orel said, taking a quick look to be sure. "It's my job — one of 'em." Malcolm cocked an eye at Orel. "You some kinda simpleton?"
"No sir, I took an injury as a boy, somewhat scrambled my brains."
"You sound like a simpleton."
Orel frowned. "No sir." Setting the lantern down on the ground, he upended the spittoon over
the trench he'd dug a few days prior. The foul-smelling stew of saliva and tobacco (and, as Malcolm pointed out, Christ-knows-what) spattered into the thicker sludge in the bottom of the trench. "I have a job and I do okay for myself, I reckon." He straightened, fixing Malcolm with a stern gaze.
"Didn't mean no offense, son. This job a' yours, I'm guessing it's in a saloon or some other joint serves liquor?"
"Yes sir, the Stone House, not a hunnerd paces from where we stand now." "Mind if I walk with you?"
Orel puzzled on it for a moment.
"Again, I meant no offense," Malcolm said, bowing slightly. "And I could sure stand to pour some whiskey into myself."
"No, it ain't that," Orel said. "Just that Branlyn's closin' up the bar about now. I don't think he'd turn away your business, though."
Malcolm made a sweeping gesture towards the nearby buildings. "Then if you're finished pourin' out your slop, by all means lead the way, son."
Orel started back to the Stone House, Malcolm falling into step next to him. After a few paces, Orel glanced at the man, catching the tail end of an odd expression that sent something wriggling up Orel's spine to settle coldly at the base of his skull. The only time he'd felt anything similar was when his daddy was about to go on a tear.
"Ain't my place to pry, what with us just havin' met an' all, Mr. Malcolm, but I was wonderin' why you'd be out walking in the desert late at night like this."
Malcolm took so long to answer, Orel thought he hadn't heard the question and was about to ask again when the man finally spoke. "Guess I got lost just a little bit. Was on my way from Bell's Creek."
Orel wanted to press him further but they'd reached the back door of the Stone House and Malcolm took the opportunity to steer things in a different direction. "How many in here, son — yourself included?"
Orel hung the lantern on a hook near the back door. "Just a few, plus the whores, and some or all a' them might be with customers." He made to open the door but Malcolm's hand darted out, grabbing the handle.
"You know that ain't no real answer, don't you, boy?" Malcolm said, making another of his fancy gestures as he opened the door to allow Orel in.
Orel gave Malcolm a confused look as he stepped past him, entering a narrow, dark hallway. Lamplight from the saloon's main room spilled in at the other end. "There's the three of us plus four whores and whatever men they's with," Orel said. "We got two girls wait tables, but they gone home awhile ago."
Malcolm stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. “Fine. Let’s have that drink.”
Orel led the way down the hall and into the main room of the saloon, its dozen or so tables empty at this late hour. To their right was a staircase to the upper floor. On the left was the bar, an L-shaped counter with wooden stools running the length of it. Liquor bottles topped the shelves behind the bar, and a carefully lettered sign read Tabs for liquor only! NOT whores. Branlyn, looking six hundred years old but meaner than hell, a puckered scar where his left eye had been, wiped the bar with a towel that looked as unpleasant as he did. His gray hair hung stringy past his shoulders, and his cheeks, trenched with age, were covered in salt-and-pepper stubble. His single eye settled on Orel and Malcolm and he stopped wiping to stare at them.
“What’s this you brung in?” Branlyn said.
“Found him out back,” Orel said. “He was hopin’ he could get a drink.”
“Or two,” Malcolm said, stepping up to the bar and proffering a hand. “Malcolm, George Malcolm.”
He done it again, Orel thought.
Branlyn’s eye looked at the hand, then at Malcolm’s face. He wiped his right hand with the bar towel and shook with him. “Well, Mr. Malcolm, technically we’s closed for business, but I think we can accommodate you. If you got money, a’ course.”
“A pocketful,” Malcolm said, stepping up and resting his elbows on the bar. “Whiskey, please. Don’t care how cheap or how shitty.”
“We don’t serve shitty whiskey in this joint.”
Malcolm turned his head to find Mr. Teevins coming down the stairs, stepping with his good leg, then swinging the wooden one after. With the saloon closed, he’d taken off the jacket but still wore the rest of his favorite white suit, the vest unbuttoned. Teevins was about 35, probably
Ep.20 – Warehouse of Blood - Flesh Hungry Monster Wants To Play!
Released on 03/11/2020
Episode Notes
On Friday the 13th an investigative journalist discovers a very disturbing family secret, and blood splattered mayhem is its game of choice.
Warehouse of Blood by Shane Migliavacca
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
Transcript:
April 13th 1979
It’s 1:00 A.M. on Friday the 13th and I’ve been awake for two days. Will the 13th hold good luck for me? We’ll see.
My long brown hair needs a good combing, haven’t been back to the apartment in three days, and I think my bra is starting to stink of BO. I’m sitting here on a wood crate and my butt has fallen asleep.
I’ve been following Teddy Stoneberry all night. Teddy’s been the talk of the town lately. Only surviving son of Peter and Dorthy Stoneberry, Peter owns a huge shipping empire. Teddy’s twin brother Chuck died in fire when the boys were ten, which left Teddy to inherit everything.
His younger sister Ann ran off with her female tennis instructor last year. Word was the folks disowned her after that. Lately Teddy had been seen galavanting about town with a model by the name of Suzy S. No last name, just “S”. Guess that makes her interesting.
Suzy became a lot more interesting a week ago when she went missing.
At first it was looked at as just another Suzy lost weekend coke binge. Then her purse showed up in a gutter on 43rd street. Everything intact… not even a penny missing, so robbery wasn’t the motive.
If it was a kidnapping, why hasn’t anybody come forward?
Pretty soon all signs were pointing at good old Teddy. He was know to have quite a little temper. The popular theory was: They got in a fight over her drug habit and hit her a little too hard. Poor Suzy is most likely stuffed in a crate on one of Daddy’s cargo ships halfway to Singapore.
The other theory: Suzy’s old flame, Jay Jay Brown, he of a fifth rate punk band called Motherfuckers from Mars, killed her in a jealous rage.
I don’t buy that theory myself. Teddy is involved somehow. I can feel it in my gut.
I watch as he enters a warehouse owned by the family, not far from the pier. I can hear the water crashing against the side of a nearby cargo ship. There’s a chill in the night air, forcing me to pull my denim jacket tighter. It’s furry collar prickly against my neck. I pull my wool wide brimmed hat down.
“Time to snoop Sam.” I say to myself, watching my breath twirl in the cold night air.
I slip off the box, worming my way past the stack of crates I was hiding behind. My butt and legs are asleep from sitting there, causing me to limp along for a few seconds before the blood gets flowing again.
This is my favorite time of any story I’m investigating… digging up dirt, sneaking around, butting in where I’m not wanted. Might not be respectable, but sure as hell is fun though.
If I can catch him red handed, I’ll have the scoop of the year. I’ll be done with these shitty little news stories I’ve been covering for a year and a half. Just because I’m a woman the chief gives me the most boring stories imaginable. Flower festivals and craft fairs. Fucking really?
Catch him red handed doing god knows what. I figure he wouldn’t have the body stashed here, right? Maybe he’s got something of her’s here. It’s slim, but it’s better then nothing.
Teddy entered using a door marked “office”. Too risky trying to enter through there. Maybe I can find another way in… an open window or something. Preferably nothing that involves climbing… me and heights don’t get along too well since that case with that embezzling councilman and the high-rise balconies.
I’m in luck, I find a dumpster around the side of the warehouse. Above it is a large window. There’s a horrible smell coming from the dumpster. The image of Suzy’s decomposing body pops into my head.
Shit. No two ways about it. Now I gotta look.
Fishing the small flashlight from my jacket, never leave home without it, I lift the lid of the dumpster. Thank god I’ve got my riding gloves on. I shine the flashlight over the contents of the dumpster. There’s a few black trash bags, some empty beer cans, some flattened cardboard boxes and something else. I can only see a little bit of it. Red. Bright red. Could it be… Suzy?
I try to push some of the garbage out of the way, but it’s too far down. I really, really do not want to climb down there. I ease the lid back down and go hunting for something to extend my reach.
After a little looking I find a broken board from a wood pallet. I head back to the dumpster and use it to push aside some of the trash, while holding the flashlight in my other hand.
Laying there under everything is what remains of a fair sized dog. The greasy cheeseburger I had for lunch almost makes a return appearance. I throw the board in and lower the lid. God, the dog looks like it was skinned. Not only skinned, but there’s chunks missing, like somebody carved Fido up for lunch-meat.
Who the hell would do that? Teddy got a dog meat fetish? That would be far out. Make a hell of a headline.
I decide to get back to why I’m here. Checking out this warehouse and where Teddy got off to.
I climb up onto the dumpster lid. The cold metal creaks under my weight. One too many cheese burgers. I try the window, but there’s a wire mesh protecting it. That’s what a high crime rate get’s you. Worse yet the glass is frosted, so peeking in isn’t possible. Damn their security and secrecy.
I stand there, frustrated. Trying to come up with another plan. That’s when I hear a loud scream from inside.
Shit!
I jump down off the dumpster, trying not to break a leg in the process. I run around the side of the warehouse to where I saw the door marked office. Before I can pull it open, the door flies open of it’s own accord, knocking me on my ass and pushing the air from my lungs.
In the commotion I see a vague man-sized figure standing in the doorway back-lit by the light from within. I hear a groaning noise as it rushes past me. I try to get a good look as it runs away, but I’m too slow. I’m fairly sure it wasn’t Teddy… but that’s about all I’m sure off.
I look off in the direction it went. I can try and follow or go in the warehouse. I decide to go into the warehouse.
Whoever knocked me down left bloody footprints. What’s going on in there? Just to be safe I pull a small double barreled Derringer pistol from my jacket. I keep it for “close encounters.” Better safe then sorry.
The mayor might be cleaning up the city. Making it safer for the good people. But it can still get pretty dirty.
I pull open the door. There’s a modest office inside with desks, carpet and filing cabinets. The bloody footprints mar an otherwise decent carpet. Shame.
Making my way through the office, following the bloody prints back to their source leads me to a hallway. The blood leads down the hallway to the main warehouse area… aisle upon aisle of metal shelves, about ten feet high; each one crammed with boxes and crates of various sizes and shapes as far as the eye can see.
The blood trail ends in a large pool in the center of one of the aisles. There’s no body, just a hat. Looks like the kind a security guard might wear.
A pained moan comes from somewhere in the back. The guard maybe? I try to follow the sound but get lost among the aisles.
After a little fruitless searching, I give up.
“Hello?” I call out. “Where are you?” Then I add. “I’m here to help.” I was actually here snooping. They don’t need to know that.
There’s no answer. I try a couple more times, holding my breath and waiting for an answer… when finally…
“Here!” The voice says weakly, a man’s voice. “I’m here.”
“Keep talking to me buddy.” I holler back. “I’ll find you.”
After a few minutes I find a very beat up Teddy Stoneberry in the rear of the warehouse. He’s slumped against a wood crate, a large gash on his forehead… another on his chest. His hair is matted with blood.
“What happened?” I ask, kneeling down by him.
“Who?” He mutters. “Who are you?”
I need a good lie. “Jenny Smith. I was passing by. Heard a scream.” Not good, but it’ll do. He’s barely with it anyway.
His wounds look pretty bad. He needs help. But the reporter in me overrides my natural instinct to help.
“Who did this too you?” I ask.
His only answer is a groan, his eyes closing as he slumps forward. I check him, still alive. Trying to wake him, I shake him a little.
“C’mon Teddy. Stay with me.”
He groans again, his eyes opening and promptly closing once more.
“Fuck.”
Wanting to stop his bleeding somehow, I scan the area for a rag or something. That’s when I see the room behind a stack of crates… almost hidden away.
I rush over. The room is dark. I pull out my flashlight. Looks like someone was being kept here. There’s a stained mattress on the floor and some blankets. There’s also a bowl with hunks of bloody meat. The smell of rotting meat and urine is overpowering.
I back away, trying not to vomit.
That damn cheese burger won’t stay down.
God, were they keeping Suzy here? What the fuck did they do to her?
I go back over to Teddy, suddenly not caring about helping him anymore. Angry, I shake him hard till he moans. His eyes fluttering open.
“Who did you have here?”
“Who?” He mumbles, his head drooping forward.
“Hey! Hey!” I slap his face, leaving a red mark. “Stay awake Teddy! C’mon! Who was in that room? Suzy?”
He laughs, coughing on his blood. “Suzy who? Suzy Q?”
“In that room.” I point. “Were you keeping her there?”
Teddy coughs, spitting out some blood. Right onto my cheek. Thanks.
He grabs my left arm tight. “Brother. Brother’s here.” He says, before finally going out again. His grip goes slack. His hand falling to his lap.
“Brother? Your brother’s dead?” I say, even though he can’t hea
On Friday the 13th an investigative journalist discovers a very disturbing family secret, and blood splattered mayhem is its game of choice.
Warehouse of Blood by Shane Migliavacca
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
Transcript:
April 13th 1979
It’s 1:00 A.M. on Friday the 13th and I’ve been awake for two days. Will the 13th hold good luck for me? We’ll see.
My long brown hair needs a good combing, haven’t been back to the apartment in three days, and I think my bra is starting to stink of BO. I’m sitting here on a wood crate and my butt has fallen asleep.
I’ve been following Teddy Stoneberry all night. Teddy’s been the talk of the town lately. Only surviving son of Peter and Dorthy Stoneberry, Peter owns a huge shipping empire. Teddy’s twin brother Chuck died in fire when the boys were ten, which left Teddy to inherit everything.
His younger sister Ann ran off with her female tennis instructor last year. Word was the folks disowned her after that. Lately Teddy had been seen galavanting about town with a model by the name of Suzy S. No last name, just “S”. Guess that makes her interesting.
Suzy became a lot more interesting a week ago when she went missing.
At first it was looked at as just another Suzy lost weekend coke binge. Then her purse showed up in a gutter on 43rd street. Everything intact… not even a penny missing, so robbery wasn’t the motive.
If it was a kidnapping, why hasn’t anybody come forward?
Pretty soon all signs were pointing at good old Teddy. He was know to have quite a little temper. The popular theory was: They got in a fight over her drug habit and hit her a little too hard. Poor Suzy is most likely stuffed in a crate on one of Daddy’s cargo ships halfway to Singapore.
The other theory: Suzy’s old flame, Jay Jay Brown, he of a fifth rate punk band called Motherfuckers from Mars, killed her in a jealous rage.
I don’t buy that theory myself. Teddy is involved somehow. I can feel it in my gut.
I watch as he enters a warehouse owned by the family, not far from the pier. I can hear the water crashing against the side of a nearby cargo ship. There’s a chill in the night air, forcing me to pull my denim jacket tighter. It’s furry collar prickly against my neck. I pull my wool wide brimmed hat down.
“Time to snoop Sam.” I say to myself, watching my breath twirl in the cold night air.
I slip off the box, worming my way past the stack of crates I was hiding behind. My butt and legs are asleep from sitting there, causing me to limp along for a few seconds before the blood gets flowing again.
This is my favorite time of any story I’m investigating… digging up dirt, sneaking around, butting in where I’m not wanted. Might not be respectable, but sure as hell is fun though.
If I can catch him red handed, I’ll have the scoop of the year. I’ll be done with these shitty little news stories I’ve been covering for a year and a half. Just because I’m a woman the chief gives me the most boring stories imaginable. Flower festivals and craft fairs. Fucking really?
Catch him red handed doing god knows what. I figure he wouldn’t have the body stashed here, right? Maybe he’s got something of her’s here. It’s slim, but it’s better then nothing.
Teddy entered using a door marked “office”. Too risky trying to enter through there. Maybe I can find another way in… an open window or something. Preferably nothing that involves climbing… me and heights don’t get along too well since that case with that embezzling councilman and the high-rise balconies.
I’m in luck, I find a dumpster around the side of the warehouse. Above it is a large window. There’s a horrible smell coming from the dumpster. The image of Suzy’s decomposing body pops into my head.
Shit. No two ways about it. Now I gotta look.
Fishing the small flashlight from my jacket, never leave home without it, I lift the lid of the dumpster. Thank god I’ve got my riding gloves on. I shine the flashlight over the contents of the dumpster. There’s a few black trash bags, some empty beer cans, some flattened cardboard boxes and something else. I can only see a little bit of it. Red. Bright red. Could it be… Suzy?
I try to push some of the garbage out of the way, but it’s too far down. I really, really do not want to climb down there. I ease the lid back down and go hunting for something to extend my reach.
After a little looking I find a broken board from a wood pallet. I head back to the dumpster and use it to push aside some of the trash, while holding the flashlight in my other hand.
Laying there under everything is what remains of a fair sized dog. The greasy cheeseburger I had for lunch almost makes a return appearance. I throw the board in and lower the lid. God, the dog looks like it was skinned. Not only skinned, but there’s chunks missing, like somebody carved Fido up for lunch-meat.
Who the hell would do that? Teddy got a dog meat fetish? That would be far out. Make a hell of a headline.
I decide to get back to why I’m here. Checking out this warehouse and where Teddy got off to.
I climb up onto the dumpster lid. The cold metal creaks under my weight. One too many cheese burgers. I try the window, but there’s a wire mesh protecting it. That’s what a high crime rate get’s you. Worse yet the glass is frosted, so peeking in isn’t possible. Damn their security and secrecy.
I stand there, frustrated. Trying to come up with another plan. That’s when I hear a loud scream from inside.
Shit!
I jump down off the dumpster, trying not to break a leg in the process. I run around the side of the warehouse to where I saw the door marked office. Before I can pull it open, the door flies open of it’s own accord, knocking me on my ass and pushing the air from my lungs.
In the commotion I see a vague man-sized figure standing in the doorway back-lit by the light from within. I hear a groaning noise as it rushes past me. I try to get a good look as it runs away, but I’m too slow. I’m fairly sure it wasn’t Teddy… but that’s about all I’m sure off.
I look off in the direction it went. I can try and follow or go in the warehouse. I decide to go into the warehouse.
Whoever knocked me down left bloody footprints. What’s going on in there? Just to be safe I pull a small double barreled Derringer pistol from my jacket. I keep it for “close encounters.” Better safe then sorry.
The mayor might be cleaning up the city. Making it safer for the good people. But it can still get pretty dirty.
I pull open the door. There’s a modest office inside with desks, carpet and filing cabinets. The bloody footprints mar an otherwise decent carpet. Shame.
Making my way through the office, following the bloody prints back to their source leads me to a hallway. The blood leads down the hallway to the main warehouse area… aisle upon aisle of metal shelves, about ten feet high; each one crammed with boxes and crates of various sizes and shapes as far as the eye can see.
The blood trail ends in a large pool in the center of one of the aisles. There’s no body, just a hat. Looks like the kind a security guard might wear.
A pained moan comes from somewhere in the back. The guard maybe? I try to follow the sound but get lost among the aisles.
After a little fruitless searching, I give up.
“Hello?” I call out. “Where are you?” Then I add. “I’m here to help.” I was actually here snooping. They don’t need to know that.
There’s no answer. I try a couple more times, holding my breath and waiting for an answer… when finally…
“Here!” The voice says weakly, a man’s voice. “I’m here.”
“Keep talking to me buddy.” I holler back. “I’ll find you.”
After a few minutes I find a very beat up Teddy Stoneberry in the rear of the warehouse. He’s slumped against a wood crate, a large gash on his forehead… another on his chest. His hair is matted with blood.
“What happened?” I ask, kneeling down by him.
“Who?” He mutters. “Who are you?”
I need a good lie. “Jenny Smith. I was passing by. Heard a scream.” Not good, but it’ll do. He’s barely with it anyway.
His wounds look pretty bad. He needs help. But the reporter in me overrides my natural instinct to help.
“Who did this too you?” I ask.
His only answer is a groan, his eyes closing as he slumps forward. I check him, still alive. Trying to wake him, I shake him a little.
“C’mon Teddy. Stay with me.”
He groans again, his eyes opening and promptly closing once more.
“Fuck.”
Wanting to stop his bleeding somehow, I scan the area for a rag or something. That’s when I see the room behind a stack of crates… almost hidden away.
I rush over. The room is dark. I pull out my flashlight. Looks like someone was being kept here. There’s a stained mattress on the floor and some blankets. There’s also a bowl with hunks of bloody meat. The smell of rotting meat and urine is overpowering.
I back away, trying not to vomit.
That damn cheese burger won’t stay down.
God, were they keeping Suzy here? What the fuck did they do to her?
I go back over to Teddy, suddenly not caring about helping him anymore. Angry, I shake him hard till he moans. His eyes fluttering open.
“Who did you have here?”
“Who?” He mumbles, his head drooping forward.
“Hey! Hey!” I slap his face, leaving a red mark. “Stay awake Teddy! C’mon! Who was in that room? Suzy?”
He laughs, coughing on his blood. “Suzy who? Suzy Q?”
“In that room.” I point. “Were you keeping her there?”
Teddy coughs, spitting out some blood. Right onto my cheek. Thanks.
He grabs my left arm tight. “Brother. Brother’s here.” He says, before finally going out again. His grip goes slack. His hand falling to his lap.
“Brother? Your brother’s dead?” I say, even though he can’t hea
Ep.19 – Rude Awakening - Zombies After Revenge!
Released on 03/04/2020
Episode Notes
Shawni can't afford to be late for work one more time so she gets an alarm clock so loud she isn't the only one it wakes...
Rude Awakening by Rob Fields
A Fan Submitted Story
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
Transcript:
Shawni Jerral never had a problem getting to bed on time. In fact, she was usually in bed by eleven when she had to work the next morning. When she didn’t have to work, she would stay up late, which meant sleeping in late.
But today wasn’t one of those days . . .
Shawni smiled softly, no doubt having an exciting dream. But her smile faded when she finally heard her smartphone ringing.
She opened her eyes slowly, sat up, grabbed her phone, and muttered, “Whoever is calling me better have a good reason for it.”
“Hello!” she snapped.
“Shawni, get in here!” a female voice said quickly on the other end.
“Bev?” Shawni asked.
“Get in here!” Bev repeated. “You’re an hour late for work!”
Shawni gasped. “An hour late?”
“Yes!” Bev confirmed. “Hurry! Get in here! Brent’s pissed!”
“Just a second, Bev,” Shawni muttered.
Shawni looked down at her clock. It was almost noon. She pressed the Alarm Check button. The display read ten a.m., just the way it should have.
This was the second day in a row her alarm clock had refused to cooperate.
“Tell Brent I’ll be right in” Shawni muttered.
Shawni walked into the mall’s bookstore where she worked. When Bev saw her, she quickly motioned for her to come to the checkout counter.
“Brent wants to see you – stat!” Bev said. “He’s really pissed.”
“Shawni Jerral!” a masculine voice called out.
The two girls turned to see a man in his mid-twenties standing near the back room entrance. His eyes seemingly burned right through Shawni.
“Hi, Brent,” Shawni weakly murmured.
He held up a hand to silence her. “In my office! Now!”
Bev gave Shawni a look that wished her luck.
After work, Shawni pulled her car up to the closest plaza from her house.
She quickly parked the car, got out, Bev in tow, and pulled on the doors of the department store, but found them locked!
“Fuck!” Shawni turned and leaned against one of the doors. “This sucks! I should’ve been watching the time. Fuck!”
“Aren’t there other places nearby that sell clocks?” Bev asked.
“Yeah, but they’re closed by now,” Shawni muttered. “And I don’t want some cheap piece of shit. I need a good clock. And loud!”
“You say you’re looking for a loud alarm clock?” a voice called out nearby.
The girls turned to see a man in his late forties standing in the doorway of a store next door. The man had graying hair and looked pleasant enough. But there was something about him that just didn’t feel right. Shawni couldn’t say anything to Bev about it right then, but she wasn’t about to turn down the possibility for getting a working alarm clock – tonight.
“Yeah,” Shawni answered. “I need one that’ll wake me up and it’s gotta be loud.”
“Why don’t you step inside for a little bit?” the man suggested. “I think I can help you.”
As the girls walked toward the store, they looked up and saw the sign above the door: Tinker’s. The man motioned for them to enter as he held the door open.
The store was filled with what appeared to be many used electronic items.
“I’ve never seen this place before,” Bev said.
“Me neither,” Shawni agreed.
“Because people don’t think to look here for things when they need them,” the man said. “I have an alarm clock in the back that I think you might be interested in.”
“Sure,” Shawni answered.
He turned and walked into the back room. Seconds later, he returned with a small electronic clock.
“Would you like to examine it?” Tinker asked.
“Sure,” Shawni answered.
Tinker handed the alarm clock to her. It appeared to be a standard GE brand electronic alarm clock.
“If you wish to buy this one, I can make you a really good deal,” Tinker offered.
“What kind of a deal?”
“I’ll sell it to you for five dollars.”
“I’ll take it!”
“Excellent!” Tinker motioned to the register to ring up the purchase.
Tinker saw the girls to the door. Once they were out and returning to their car, he closed his shop.
At eight o’clock the next morning, the alarm on her new clock kicked on. The repeated blaring woke Shawni up immediately. She quickly turned and pushed the Alarm Stop button.
Shawni stared at the clock for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and smiled. She got out of bed, grabbed her work clothes, and headed to the bathroom to get ready.
Shawni walked in through the employee entrance to the bookstore with a good fifteen minutes to spare.
“Hi, Brent,” Shawni murmured.
“Well, look who’s here!” he exclaimed. “Looks like you get to keep your job.” Then he added jokingly, “For at least another day . . ..”
It seemed Eight o’clock came almost immediately after she fell asleep that night. Shawni shrieked and suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. She quickly reached over and shut the alarm off. The alarm had all but scared her half to death.
After she collected herself, she got out of bed and looked at the clock.
“You seem louder today than you were yesterday,” she said to the clock.
She picked it up and found the Volume Control knob. It was still where she had set it. She turned the volume down slightly and put the clock back down.
Thursday morning came. When Shawni’s alarm went off, it was so loud that she shot right awake . . . and fell out of bed trying to slap the Alarm Stop button.
When Shawni stepped out of the house, she heard the front door of her neighbor’s house open. Mr. Sizemore stepped outside and glared at her with the most hateful eyes.
“You the one making all that racket this early in the God damn morning?” he snapped accusingly.
“What racket?” Shawni answered, confused.
“What racket?” He pointed sharply up to her bedroom window. “That fucking racket you’ve been making at eight every morning since Tuesday.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Sizemore. The only sound that’s been going off at around that time is my clock. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late for work.”
Mr. Sizemore pointed sharply at her. “I shouldn’t have to hear all that shit every day like that… especially this early in the God damn morning.” He stormed back into his house and slammed the door shut.
Shawni rolled her eyes as she stepped off the porch. “Whatever . . .” She got into her car and headed off to work.
The next day’s alarm was so loud that Shawni screamed from fright. But this time, the alarm wasn’t sounding off in continuous blares. It was one continuing blare.
She reached over to the clock and pressed the Alarm Stop button. The alarm did not shut off.
“Shut up!” she screamed, pressing the button again. “Shut up!”
She pressed the Alarm Stop button one more time. Finally, there was silence.
As soon as she walked outside, she was greeted by an unfriendly, familiar voice.
“I warned you about that fucking racket, young lady,” Mr. Sizemore snapped.
“But I didn’t do it!” Shawni almost shouted.
Just then her other neighbor, an elderly woman, came out onto her porch and shouted at her, “Listen, you! If I have to put up with that loud racket at this time of the morning one more time, I’m going to call the police!”
“But it wasn’t me!” Shawni protested.
The old woman ignored her and stormed back into her house, slamming the door shut behind her. Shawni then realized that some of the other neighbors were looking over at her house, probably for the same reason. She also realized there was only one thing that could have possibly been making all the noise.
Her new alarm clock.
She turned and walked back into the house, walked back upstairs and into her bedroom. She went to the alarm clock and unplugged it from the wall outlet. She needed to return it to Tinker’s and get a refund.
As the girls were shelving the new books that came in, Shawni told Bev about her clock and how her neighbors had complained or stared at her. Bev just looked at her.
“I’m not making this up!” Shawni exclaimed. “That new clock is loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“Shawni, I’ve got a suggestion.” Bev held up her index finger. “Why don’t you just turn the alarm volume down?”
“I did – two days in a row.” Shawni was frustrated. “But when the alarm went off this morning, it was so loud I woke up – just like that. And both of my next door neighbors gave me hell about it.”
Bev’s face then lit up. “Let’s take it back to that store and tell Tinker about it… but first, I have to hear it!”
“Oh… I don’t know Bev… “
“C’mon… bring it over tonight, the girls are coming over, we can annoy them too!”
“O-okay… “ Shawni said reluctantly.
That night, the girls gathered at Bev’s house. Bev lived in a large house just outside of town. Her closest neighbors were in the graveyard right across the road.
In addition to Shawni, Bev had invited two other close friends to her sleepover. The first was Mary Deekins, a slender, geeky girl who was always game for anything exciting. And then there was Pam Westly, a girl who lived on the mischievous side.
“Your clock really wakes up your neighbors?” Pam asked Shawni.
“Uh-huh,” Shawni answered.
“Well… “ Bev motioned at the clock.
Shawni looked at the device, shrugged and set the alarm to go off in a minute’s time… and it did… louder than ever before.
“Shawni, your alarm clock really rules!” Pam cheered.
“Shut up!!” a voice shouted, seemingly coming from nowhere.
“Can’t a guy get any sleep around here?!” another voice, a raspy one, called out.
“Turn that blasted thing off!!” another voice shouted.
The girls started in fright. Mary rose and went to the nearest window.
“Holy shit!” Mary screamed.
Shawni saw that Mary was frantically pointing to the graveyard across the street. An
Shawni can't afford to be late for work one more time so she gets an alarm clock so loud she isn't the only one it wakes...
Rude Awakening by Rob Fields
A Fan Submitted Story
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
Transcript:
Shawni Jerral never had a problem getting to bed on time. In fact, she was usually in bed by eleven when she had to work the next morning. When she didn’t have to work, she would stay up late, which meant sleeping in late.
But today wasn’t one of those days . . .
Shawni smiled softly, no doubt having an exciting dream. But her smile faded when she finally heard her smartphone ringing.
She opened her eyes slowly, sat up, grabbed her phone, and muttered, “Whoever is calling me better have a good reason for it.”
“Hello!” she snapped.
“Shawni, get in here!” a female voice said quickly on the other end.
“Bev?” Shawni asked.
“Get in here!” Bev repeated. “You’re an hour late for work!”
Shawni gasped. “An hour late?”
“Yes!” Bev confirmed. “Hurry! Get in here! Brent’s pissed!”
“Just a second, Bev,” Shawni muttered.
Shawni looked down at her clock. It was almost noon. She pressed the Alarm Check button. The display read ten a.m., just the way it should have.
This was the second day in a row her alarm clock had refused to cooperate.
“Tell Brent I’ll be right in” Shawni muttered.
Shawni walked into the mall’s bookstore where she worked. When Bev saw her, she quickly motioned for her to come to the checkout counter.
“Brent wants to see you – stat!” Bev said. “He’s really pissed.”
“Shawni Jerral!” a masculine voice called out.
The two girls turned to see a man in his mid-twenties standing near the back room entrance. His eyes seemingly burned right through Shawni.
“Hi, Brent,” Shawni weakly murmured.
He held up a hand to silence her. “In my office! Now!”
Bev gave Shawni a look that wished her luck.
After work, Shawni pulled her car up to the closest plaza from her house.
She quickly parked the car, got out, Bev in tow, and pulled on the doors of the department store, but found them locked!
“Fuck!” Shawni turned and leaned against one of the doors. “This sucks! I should’ve been watching the time. Fuck!”
“Aren’t there other places nearby that sell clocks?” Bev asked.
“Yeah, but they’re closed by now,” Shawni muttered. “And I don’t want some cheap piece of shit. I need a good clock. And loud!”
“You say you’re looking for a loud alarm clock?” a voice called out nearby.
The girls turned to see a man in his late forties standing in the doorway of a store next door. The man had graying hair and looked pleasant enough. But there was something about him that just didn’t feel right. Shawni couldn’t say anything to Bev about it right then, but she wasn’t about to turn down the possibility for getting a working alarm clock – tonight.
“Yeah,” Shawni answered. “I need one that’ll wake me up and it’s gotta be loud.”
“Why don’t you step inside for a little bit?” the man suggested. “I think I can help you.”
As the girls walked toward the store, they looked up and saw the sign above the door: Tinker’s. The man motioned for them to enter as he held the door open.
The store was filled with what appeared to be many used electronic items.
“I’ve never seen this place before,” Bev said.
“Me neither,” Shawni agreed.
“Because people don’t think to look here for things when they need them,” the man said. “I have an alarm clock in the back that I think you might be interested in.”
“Sure,” Shawni answered.
He turned and walked into the back room. Seconds later, he returned with a small electronic clock.
“Would you like to examine it?” Tinker asked.
“Sure,” Shawni answered.
Tinker handed the alarm clock to her. It appeared to be a standard GE brand electronic alarm clock.
“If you wish to buy this one, I can make you a really good deal,” Tinker offered.
“What kind of a deal?”
“I’ll sell it to you for five dollars.”
“I’ll take it!”
“Excellent!” Tinker motioned to the register to ring up the purchase.
Tinker saw the girls to the door. Once they were out and returning to their car, he closed his shop.
At eight o’clock the next morning, the alarm on her new clock kicked on. The repeated blaring woke Shawni up immediately. She quickly turned and pushed the Alarm Stop button.
Shawni stared at the clock for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and smiled. She got out of bed, grabbed her work clothes, and headed to the bathroom to get ready.
Shawni walked in through the employee entrance to the bookstore with a good fifteen minutes to spare.
“Hi, Brent,” Shawni murmured.
“Well, look who’s here!” he exclaimed. “Looks like you get to keep your job.” Then he added jokingly, “For at least another day . . ..”
It seemed Eight o’clock came almost immediately after she fell asleep that night. Shawni shrieked and suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. She quickly reached over and shut the alarm off. The alarm had all but scared her half to death.
After she collected herself, she got out of bed and looked at the clock.
“You seem louder today than you were yesterday,” she said to the clock.
She picked it up and found the Volume Control knob. It was still where she had set it. She turned the volume down slightly and put the clock back down.
Thursday morning came. When Shawni’s alarm went off, it was so loud that she shot right awake . . . and fell out of bed trying to slap the Alarm Stop button.
When Shawni stepped out of the house, she heard the front door of her neighbor’s house open. Mr. Sizemore stepped outside and glared at her with the most hateful eyes.
“You the one making all that racket this early in the God damn morning?” he snapped accusingly.
“What racket?” Shawni answered, confused.
“What racket?” He pointed sharply up to her bedroom window. “That fucking racket you’ve been making at eight every morning since Tuesday.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Sizemore. The only sound that’s been going off at around that time is my clock. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to be late for work.”
Mr. Sizemore pointed sharply at her. “I shouldn’t have to hear all that shit every day like that… especially this early in the God damn morning.” He stormed back into his house and slammed the door shut.
Shawni rolled her eyes as she stepped off the porch. “Whatever . . .” She got into her car and headed off to work.
The next day’s alarm was so loud that Shawni screamed from fright. But this time, the alarm wasn’t sounding off in continuous blares. It was one continuing blare.
She reached over to the clock and pressed the Alarm Stop button. The alarm did not shut off.
“Shut up!” she screamed, pressing the button again. “Shut up!”
She pressed the Alarm Stop button one more time. Finally, there was silence.
As soon as she walked outside, she was greeted by an unfriendly, familiar voice.
“I warned you about that fucking racket, young lady,” Mr. Sizemore snapped.
“But I didn’t do it!” Shawni almost shouted.
Just then her other neighbor, an elderly woman, came out onto her porch and shouted at her, “Listen, you! If I have to put up with that loud racket at this time of the morning one more time, I’m going to call the police!”
“But it wasn’t me!” Shawni protested.
The old woman ignored her and stormed back into her house, slamming the door shut behind her. Shawni then realized that some of the other neighbors were looking over at her house, probably for the same reason. She also realized there was only one thing that could have possibly been making all the noise.
Her new alarm clock.
She turned and walked back into the house, walked back upstairs and into her bedroom. She went to the alarm clock and unplugged it from the wall outlet. She needed to return it to Tinker’s and get a refund.
As the girls were shelving the new books that came in, Shawni told Bev about her clock and how her neighbors had complained or stared at her. Bev just looked at her.
“I’m not making this up!” Shawni exclaimed. “That new clock is loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“Shawni, I’ve got a suggestion.” Bev held up her index finger. “Why don’t you just turn the alarm volume down?”
“I did – two days in a row.” Shawni was frustrated. “But when the alarm went off this morning, it was so loud I woke up – just like that. And both of my next door neighbors gave me hell about it.”
Bev’s face then lit up. “Let’s take it back to that store and tell Tinker about it… but first, I have to hear it!”
“Oh… I don’t know Bev… “
“C’mon… bring it over tonight, the girls are coming over, we can annoy them too!”
“O-okay… “ Shawni said reluctantly.
That night, the girls gathered at Bev’s house. Bev lived in a large house just outside of town. Her closest neighbors were in the graveyard right across the road.
In addition to Shawni, Bev had invited two other close friends to her sleepover. The first was Mary Deekins, a slender, geeky girl who was always game for anything exciting. And then there was Pam Westly, a girl who lived on the mischievous side.
“Your clock really wakes up your neighbors?” Pam asked Shawni.
“Uh-huh,” Shawni answered.
“Well… “ Bev motioned at the clock.
Shawni looked at the device, shrugged and set the alarm to go off in a minute’s time… and it did… louder than ever before.
“Shawni, your alarm clock really rules!” Pam cheered.
“Shut up!!” a voice shouted, seemingly coming from nowhere.
“Can’t a guy get any sleep around here?!” another voice, a raspy one, called out.
“Turn that blasted thing off!!” another voice shouted.
The girls started in fright. Mary rose and went to the nearest window.
“Holy shit!” Mary screamed.
Shawni saw that Mary was frantically pointing to the graveyard across the street. An
Ep.18 – I Had Mothman's Baby - Gross Out Monsters
Released on 02/26/2020
Episode Notes
In a trailer park in the middle of nowhere a supernatural fling brings about a new born baby that may be the beginning of the end...
I Had Mothman's Baby by Daniel Wilder
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
Transcript:
Earl entered the mobile home located in Lot 151 of the Comf-E trailer park at roughly 9:45 a.m., but the inside of that residence was as black as a moonless midnight… save for a few beams of light that weakly pierced the room from some random cigarette burn holes on the makeshift blackout curtains that hung from rods starting to bow from the weight.
The air was sweet with the heady elixir of dollar store wine gone sour, weed, and what could possibly be a week old filet-o-fish sandwich from the local Big M… and of course, that ol’ hoary chestnut, piss.
Not content with the redneck aroma therapy he was getting at no charge, Earl turned on the flashlight on his smart phone to discover he wasn’t in a mere trailer… oh no, this was surely the den of some dragon that had confused absolute shit for treasure. Everywhere he shined the light there were piles of pizza boxes, beer cans, and tabloids.
“H-hello?” he cried with a trembling voice.
Only silence… well silence and a cat hissing somewhere from under a nearby mountain of debris answered his call.
Suddenly from his left he saw what at first appeared to be a scarecrow with large black eyes leap from behind a Lazy-Boy festooned with porno mags and half empty jars of Vaseline. As the creature charged him and smashed him to the ground he saw it was, in truth, a scrawny woman wearing large sunglasses.
“Jesus Verlene, you scared the unholy hell out of me!”
“Shut your cocksucker and turn that damn light off!” Verlene hissed.
Earl complied and Verlene grabbed his hand with a grip like iron and lead him through the filth to the kitchen… though how she saw where they were going in the inky darkness, with those glasses on no less, he couldn’t say.
Soon Earl found himself sitting at Verlene’s table in her completely dark kitchen… which amazingly didn’t smell as bad as the previous room… mainly just some unidentified wet paper smell filled the air.
“You look well” Earl managed.
“Bullshit!” Verlene spat… literally… the flecks of phlegm she dislodged hit Earl in thick, hot globs. “I look like a plop of cat barf left to dry on a hot August sidewalk!”
“Did you call me here just to discuss your looks?”
“No, I called you here because you are the only one I’ve fucked in Stumpville Holler with any kind of media clout!”
“Statistically that seems extremely improbable” Earl said, itching his crotch by reflex.
“Look, I know your callin’ me a whore with your fancy learnin’ words… and you ain’t wrong neither… but damn it, I have the story of the century here!”
“Here… in the Comf-E?”
“No you idiot… in all of Stumpville Holler… hell, maybe in the entire world!”
“You know the Leader Gazette doesn’t pay for stories… “
“I’m not in it for any cash… I want to warn other girls so they don’t make the same mistakes I have!”
“I think over half the girls have made the mistakes you have… with the same men”
“Fair, but the mistake I made last was with no man that ever walked this Earth!”
“Christ, I’ll bite… lay it on me.”
“It was round about last Thur… “
Earl pressed record on his phone’s video option, though why he chose that, in a pitch black room, is a mystery for another day.
“Okay you can start now.”
“Dammit, I already did!”
“Well, take two then.”
“Fine, it was round about last Thur… “
“Oh turds… my battery died.”
“Feel to your left, there’s a charger cord right there.”
“For a 10?”
“I don’t know… it’s for the one with the small hole.”
“Should work… let me see.”
“For crap’s sake Earl, this story is going to rip reality to bits and here we are monkey fuckin’ around with your phone… can’t you just write shit down?”
“I could, but my wrist cramps when I write by hand too much… plus it’s completely dark in here… “
The sound of Earl’s phone connecting to a viable charging source rang out.
“See? All good… okay, go!”
“It was round about last Thursday, and I went down to Sly’s for a drink… I had a few and started to zone out watching the Million Dollar Movie… that’s when the door flew open and he walked in. He was dressed in a large, fur coat and he wore a hat and scarf that covered his head. I couldn’t see any detail about him at all, but goddamn did he get me horny.”
“Local whore wants to screw… how’s that for a headline?”
“Laugh it up Brainiac… you won’t be laughing soon.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Consider it a promise.”
“Oh, I always liked it when you played rough!”
“Well buckle up sweetheart, ‘cuz ol’ Verlene is going to take you to some tough turf pronto! Anyway, over he saunters and he sits right down at the bar next to me, and I was mesmerized… only at that time I didn’t realize it was that wing powder of his that was making me swoon so hard.”
“Wing… powder?”
“Yeah, you see this fellow was more moth than man… “
“Moth? Man? Like that Mothman from over in Point Pleasant?”
They both spat after the mention of their ages old rival town.
“The very same!”
“Well, what was he doing in Stumpville Holler?”
“From my experience… looking to get laid.”
“He certainly picked the right gal.”
“I should take offence… but when you’re right, you’re right. Anyway, I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. So, he parks it next to me and we begin with the small talk… he tells me he’s a vacuum cleaner salesman working for Indrid Cold LLC selling the suckers door to door, and he just picked up the Stumpville Holler territory. Funny thing though… he doesn’t so much tell me this, but rather puts the information straight into my mind.”
“Nothing much there to get in the way of his message… “
“I don’t have to take this shit from you… “
“You totally do though.”
“Yes.” she said knowingly.
“Continue.”
“Anyway, he tells me his whole life story… how he grew up as an outcast, how his first kiss was with his cousin… “
“Gross.”
“Should I remind you that we are cousins… “
“Good point.”
“Long story short, I invited him back here, and he took off that coat… but I instantly realized he was just unfurling a pair of big ol’ moth wings that he used to mimic a coat.”
“What about the hat and the scarf?”
“Those were real.”
“Amazing.”
“Right?!! But I assure you, what was underneath was anything but human.”
“But you did it with him anyways?”
“Remember that powder I mentioned earlier? That crap flew everywhere when he spread those damned wings, and I was powerless as that devil dust covered me. I had flashes of Patrick Swayze and baseball, and when I woke up in the morning my lover from beyond the stars had vanished… but my belly was swollen and I had a case of the pukes something fierce.”
“You were pregnant?”
“Yeah… and extremely allergic to sunlight… hence the curtains, still am too.”
“So this pregnancy?”
“It went quick, yeah… a day or two of craving pickles and sub sauce… a few days of crying, but it was legit… I peed on a stick or two, and it all checked out.”
“Did you consult a doctor?”
“No… hell no! What would I tell them, hey doc, I think I have some alien larva in my womb, care to take a look or spray some Raid up in that bitch?”
“ I see your point.”
“So I holed up here, and I got the urge to make a nest right quick. So I hoarded anything that brought me any sense of being at ease… junk food, porn… and there was one craving I couldn’t resist… Vaseline… I ate that shit like a high quality french onion dip… spread across crackers, chips… anything that could get it in my mouth faster and faster… not to mention the lip balm… “
“Strange… and nauseating.”
“Don’t judge a woman what is with child.”
“Never would I dream of it my fair lady.”
“You know the fact that you speak like Shakespeare and live in a festering armpit like Stumpville Holler makes you look like a bigger award losing dumbass then all of us in town combined, right?”
“You resemble that remark more than most.”
“Thank you, that’s mighty sweet of you. Now where was I?”
“Eating Chapstick, as one so often does?”
“Huh? Oh right, the Vaseline… so I ate and ate that stuff for days… at least two of ‘em… and then finally I fell asleep.”
“You were awake for forty eight hours, eating petroleum jelly the entire time?”
“Sure was.”
“It never occurred to you that was strange?”
“It occurred, I just didn’t care… it was that damn powder I tell you!”
“I’m sensing you’ve had plenty of powder lately.”
“Damn you Earl, I am not high!”
“Uh-huh. Then what happened?”
“Well, sometime during my nap I sat up in bed and puked that jelly up all over my cooch.”
“I think I’ll change that to ‘groin’ in the piece if that’s okay with you?”
“Do what you must Earl, just make sure people heed my words!”
“I’ll do my level-headed best Verlene.”
“So anyway, I woke up with my pubes itching something fierce… then they came out in clumps… but I saved them in a jar, just in case you think eggheads may need to give them the once over after they read your piece.”
“After this goes live I may need to weave them into a coat to stay warm on the streets I’ll doubtless be living on.”
“You always was a kinky one Earl… you get that from our grandmother!”
Both crossed themselves at the mere mention of the woman.
“That’s when I noticed my entire private area was swollen, and growing longer… that barf jelly had made my skin stretchy and helped keep things well lubricated!”
“What does it say that that is the second most gross thing I associate with you?”
“What’s number one… the sperm burp incident?”
Earl shivered. “Yes, may it ne’er be spoken of again.”
“May it never be spoken of again.” Verlene repeated in agreement, shivering as well. “Shall we continue?”
“Against all common sense I’m going to have
In a trailer park in the middle of nowhere a supernatural fling brings about a new born baby that may be the beginning of the end...
I Had Mothman's Baby by Daniel Wilder
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
Transcript:
Earl entered the mobile home located in Lot 151 of the Comf-E trailer park at roughly 9:45 a.m., but the inside of that residence was as black as a moonless midnight… save for a few beams of light that weakly pierced the room from some random cigarette burn holes on the makeshift blackout curtains that hung from rods starting to bow from the weight.
The air was sweet with the heady elixir of dollar store wine gone sour, weed, and what could possibly be a week old filet-o-fish sandwich from the local Big M… and of course, that ol’ hoary chestnut, piss.
Not content with the redneck aroma therapy he was getting at no charge, Earl turned on the flashlight on his smart phone to discover he wasn’t in a mere trailer… oh no, this was surely the den of some dragon that had confused absolute shit for treasure. Everywhere he shined the light there were piles of pizza boxes, beer cans, and tabloids.
“H-hello?” he cried with a trembling voice.
Only silence… well silence and a cat hissing somewhere from under a nearby mountain of debris answered his call.
Suddenly from his left he saw what at first appeared to be a scarecrow with large black eyes leap from behind a Lazy-Boy festooned with porno mags and half empty jars of Vaseline. As the creature charged him and smashed him to the ground he saw it was, in truth, a scrawny woman wearing large sunglasses.
“Jesus Verlene, you scared the unholy hell out of me!”
“Shut your cocksucker and turn that damn light off!” Verlene hissed.
Earl complied and Verlene grabbed his hand with a grip like iron and lead him through the filth to the kitchen… though how she saw where they were going in the inky darkness, with those glasses on no less, he couldn’t say.
Soon Earl found himself sitting at Verlene’s table in her completely dark kitchen… which amazingly didn’t smell as bad as the previous room… mainly just some unidentified wet paper smell filled the air.
“You look well” Earl managed.
“Bullshit!” Verlene spat… literally… the flecks of phlegm she dislodged hit Earl in thick, hot globs. “I look like a plop of cat barf left to dry on a hot August sidewalk!”
“Did you call me here just to discuss your looks?”
“No, I called you here because you are the only one I’ve fucked in Stumpville Holler with any kind of media clout!”
“Statistically that seems extremely improbable” Earl said, itching his crotch by reflex.
“Look, I know your callin’ me a whore with your fancy learnin’ words… and you ain’t wrong neither… but damn it, I have the story of the century here!”
“Here… in the Comf-E?”
“No you idiot… in all of Stumpville Holler… hell, maybe in the entire world!”
“You know the Leader Gazette doesn’t pay for stories… “
“I’m not in it for any cash… I want to warn other girls so they don’t make the same mistakes I have!”
“I think over half the girls have made the mistakes you have… with the same men”
“Fair, but the mistake I made last was with no man that ever walked this Earth!”
“Christ, I’ll bite… lay it on me.”
“It was round about last Thur… “
Earl pressed record on his phone’s video option, though why he chose that, in a pitch black room, is a mystery for another day.
“Okay you can start now.”
“Dammit, I already did!”
“Well, take two then.”
“Fine, it was round about last Thur… “
“Oh turds… my battery died.”
“Feel to your left, there’s a charger cord right there.”
“For a 10?”
“I don’t know… it’s for the one with the small hole.”
“Should work… let me see.”
“For crap’s sake Earl, this story is going to rip reality to bits and here we are monkey fuckin’ around with your phone… can’t you just write shit down?”
“I could, but my wrist cramps when I write by hand too much… plus it’s completely dark in here… “
The sound of Earl’s phone connecting to a viable charging source rang out.
“See? All good… okay, go!”
“It was round about last Thursday, and I went down to Sly’s for a drink… I had a few and started to zone out watching the Million Dollar Movie… that’s when the door flew open and he walked in. He was dressed in a large, fur coat and he wore a hat and scarf that covered his head. I couldn’t see any detail about him at all, but goddamn did he get me horny.”
“Local whore wants to screw… how’s that for a headline?”
“Laugh it up Brainiac… you won’t be laughing soon.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Consider it a promise.”
“Oh, I always liked it when you played rough!”
“Well buckle up sweetheart, ‘cuz ol’ Verlene is going to take you to some tough turf pronto! Anyway, over he saunters and he sits right down at the bar next to me, and I was mesmerized… only at that time I didn’t realize it was that wing powder of his that was making me swoon so hard.”
“Wing… powder?”
“Yeah, you see this fellow was more moth than man… “
“Moth? Man? Like that Mothman from over in Point Pleasant?”
They both spat after the mention of their ages old rival town.
“The very same!”
“Well, what was he doing in Stumpville Holler?”
“From my experience… looking to get laid.”
“He certainly picked the right gal.”
“I should take offence… but when you’re right, you’re right. Anyway, I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. So, he parks it next to me and we begin with the small talk… he tells me he’s a vacuum cleaner salesman working for Indrid Cold LLC selling the suckers door to door, and he just picked up the Stumpville Holler territory. Funny thing though… he doesn’t so much tell me this, but rather puts the information straight into my mind.”
“Nothing much there to get in the way of his message… “
“I don’t have to take this shit from you… “
“You totally do though.”
“Yes.” she said knowingly.
“Continue.”
“Anyway, he tells me his whole life story… how he grew up as an outcast, how his first kiss was with his cousin… “
“Gross.”
“Should I remind you that we are cousins… “
“Good point.”
“Long story short, I invited him back here, and he took off that coat… but I instantly realized he was just unfurling a pair of big ol’ moth wings that he used to mimic a coat.”
“What about the hat and the scarf?”
“Those were real.”
“Amazing.”
“Right?!! But I assure you, what was underneath was anything but human.”
“But you did it with him anyways?”
“Remember that powder I mentioned earlier? That crap flew everywhere when he spread those damned wings, and I was powerless as that devil dust covered me. I had flashes of Patrick Swayze and baseball, and when I woke up in the morning my lover from beyond the stars had vanished… but my belly was swollen and I had a case of the pukes something fierce.”
“You were pregnant?”
“Yeah… and extremely allergic to sunlight… hence the curtains, still am too.”
“So this pregnancy?”
“It went quick, yeah… a day or two of craving pickles and sub sauce… a few days of crying, but it was legit… I peed on a stick or two, and it all checked out.”
“Did you consult a doctor?”
“No… hell no! What would I tell them, hey doc, I think I have some alien larva in my womb, care to take a look or spray some Raid up in that bitch?”
“ I see your point.”
“So I holed up here, and I got the urge to make a nest right quick. So I hoarded anything that brought me any sense of being at ease… junk food, porn… and there was one craving I couldn’t resist… Vaseline… I ate that shit like a high quality french onion dip… spread across crackers, chips… anything that could get it in my mouth faster and faster… not to mention the lip balm… “
“Strange… and nauseating.”
“Don’t judge a woman what is with child.”
“Never would I dream of it my fair lady.”
“You know the fact that you speak like Shakespeare and live in a festering armpit like Stumpville Holler makes you look like a bigger award losing dumbass then all of us in town combined, right?”
“You resemble that remark more than most.”
“Thank you, that’s mighty sweet of you. Now where was I?”
“Eating Chapstick, as one so often does?”
“Huh? Oh right, the Vaseline… so I ate and ate that stuff for days… at least two of ‘em… and then finally I fell asleep.”
“You were awake for forty eight hours, eating petroleum jelly the entire time?”
“Sure was.”
“It never occurred to you that was strange?”
“It occurred, I just didn’t care… it was that damn powder I tell you!”
“I’m sensing you’ve had plenty of powder lately.”
“Damn you Earl, I am not high!”
“Uh-huh. Then what happened?”
“Well, sometime during my nap I sat up in bed and puked that jelly up all over my cooch.”
“I think I’ll change that to ‘groin’ in the piece if that’s okay with you?”
“Do what you must Earl, just make sure people heed my words!”
“I’ll do my level-headed best Verlene.”
“So anyway, I woke up with my pubes itching something fierce… then they came out in clumps… but I saved them in a jar, just in case you think eggheads may need to give them the once over after they read your piece.”
“After this goes live I may need to weave them into a coat to stay warm on the streets I’ll doubtless be living on.”
“You always was a kinky one Earl… you get that from our grandmother!”
Both crossed themselves at the mere mention of the woman.
“That’s when I noticed my entire private area was swollen, and growing longer… that barf jelly had made my skin stretchy and helped keep things well lubricated!”
“What does it say that that is the second most gross thing I associate with you?”
“What’s number one… the sperm burp incident?”
Earl shivered. “Yes, may it ne’er be spoken of again.”
“May it never be spoken of again.” Verlene repeated in agreement, shivering as well. “Shall we continue?”
“Against all common sense I’m going to have
Ep.17 – Hysterhysteria - Medical Nightmare Horror
Released on 02/19/2020
Episode Notes
In a mysterious dark room covered in broken glass Alicia is about to learn that terror can come in small packages...
Hysterhysteria by Joe Solmo
http://PennedinBlood.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
Transcript:
Hysterhysteria
By Joe Solmo
Alicia lay in the dark, someplace warm and damp. She felt heavy, almost like being underwater. Her movement was slow, the resistance in the air around her making her feel tired. She looked around at her surroundings. Strange shapes were barely visible in the dark jutted at bizarre angles. What were they? Where was she?
The last thing she remembered was getting ready for bed. Brushing her teeth and changing into her comfy yellow pajamas she had since she was fifteen. Was this some kind of alien abduction? She half joked to herself.
“Hello?” she called out into the space around here, becoming aware at how total the silence was until she spoke. A few seconds passed and she felt her heart start to race. She was alone. A dread came over her as the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.
Throughout her life she hated being alone. She loved being around people and learning their stories. She loved learning how other people thought, and their points of view. It fascinated her. There was no one now for her to talk to. She was alone with her own thoughts, and that was scary enough for her.
Growing up with no self esteem wasn’t unique to Alicia, but the constant failures in her writing career took its toll on her until she gave up and just took the first job she could find to pay the bills. She worked at a pet store for a little over minimum wage. That was where she met John. He was a slacker that would always make her laugh with his “minimum wage, minimum effort” attitude. Slowly, the time she spent writing was less and less. She couldn’t remember the last time she wrote anything.
She sat up on the bed she was laying on. Her abdomen hurt. Instinctively she placed her right hand on the pain and pulled it back as an electric sharpness shot through her body. Her hand felt odd, there was something on her hand, but it was too dark to see. It felt tacky, and her thoughts instantly went to blood.
This time with more caution, she ran her fingers over her abdomen. There was definitely an injury there. Blood, drying. Was her wound fresh? The blood didn’t feel warm to her. A tear began to form in her eye.
There was a scuttling in the dark, something off to the right. How big was this room, she wondered? “Hello?” she called out again. “Is someone there?” Again, she heard the shuffling. She strained to see in the almost complete darkness.
Alicia held her breath for a moment, trying to pick out the sound, but it had stopped. It was almost like it knew she was listening for it. She clutched her stomach and headed towards one of the shapes she could make out in the dark. The tile floor was cold on her bare feet. Two steps later she felt a sharp pain in her foot and fell to the floor with a gasp of pain. Her stomach felt like fire as well from the drop. She ran her hand down to her foot and found a piece of broken glass embedded in the flesh of her heel.
Alicia tried to grip it with her hands, but they were still coated with blood. It took several tries before she pulled the glass out. She held it up to her face but there wasn’t enough light to see the culprit of her foot pain. She wondered if her stomach was injured by the same glass? Did she fall through a window?
The shuffling came again, and another noise, she couldn’t make it out. Alicia stared in the direction of the noise and tried to pull her legs under her, protectively. Pain raced up her legs as she realized the floor was covered in broken glass.
She winced, but tried to remain silent, listening for the only sound that wasn’t her. It was horrifying and comforting all in one. She wasn’t alone, but what was with her in this room? The shuffling was still faint, but she felt like it was getting closer. Who was out there in the dark?
She ran her fingers gingerly down her legs, plucking out the small pieces of glass as she heard the shuffling getting ever closer. “Who are you?” she screamed into the darkness, frustration fueling the yell.
A small noise, a gurgle maybe? What the hell is going on? She threw the handful of glass she had in the direction of the sounds as she tried to fight back the tears still forming. She wouldn’t admit it to another living being, but she was terrified.
Inside, she mocked herself. She hated being alone, but now she wasn’t and she hated it even more. The irony wasn’t lost on her. “Come on Alicia you stupid bitch, get it together,” she whispered and tried to find a clear part of the floor to put her hand down so she could get back to her feet and leave this place.
Suddenly there was a flash, and for just a second she could see. It was so quick it didn’t really register enough to make sense. The light was so bright. A loud crash followed, a thunderstorm, she thought. She shuffled towards the shape in the dark. The only other visible thing that existed at the moment. She heard the other shuffling stop for a second. Alicia’s imagination ran away with her and she pictured the thing in the dark to be listening, to hone in on her in the dark. She stopped moving. She stopped breathing. If she could stop existing at that moment, she feared she might take the option.
She looked at the shape, the island of substance in the sea of darkness. The only piece if reality in this insane situation. It was roughly the size of a table, she thought. Only a few feet away now, but so was the shuffling, and getting closer. As quietly as she could she backed her self up to the table and faced the shuffling noise waiting for another flash of lightning. Another glimpse of her situation.
10 seconds passed as she heard the rain falling outside, but no lightning. It was as if the universe was toying with her. The shuffling was so close, she tensed up. Finally, a flash appeared and she screamed. Not a scream like at a fun house, but a cold-blooded, bone chilling scream of sheer terror. She finally saw what was shuffling towards her. It was a….
It couldn’t be, she thought. I finally lost it. I went nuts and now I’m trapped in this hell. A smile began to form as she thought of the absurdity of it all.
Another flash.
That fear returned as her eyes fixed on it. Only 3 feet from her very own. There it was, not imagined. A fetus dragging its umbilical cord. The cord was frayed at the end, chewed, she thought with horror as she took in the scene. Darkness closed in and she prayed for the first time in her life. Prayed that another flash would appear and not leave her alone. Prayed for the abomination she saw was just a figment of her imagination.
Whether through divine intervention or the force of mother nature, her prayers were answered as another flash illuminated the trashed Doctors office she was currently occupying. The fetus’s face was facing her, its mouth opening and closing in silent screams. Its tiny face resembled her own, she noticed as her heart skipped a beat. Was this her child? She clutched her stomach, and on the next flash looked down at the hospital gown covered in blood she was wearing. Was this where the wound came from?
Alicia gripped the cold metal table and pulled her self up with a grunt. Fire filled her as she laid on her belly and looked over the edge of the table. The fetus was still there, moving closer and closer, a trail of blood behind it, its eyes focused on hers, they were the same green color as her own. It’s tiny arms pulling it closer and closer to her.
“Mother?” It asked, in her own voice. “Why didn’t you love me, mother?”
Alicia’s spine froze in place, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Fear had locked her down on top of that table.
Darkness.
“No words for your daughter, mother?” the fetus said as it crawled closer to the table. Alicia had to peer straight over the edge to see it. She was so glad she was on top of the table, a safe place from the monster below.
“I…don’t have a daughter,” Alicia managed to spit out between short, scared breaths. A flash of lightning illuminated the room.
“Then what am I, mother?” The fetus asked and sat up crossing its legs. “Am I not real?”
Darkness.
“You are a... you can’t be real,” Alicia yelled out.
A flash of light lit up the fetus’s face. “Oh no? Do I not bleed?” The fetus said gesturing around with its chubby arms at the floor around it. “Oh wait. This is mostly your blood. Even though when you shed it it was both of ours,” the fetus explained rubbing the blood into its skin. It sighed at her and picked up a piece of broken glass in its tiny hand. Its eyes met hers as it ran the glass across its wrist. Blood poured out of the wound. “There we go,” it said and giggled in a baby’s voice. “I do have my own.”
Darkness
“What the hell are you?” Alicia yelled out sitting up on the table to get farther away from the monstrosity below.
“I thought it was obvious,” the fetus said raising its self to its feet in the light of a strike. It started to swing the umbilical cord around. With each revolution it grew a few inches. After a couple seconds the fetus let go of the cord and the end shot out above Alicia in the darkness
In a mysterious dark room covered in broken glass Alicia is about to learn that terror can come in small packages...
Hysterhysteria by Joe Solmo
http://PennedinBlood.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
Transcript:
Hysterhysteria
By Joe Solmo
Alicia lay in the dark, someplace warm and damp. She felt heavy, almost like being underwater. Her movement was slow, the resistance in the air around her making her feel tired. She looked around at her surroundings. Strange shapes were barely visible in the dark jutted at bizarre angles. What were they? Where was she?
The last thing she remembered was getting ready for bed. Brushing her teeth and changing into her comfy yellow pajamas she had since she was fifteen. Was this some kind of alien abduction? She half joked to herself.
“Hello?” she called out into the space around here, becoming aware at how total the silence was until she spoke. A few seconds passed and she felt her heart start to race. She was alone. A dread came over her as the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.
Throughout her life she hated being alone. She loved being around people and learning their stories. She loved learning how other people thought, and their points of view. It fascinated her. There was no one now for her to talk to. She was alone with her own thoughts, and that was scary enough for her.
Growing up with no self esteem wasn’t unique to Alicia, but the constant failures in her writing career took its toll on her until she gave up and just took the first job she could find to pay the bills. She worked at a pet store for a little over minimum wage. That was where she met John. He was a slacker that would always make her laugh with his “minimum wage, minimum effort” attitude. Slowly, the time she spent writing was less and less. She couldn’t remember the last time she wrote anything.
She sat up on the bed she was laying on. Her abdomen hurt. Instinctively she placed her right hand on the pain and pulled it back as an electric sharpness shot through her body. Her hand felt odd, there was something on her hand, but it was too dark to see. It felt tacky, and her thoughts instantly went to blood.
This time with more caution, she ran her fingers over her abdomen. There was definitely an injury there. Blood, drying. Was her wound fresh? The blood didn’t feel warm to her. A tear began to form in her eye.
There was a scuttling in the dark, something off to the right. How big was this room, she wondered? “Hello?” she called out again. “Is someone there?” Again, she heard the shuffling. She strained to see in the almost complete darkness.
Alicia held her breath for a moment, trying to pick out the sound, but it had stopped. It was almost like it knew she was listening for it. She clutched her stomach and headed towards one of the shapes she could make out in the dark. The tile floor was cold on her bare feet. Two steps later she felt a sharp pain in her foot and fell to the floor with a gasp of pain. Her stomach felt like fire as well from the drop. She ran her hand down to her foot and found a piece of broken glass embedded in the flesh of her heel.
Alicia tried to grip it with her hands, but they were still coated with blood. It took several tries before she pulled the glass out. She held it up to her face but there wasn’t enough light to see the culprit of her foot pain. She wondered if her stomach was injured by the same glass? Did she fall through a window?
The shuffling came again, and another noise, she couldn’t make it out. Alicia stared in the direction of the noise and tried to pull her legs under her, protectively. Pain raced up her legs as she realized the floor was covered in broken glass.
She winced, but tried to remain silent, listening for the only sound that wasn’t her. It was horrifying and comforting all in one. She wasn’t alone, but what was with her in this room? The shuffling was still faint, but she felt like it was getting closer. Who was out there in the dark?
She ran her fingers gingerly down her legs, plucking out the small pieces of glass as she heard the shuffling getting ever closer. “Who are you?” she screamed into the darkness, frustration fueling the yell.
A small noise, a gurgle maybe? What the hell is going on? She threw the handful of glass she had in the direction of the sounds as she tried to fight back the tears still forming. She wouldn’t admit it to another living being, but she was terrified.
Inside, she mocked herself. She hated being alone, but now she wasn’t and she hated it even more. The irony wasn’t lost on her. “Come on Alicia you stupid bitch, get it together,” she whispered and tried to find a clear part of the floor to put her hand down so she could get back to her feet and leave this place.
Suddenly there was a flash, and for just a second she could see. It was so quick it didn’t really register enough to make sense. The light was so bright. A loud crash followed, a thunderstorm, she thought. She shuffled towards the shape in the dark. The only other visible thing that existed at the moment. She heard the other shuffling stop for a second. Alicia’s imagination ran away with her and she pictured the thing in the dark to be listening, to hone in on her in the dark. She stopped moving. She stopped breathing. If she could stop existing at that moment, she feared she might take the option.
She looked at the shape, the island of substance in the sea of darkness. The only piece if reality in this insane situation. It was roughly the size of a table, she thought. Only a few feet away now, but so was the shuffling, and getting closer. As quietly as she could she backed her self up to the table and faced the shuffling noise waiting for another flash of lightning. Another glimpse of her situation.
10 seconds passed as she heard the rain falling outside, but no lightning. It was as if the universe was toying with her. The shuffling was so close, she tensed up. Finally, a flash appeared and she screamed. Not a scream like at a fun house, but a cold-blooded, bone chilling scream of sheer terror. She finally saw what was shuffling towards her. It was a….
It couldn’t be, she thought. I finally lost it. I went nuts and now I’m trapped in this hell. A smile began to form as she thought of the absurdity of it all.
Another flash.
That fear returned as her eyes fixed on it. Only 3 feet from her very own. There it was, not imagined. A fetus dragging its umbilical cord. The cord was frayed at the end, chewed, she thought with horror as she took in the scene. Darkness closed in and she prayed for the first time in her life. Prayed that another flash would appear and not leave her alone. Prayed for the abomination she saw was just a figment of her imagination.
Whether through divine intervention or the force of mother nature, her prayers were answered as another flash illuminated the trashed Doctors office she was currently occupying. The fetus’s face was facing her, its mouth opening and closing in silent screams. Its tiny face resembled her own, she noticed as her heart skipped a beat. Was this her child? She clutched her stomach, and on the next flash looked down at the hospital gown covered in blood she was wearing. Was this where the wound came from?
Alicia gripped the cold metal table and pulled her self up with a grunt. Fire filled her as she laid on her belly and looked over the edge of the table. The fetus was still there, moving closer and closer, a trail of blood behind it, its eyes focused on hers, they were the same green color as her own. It’s tiny arms pulling it closer and closer to her.
“Mother?” It asked, in her own voice. “Why didn’t you love me, mother?”
Alicia’s spine froze in place, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Fear had locked her down on top of that table.
Darkness.
“No words for your daughter, mother?” the fetus said as it crawled closer to the table. Alicia had to peer straight over the edge to see it. She was so glad she was on top of the table, a safe place from the monster below.
“I…don’t have a daughter,” Alicia managed to spit out between short, scared breaths. A flash of lightning illuminated the room.
“Then what am I, mother?” The fetus asked and sat up crossing its legs. “Am I not real?”
Darkness.
“You are a... you can’t be real,” Alicia yelled out.
A flash of light lit up the fetus’s face. “Oh no? Do I not bleed?” The fetus said gesturing around with its chubby arms at the floor around it. “Oh wait. This is mostly your blood. Even though when you shed it it was both of ours,” the fetus explained rubbing the blood into its skin. It sighed at her and picked up a piece of broken glass in its tiny hand. Its eyes met hers as it ran the glass across its wrist. Blood poured out of the wound. “There we go,” it said and giggled in a baby’s voice. “I do have my own.”
Darkness
“What the hell are you?” Alicia yelled out sitting up on the table to get farther away from the monstrosity below.
“I thought it was obvious,” the fetus said raising its self to its feet in the light of a strike. It started to swing the umbilical cord around. With each revolution it grew a few inches. After a couple seconds the fetus let go of the cord and the end shot out above Alicia in the darkness
Ep.16 – Deb, Debbie, Deborah - Twisted Valentine's Day Horrors
Released on 02/12/2020
Episode Notes
A grieving and suicidal widow gets a very unexpected visitor on a snowly Valentine's Day, but nothing is quite what it seems...
Deb, Debbie, Deborah by Shane Migliavacca
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
Transcript:
Deb Debbie Deborah
The cat thinks I’m fucking nuts. She may be right. I’m wearing my nicest dress, Dean Martin is on the stereo and I have a gun to my head. I’m dancing with my dead husband on Valentine’s Day.
Angel, our cat died three days ago. Her ashes sit on the mantle in an urn next to my husband’s. I see her on her favorite spot on the couch, watching me. She really is an angel now.
I pull the hammer of the revolver back… I’m ready to join them.
Click.
“Son of a bitch!”
Empty.
“Good job Deborah.”
I forgot the fucking bullets. I drop the snub nose on the coffee table. I haven’t found where Johnny hid the bullets.
He bought the gun for me, worried about us being all alone out here in the boondocks. What good is a gun if the bullets are hidden?
Excuse me Mr. Rapist, while I find the bullets to shoot you.
_ _
Maybe Johnny never got around to buying any.
“Ain’t that a kick in the head, Dean?”
I drop to the couch defeated. My mind isn’t what it used to be. Grief and despair have pushed everything else out to the point that I have trouble dealing with day to day shit. It’s for the best I suppose.
I’m not a religious woman, but I’d like to think there was something waiting you know? After… that I could be with them in some kind way. If there is a God and suicide is a sin, I’d better not risk it. Being sent to hell, I’d never see them again. If you ask me, this is hell. This world.
Johnny. My Johnny. I miss that lopsided grin of yours. The way your stubble felt when you kissed me. How your hair fell across your eyes when you woke up. The touch of your course hands on my shoulders.
Gone. All gone.
Five and a half years ago, a drunk driver named Dave Robbins. Johnny had been on his way home from work when the bastard ran a red light and struck Johnny’s car. I still remember the trooper showing up at work. He stood there in his uniform, looking so out of place. His words were unintelligible as my heart pounded in my ears.
They gave that man ten years in prison. Ten fucking years! He took away our future and they gave him ten years. He got out in four for good behavior. Good fucking behavior. I dreamed about killing him for so long. How I’d do it, how I’d drag it out, make him suffer. I’d even toyed with the idea of killing his family in front of him.
But no. There was Angel to think of.
The cat, a house warming present from Johnny, got me through that first grim year.
She was there for me when I got home from another dreary day at work. Happy to see me, purring her feline heart out. She was such a tiny little thing when he surprised me with her.
She hid under the couch for the first couple days, until one night I sat on the couch watching the evening news, waiting for Johnny to come home from work. I felt something small and warm curl up next to me. Now she’s gone to. I’m left all alone in this house that used to represent our future together. A house that’s become a tomb.
The house was so empty and vast when I’d come home from the vet carrying little Angel’s ashes in a small container. Nobody there to greet me at the door. I dread the thought of coming home after a day at work to this empty, godforsaken place.
But I’ll have to.
I took a couple sick days, told Emily I had a bug. They don’t need to know the real reason. Most of them look at me with some sort of pity. Walking on eggshells around me. The others treat me as if this sickness in my heart can simply be sent away. That I should be able to “Get over it” and move on.
There is no moving on.
I could take some medication I guess. Something to help me. At the cost of this hornet’s nest of pain in my stomach. The pain that helps me remember them… that keeps them in my thoughts. Would I lose their memory in a haze of medication?
The record ends. I stare at the snub nose. I should really find those bullets.
There’s other ways I could do it. Pills sure or the old razor in the bathtub bit. Those are easy enough I suppose. Hanging myself is off the table. I can’t tie knots for shit. Besides some idiot might think I was trying to get off and died by accident.
Shit. Fuck it.
The phone rings. I pick it up, looking at the number. It’s Cathryn Wade from work. Probably checking up on me.
“Hello, Cat.”
“How you feeling trooper.” She answers in her unbearably cheerful voice.
I lie. “Ok, just a bit of a bug.”
“You need anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” I want to hate her for caring. Damn it, I just can’t.
The phone crackles with static. “Aren’t you forgetting something Deb?” Another voice asks.
“Cat? You there?”
I can hear something metallic on the other end. “Have you checked the basement?”
“Who is this?” I ask, my voice trembling. No answer. “Goddammit it! Who is this?”
“Are you okay Deb?” Cat ask, sounding a bit shaken.
“Yea-Yeah, just this bug. I think I need a nap.”
Before she can finish saying goodbye, I hang up.
What just happened? I’m not even sure. I take a deep breath.
I get off the couch. Maybe I should just go buy some fucking bullets.
Looking out the window, I see I’m not going out anywhere today. The snow is coming down in a heavy white blanket. Frustrated I turn the TV on.
“They’re calling it the Valentine’s Day Blizzard.” The weather man proclaimed. As if he was proud father praising his golden child. These cocksuckers really piss me off in how much they get off on bad weather. I think they get hard over delivering bad news.
“Expect record snow falls.”
“Expect me not to give a fuck.” I say. Wishing about now the gun was loaded, so I could shoot the TV.
I never hated anybody till Johnny died. Now I can’t stand anyone. Most of all myself.
The smiling weatherman is replaced by a nicely dressed Chinese woman. “The day’s other big story: All but one of the escaped convicts have been captured.”
Police gather round an overturned prison bus in a ditch as the anchorwoman goes over the details.
“Police are still searching for Charles Lee Andru. Convicted serial killer and rapist. He’s considered highly dangerous, should you spot him…”
Why do these assholes always have three names? Is it a serial killer thing?
They linger on his face. He’s handsome enough, except for the scar over his left eye. Crazy burns hot in those eyes. Even in a photograph, you can feel his stare penetrating your soul.
Bored, I walk out to the kitchen. A drink maybe. And a sandwich.Dirty dishes clog one of the two sinks. I’ve let the house go to shit. Haven’t felt like cleaning since the cat died.
I pour myself a glass of brandy and make a roast beef sandwich. I hold a stainless steel knife in my hands. Catching my reflection on blade. The house isn’t the only thing gone to shit. I look terrible. My hair’s a mess and there’s bags under my eyes.
Fuck it all. Why should care how I look? It’s all a sick joke.
The blade quivers in my hand.
So sharp. One of those ‘As Seen on TV’ jobs you can get at Save-Mart. Why, I bet if I just took the knife and sliced.
“Debbie.”
A sweet, sing song voice echoes out from the living room.
The TV?
Has to be. A coincidence.
“Deb.” The voice giggles.
“Who’s there?” I call out. Feeling a bit embarrassed because it’s most likely the TV.
I grip the knife. Stepping into the short hallway, I walk towards the living room. I can hear a soap opera on the TV. I stop and listen. Under the din of dialogue from the TV I hear the wind outside. The tic tic sound of snow and freezing rain against the windows.
And then… floorboards creaking with the unmistakable sound of someone walking over them.
“Debbie.” The voice giggles again. “Come and find me!”
I storm into the living room, ready to confront the weirdo intruder.
“You picked the wrong fucking time.”
Empty.
I switch the TV off and I listen again.
Maybe my mind has finally hitched a ride to crazy town. The house is still, silent, save for the wind and snow out side.
The furnace in the basement rumbles on, making me flinch. I laugh like a maniac. Tears sting my eyes as laughter gives way to crying.
I really have fucking flipped out.
Wiping them away, I see them there, reflected in the black of the TV screen. Watching me from the hall. Darting away before I can turn.
Scrambling to my feet, I grab the empty gun and give chase. I can hear them upstairs.
"Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!" The voice sang out from somewhere upstairs.
I know that poem. From long ago, when I was a little girl.
I creep up the stairs, no easy feat since they’re creaky as hell.
A door slams shut somewhere upstairs. How the hell did they get in? I didn’t hear anything. Everything is locked. I didn’t forget something, right?
With a knife in one hand and an empty gun in the other, maybe I can scare the living crap out of them.
Yeah, right.
Why am I scared? I was thinking about ending my life moments before. No, it’s not death that frightens me, it’s what could happen in place of that. Rape. Being maimed. Being paralyzed. A coma. Those things frighten me. A living hell I can’t escape.
I search the upstairs, trying to look as badass as possible with an empty gun. That’s when it hits me.
I am fucking nuts.
There’s not a living soul up here.
I search every room. Every nook. Every cranny. Under the beds. In the closets. Not a sign of anybody being here other then me. Nothing out of place, nothing touched.
Feeling tired, I walk into the bathroom connected to the be
A grieving and suicidal widow gets a very unexpected visitor on a snowly Valentine's Day, but nothing is quite what it seems...
Deb, Debbie, Deborah by Shane Migliavacca
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
Transcript:
Deb Debbie Deborah
The cat thinks I’m fucking nuts. She may be right. I’m wearing my nicest dress, Dean Martin is on the stereo and I have a gun to my head. I’m dancing with my dead husband on Valentine’s Day.
Angel, our cat died three days ago. Her ashes sit on the mantle in an urn next to my husband’s. I see her on her favorite spot on the couch, watching me. She really is an angel now.
I pull the hammer of the revolver back… I’m ready to join them.
Click.
“Son of a bitch!”
Empty.
“Good job Deborah.”
I forgot the fucking bullets. I drop the snub nose on the coffee table. I haven’t found where Johnny hid the bullets.
He bought the gun for me, worried about us being all alone out here in the boondocks. What good is a gun if the bullets are hidden?
Excuse me Mr. Rapist, while I find the bullets to shoot you.
_ _
Maybe Johnny never got around to buying any.
“Ain’t that a kick in the head, Dean?”
I drop to the couch defeated. My mind isn’t what it used to be. Grief and despair have pushed everything else out to the point that I have trouble dealing with day to day shit. It’s for the best I suppose.
I’m not a religious woman, but I’d like to think there was something waiting you know? After… that I could be with them in some kind way. If there is a God and suicide is a sin, I’d better not risk it. Being sent to hell, I’d never see them again. If you ask me, this is hell. This world.
Johnny. My Johnny. I miss that lopsided grin of yours. The way your stubble felt when you kissed me. How your hair fell across your eyes when you woke up. The touch of your course hands on my shoulders.
Gone. All gone.
Five and a half years ago, a drunk driver named Dave Robbins. Johnny had been on his way home from work when the bastard ran a red light and struck Johnny’s car. I still remember the trooper showing up at work. He stood there in his uniform, looking so out of place. His words were unintelligible as my heart pounded in my ears.
They gave that man ten years in prison. Ten fucking years! He took away our future and they gave him ten years. He got out in four for good behavior. Good fucking behavior. I dreamed about killing him for so long. How I’d do it, how I’d drag it out, make him suffer. I’d even toyed with the idea of killing his family in front of him.
But no. There was Angel to think of.
The cat, a house warming present from Johnny, got me through that first grim year.
She was there for me when I got home from another dreary day at work. Happy to see me, purring her feline heart out. She was such a tiny little thing when he surprised me with her.
She hid under the couch for the first couple days, until one night I sat on the couch watching the evening news, waiting for Johnny to come home from work. I felt something small and warm curl up next to me. Now she’s gone to. I’m left all alone in this house that used to represent our future together. A house that’s become a tomb.
The house was so empty and vast when I’d come home from the vet carrying little Angel’s ashes in a small container. Nobody there to greet me at the door. I dread the thought of coming home after a day at work to this empty, godforsaken place.
But I’ll have to.
I took a couple sick days, told Emily I had a bug. They don’t need to know the real reason. Most of them look at me with some sort of pity. Walking on eggshells around me. The others treat me as if this sickness in my heart can simply be sent away. That I should be able to “Get over it” and move on.
There is no moving on.
I could take some medication I guess. Something to help me. At the cost of this hornet’s nest of pain in my stomach. The pain that helps me remember them… that keeps them in my thoughts. Would I lose their memory in a haze of medication?
The record ends. I stare at the snub nose. I should really find those bullets.
There’s other ways I could do it. Pills sure or the old razor in the bathtub bit. Those are easy enough I suppose. Hanging myself is off the table. I can’t tie knots for shit. Besides some idiot might think I was trying to get off and died by accident.
Shit. Fuck it.
The phone rings. I pick it up, looking at the number. It’s Cathryn Wade from work. Probably checking up on me.
“Hello, Cat.”
“How you feeling trooper.” She answers in her unbearably cheerful voice.
I lie. “Ok, just a bit of a bug.”
“You need anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” I want to hate her for caring. Damn it, I just can’t.
The phone crackles with static. “Aren’t you forgetting something Deb?” Another voice asks.
“Cat? You there?”
I can hear something metallic on the other end. “Have you checked the basement?”
“Who is this?” I ask, my voice trembling. No answer. “Goddammit it! Who is this?”
“Are you okay Deb?” Cat ask, sounding a bit shaken.
“Yea-Yeah, just this bug. I think I need a nap.”
Before she can finish saying goodbye, I hang up.
What just happened? I’m not even sure. I take a deep breath.
I get off the couch. Maybe I should just go buy some fucking bullets.
Looking out the window, I see I’m not going out anywhere today. The snow is coming down in a heavy white blanket. Frustrated I turn the TV on.
“They’re calling it the Valentine’s Day Blizzard.” The weather man proclaimed. As if he was proud father praising his golden child. These cocksuckers really piss me off in how much they get off on bad weather. I think they get hard over delivering bad news.
“Expect record snow falls.”
“Expect me not to give a fuck.” I say. Wishing about now the gun was loaded, so I could shoot the TV.
I never hated anybody till Johnny died. Now I can’t stand anyone. Most of all myself.
The smiling weatherman is replaced by a nicely dressed Chinese woman. “The day’s other big story: All but one of the escaped convicts have been captured.”
Police gather round an overturned prison bus in a ditch as the anchorwoman goes over the details.
“Police are still searching for Charles Lee Andru. Convicted serial killer and rapist. He’s considered highly dangerous, should you spot him…”
Why do these assholes always have three names? Is it a serial killer thing?
They linger on his face. He’s handsome enough, except for the scar over his left eye. Crazy burns hot in those eyes. Even in a photograph, you can feel his stare penetrating your soul.
Bored, I walk out to the kitchen. A drink maybe. And a sandwich.Dirty dishes clog one of the two sinks. I’ve let the house go to shit. Haven’t felt like cleaning since the cat died.
I pour myself a glass of brandy and make a roast beef sandwich. I hold a stainless steel knife in my hands. Catching my reflection on blade. The house isn’t the only thing gone to shit. I look terrible. My hair’s a mess and there’s bags under my eyes.
Fuck it all. Why should care how I look? It’s all a sick joke.
The blade quivers in my hand.
So sharp. One of those ‘As Seen on TV’ jobs you can get at Save-Mart. Why, I bet if I just took the knife and sliced.
“Debbie.”
A sweet, sing song voice echoes out from the living room.
The TV?
Has to be. A coincidence.
“Deb.” The voice giggles.
“Who’s there?” I call out. Feeling a bit embarrassed because it’s most likely the TV.
I grip the knife. Stepping into the short hallway, I walk towards the living room. I can hear a soap opera on the TV. I stop and listen. Under the din of dialogue from the TV I hear the wind outside. The tic tic sound of snow and freezing rain against the windows.
And then… floorboards creaking with the unmistakable sound of someone walking over them.
“Debbie.” The voice giggles again. “Come and find me!”
I storm into the living room, ready to confront the weirdo intruder.
“You picked the wrong fucking time.”
Empty.
I switch the TV off and I listen again.
Maybe my mind has finally hitched a ride to crazy town. The house is still, silent, save for the wind and snow out side.
The furnace in the basement rumbles on, making me flinch. I laugh like a maniac. Tears sting my eyes as laughter gives way to crying.
I really have fucking flipped out.
Wiping them away, I see them there, reflected in the black of the TV screen. Watching me from the hall. Darting away before I can turn.
Scrambling to my feet, I grab the empty gun and give chase. I can hear them upstairs.
"Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!" The voice sang out from somewhere upstairs.
I know that poem. From long ago, when I was a little girl.
I creep up the stairs, no easy feat since they’re creaky as hell.
A door slams shut somewhere upstairs. How the hell did they get in? I didn’t hear anything. Everything is locked. I didn’t forget something, right?
With a knife in one hand and an empty gun in the other, maybe I can scare the living crap out of them.
Yeah, right.
Why am I scared? I was thinking about ending my life moments before. No, it’s not death that frightens me, it’s what could happen in place of that. Rape. Being maimed. Being paralyzed. A coma. Those things frighten me. A living hell I can’t escape.
I search the upstairs, trying to look as badass as possible with an empty gun. That’s when it hits me.
I am fucking nuts.
There’s not a living soul up here.
I search every room. Every nook. Every cranny. Under the beds. In the closets. Not a sign of anybody being here other then me. Nothing out of place, nothing touched.
Feeling tired, I walk into the bathroom connected to the be
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