scary.co

Episode Notes
Ayumi has a big crush on her teacher, and also a call to the sea... But something is in the water, and it's not love...
A Sunken Heart in Hino Bay by Jeff Carpenter
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcript:
"All life emerged... crawled out from the sea... now I don't know what's crawling out."

HINO BAY HIGH SCHOOL SCIENCE/ BIOLOGY CLASS MONDAY - 2:43 PM
Ayumi scribbles into her notebook, hunched over her desk, protecting her work. Her eyes are obscured by black horn rims matching her long jet-black hair tied into a pony tail.
"Are you like in Grade 3?"
A girl beside her with dyed brown hair grabs the notebook off Ayumi's desk. The pen leaves a streak across the page.
She turns to a second girl and shows her the notebook.
The second girl makes a sour face, gesturing dismissively at the drawings in a lined notebook page. Cartoons. A girl sun-bathing in a boat reading a book. And below her myriad sea creatures frolicking in the deep. An octopus and crab feasting on something.
The girl points at a figure farther down the page...
A masked scuba diver rising to the surface holding something in his hand...
"Oh my god... is that Mr. Hirada? What is that in his hand... what has he got... a pearl? A present? For you?"
She and her friend laugh at the suggestion. Ayumi tries to grab it.
"Give it back!"
"He'd only kiss you if you had gills and a tail!" "She already smells like she does!"
"GIVE IT BACK!"
There is a crack at the front of the class. The student's heads turn to the front. The teacher rests his hand on a book atop of some scattered papers on his desk. "Ayumi, please see me after class."
"Ooooooooohh...!" the two girlfriends coo in chorus.
Ayumi holds a stack of textbooks in crossed arms close to her chest.
"I'm not sure what's come over you. You were disturbing the class today. And you haven't handed in your assignment yet. Usually you're a very well behaved, punctual student. What's gotten into you?"
She can't meet his eyes.
"Tomorrow, Mr. Hirada. Tomorrow."

AYUMI'S HOUSEHOLD - MONDAY - 6:49 PM
The melted chocolate cools in the bowl on the double boiler.
On the counter beside the stove are a box of sea salt, a jar of raspberry jam, a bowl of herring roe, a collection of spoons and heart-shaped moulds.
Ayumi's grandfather walks up behind her, looking over her shoulder. Surprises her.
"For a boy? It's good you take an interest in normal school life outside of the tales you read in your books. It's good you spend time with people your own age. Dead authors and old men like me are not ideal companions for young girls."
Ayumi ignores her grandfather and increases her focus on spooning the jam into the cooled chocolate moulds.
With intense deliberation she plucks two individual eggs from the herring roe, and placing them side by side in the raspberry jam. Squishing them together in the gooey jam, they leak their briny golden insides into the surrounding compote.
She sprinkles a pinch of sea salt into the moulds, finishing her creation with a flourish. "Could I have a taste of that chocolate though? Reminds me of your grandmother." TUESDAY - VALENTINE'S DAY - 1:56 PM
A girl bumps into Ayumi in the hall. She drops her books and makes a desperate grab as the red cardboard box folded in the shape of a clamshell, slips from her fingers. As she bends over to pick them up, she notices a boy (a strong, athletic boy from her gym class) looking at her with a kind of faint smile she hasn't seen before and she sees that her skirt is riding high up her legs. She straightens up and pulls her skirt down. The boy still has the funny look on his face, and he looks weak somehow, as if all his strength has leaked away. Just by looking at her. She feels flushed and rushes to class.

"What's this?"
Mr. Hirada flips the cardboard clamshell open on his desk, revealing the chocolates within.
Ayumi looks at the Valentine's Day present on display-- one of the heart chocolates cracked from the fall.
"It's for... It's for you."
"Ayumi, I can't accept this. You know it is inappropriate for a student to offer such gifts to her teacher. I'm sorry. It looks like you put a lot of work into this gift, but I just can't."
Ayumi hugs her books tight and shuffles to her seat.
Otani, the grizzled old janitor, totters into the classroom and empties the waste paper basket by the teacher's desk. He winks at the gang of girls huddled together, gossiping and giggling.
One of the girls with dyed-brown hair leans over to Ayumi and hisses at her.
"If you want an older man, I'm pretty sure Mr. Otani is available! But better act quick before one of us snatches him up first!"
The huddle of girls convulses with laughter as Otani staggers out the door.
Ayumi looks up from her book and over at Mr. Hirada's desk. From her vantage point, she can see that one of the chocolates is missing. There is a space there. It is undeniable!
Did she just see Mr. Hirada lick his lips? Did he really?

Ayumi watches intently, her elbows on her desk, chin resting on her knuckles, in rapt attention.
"My last dive I saw definite changes... the outflow from these chemical plants is causing untold damage to the ecosystem. I'm finding noticeable mutations in the local sea life. Overlong exposure to this pollution is ravaging local populations."
"I've decided to devote my time recording and cataloging these mutations."
"We have to do something to change this. We ALL have to do something... what I'm doing is cataloging the mutations.
He plops a ziplocked bag holding a fist-sized thing enveloped in gelatinous syrup on the desk. It is a creature curled into a fetal ball. Two appendages pierce the syrupy envelope, terminating in claws.
"Know what this is?"
No guesses.
"It's a fish. Does it look like a fish to you?"
The students shake their heads.
"I don't think so. I found this swimming off the breakwater in Hino Bay... well it was trying to swim... more like paddling in a circle."
"Those.... those bastards... excuse me, those blameless industrialists in the plants on the shore... they've turned Hino Bay into a living science experiment."
"All life emerged... it crawled out from the sea... now I don't know what's crawling out." He turns back to the specimen. "This is the caudal fin... the tail of the so-called fish."

An iridescent turquoise caudal fin unfurls in the swirling sea-green water. It swishes to- and-fro, back-and-forth, lazily propelling the creature upward. Breaking the surface, she notices that the creature is her... she is the creature, her bare human body above the water, her scaly torso and tapered tail beneath the waves, trailing off into darkness and the murky depths below. Her long black hair flows out behind her, slowly undulating in the motion of the ripples. She feels the water rise in a soft swell and he is there... beside her in a black rubber wetsuit. A gentle wave pushes them closer together. He pulls off his facemask and removes the regulator from his mouth. He presses it against her lips. 'Breathe. Breathe...' he urges. She opens her mouth, letting him inside her and breathes in, breathes deep and she feels herself going down, down into unconsciousness.
Ayumi opens her eyes. She smiles and squeezes the pillow tight to her body.
WEDNESDAY - 3:02 PM
"The daughter of the Dragon King was Ningyo, Princess of the Deep. She could assume various forms and would often take the form of a beautiful woman who could put any man who ventured into the sea under her spell..."
Ayumi stands at the front of the class. "Her magic pearls could turn..."
"Ayumi, the assignment was supposed to be about sea life. Real, actual sea life. Dragons don't exist. Why would you... what made you do your assignment on that? I'm going to be forced to give you an F. Please see me after class."
Ayumi tries to hold back a faint smile.
He slumps back in his chair. Pulls off his tie. Loosens his collar. Unbuttons the top button of his shirt.
He leans forward. She can see down his open shirt. There are iridescent scales catching the light on his neck, spreading out and down to his chest.
"Mr. Hirada?"
"Yes, Ayumi?"
"Do you think people can change?" She pivots on her legs, twisting back and forth.
"Yes, of course."
"Change into something... so wonderful, so strange that you don't know what they might become."
"What are you talking about?"
Kiss me.
Mr. Hirada stares at her.
Kiss me. Why couldn't she say it out loud?
Her lips strain white against her teeth. She bites her lower lip until she is sure blood will pop and trickle down her chin.
She drops a PADI training manual on the teacher's desk.
"What's this?"
"I'm going to get my diving certificate..."
"Really? It's an intensive course. You sure it won't interfere with your school studies?" "No, sir."
"I always think of you with your nose in your books, not outside getting your hands dirty." He gives her an approving smile.
... always think of you... ... always think of you... ... always... you...
"It's kind of late in the year to undertake such a big thing like this, don't you think?" She takes off her glasses and twirls them in her fingers. She looks straight at Hirada.
"I dreamed that we were swimming together last nigh

Episode Notes
A man's madness is pushed to the limit by a feline companion turned mortal (and possibly immortal) enemy.
The Black Cat by Edgar Allen Poe
Music by Ray Mattis
http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
Get Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspooky
Support us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsome
Contact Us/Submit a Story
twitter.com/WeeklySpooky
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This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcript:
FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not -- and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified -- have tortured -- have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror -- to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place -- some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.
From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat.

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point -- and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered.

Pluto -- this was the cat's name -- was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character -- through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance -- had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me -- for what disease is like Alcohol ! -- and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish -- even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper.

One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket ! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

When reason returned with the morning -- when I had slept off the fumes of the night's debauch -- I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.

In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart -- one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself -- to offer violence to its own nature -- to do wrong for the wrong's sake only -- that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree; -- hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; -- hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; -- hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin -- a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it -- if such a thing were possible -- even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.

On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thenceforward to despair.

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts -- and wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins. The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and against which had rested the head of my bed. The plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the action of the fire -- a fact which I attributed to its having been recently spread. About this wall a dense crowd were collected, and many persons seemed to be examining a particular portion of it with very minute and eager attention. The words "strange!" "singular!" and other similar expressions, excited my curiosity. I approached and saw, as if graven in bas relief upon the white surface, the figure of a gigantic cat. The impression was given with an accuracy truly marvellous. There was a rope about the animal's neck.

When I first beheld this apparition -- for I could scarcely regard it as less -- my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length reflection came to my aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire, this garden had been immediately filled by the crowd -- by some one of whom the animal must have been cut from the tree and thrown, through an open window, into my chamber. This had probably been done with the view of arousing me from sleep. The falling of other walls had compressed the victim of my cruelty into the substance of the freshly-spread plaster; the lime of which, with the flames, and the ammonia from the carcass, had then accomplished the portraiture as I saw it.

Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether to my conscience, for the startling fact just detailed, it did not the less fail to make a deep impression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as t

Episode Notes
Two great bluegrass musicians come to a fork in the road; and at that crossroads stands the devil.
The Devil Knows Three Chords by John Oak Dalton
https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/B07YQD6DP4/ref=cm_sw_tw_r_pv_wb_G4VJyJirAzut2
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:
Chester Killbuck and Bobby Lee Starr were one of the hottest bluegrass duos of the 50s and early 60s,
but it all ended in a dumpster behind the Avalon Ballroom in San Francisco in 1968.
Like a lot of bluegrass musicians at that time, they started in The Bluegrass Boys in the late 40s, and then
joined The Foggy Mountain Boys in the early 50s before setting off on their own as Killbuck and Starr.
Chester and Bobby Lee couldn’t have been more different, and thus made an unlikely team. Chester
was married three or four times and had several kids that hated him, and several more he wouldn’t
admit to having and who didn’t know he was their daddy. Bobby Lee was still married to his first wife
Marian and they had a son, Johnny, who was born blind in 1946 and who Bobby Lee lived and died for.
Chester followed the old ways and the old music but Bobby Lee saw things differently when his son
started playing folk music with a couple of other guys. Bobby Lee wanted to add some more Bob Dylan
and Gram Parsons to their song list. But Chester said that would never get them on the Porter Wagoner
show. And they would get booed out of The Grand Old Opry.
Bobby Lee got through a lot of his disagreements with Chester by bringing Johnny on the road with him
when he was old enough, and Johnny became a great mandolin player in his own right. So in the same
way that they wanted to leave Bill Monroe and then leave Flat and Scruggs, Johnny wanted to forge out
on his own. It was the way of things, and Bobby Lee could not deny his son.
But his son still needed him. So when Johnny Starr made a deal for his own band with the Avalon
Ballroom, which was the premiere venue in San Francisco at the center of everything happening in 1968,
he might have mentioned his dad would come and play too. The Avalon promised Killbuck and Starr top
billing, and Johnny’s band Lemon Dirty Fingernails second, ahead of the Stone Poneys and the Lewis and
Clark Expedition.
Chester was very angry with the deal, but went along with it. And as it happened Killbuck and Starr
killed it in front of all these young people, who were turning on to the Bakersfield sound and The Byrds
and Dylan, and suddenly Bobby Lee could see a future for the duo. A future beyond the long county fair
tours. A future beyond waiting for someone to tap their shoulder for the Opry.
Bobby Lee waited backstage for his son, who was still out talking to friends, and it was good that he was
late because he found out quickly Chester was still fuming.
Bobby Lee found, at the little rickety table in the dressing room, his son had left a water bottle with a
note that said “Drink Me” and a plate of food with a note that said “Eat Me.” It was punched out in
Braille with the little stylus and slate both father and son had learned to use.
Bobby Lee was drinking down the water when Chester banged the door open.
Bobby Lee looked at him with a smile and a squint. “I thought you slipped off with that little gal in the
front row in those short-shorts,” Bobby Lee said.
Chester’s frown deepened. “Hell, that gal had more armpit hair than I do. You couldn’t tell who was the
girls and who was the boys with all that long hair out there.”
“They loved us, Chester,” Bobby Lee said.
“They should love their got-damn country. You’re son’s a cripple and has an excuse but the rest of them
boys should be over in Viet Nam fighting Communism,” Chester proclaimed.
That killed off Bobby Lee’s good feeling.
“It’s be nice if you could be happy with one thing in this world,” Bobby Lee muttered.
But Chester wasn’t listening, as usual.
“That one hairy SOB that plays with Johnny has a dog he calls Roy Acuff,” Chester added.
“He means that with respect, Chester,” Bobby Lee said.
“You don’t name a hound dog after Roy Acuff,” Chester shot back.
Bobby Lee shrugged.
“These young folks, they got their own thing going on out here,” Bobby Lee said.
Chester looked at him with narrowed eyes and lit a Lucky Strike. “They ain’t our people, Bobby Lee. Our
people are in Oklahoma and Iowa and every little town between here and Nashville. This whole state
could fall off into the ocean and good riddance to ‘em all.”
Bobby Lee looked his partner full in the face. “Johnny is my son. And he’s living out here.”
“And he’s got a band he calls Lemon Dirty Fingernails, and that ain’t a band name, although one word is
accurate.”
Bobby Lee swallowed hard, and began to sweat.
Bobby Lee wasn’t sure, but it looked like the walls were sweating, too.
“I didn’t do what I did to end up playing to a room full of draft dodgers and drug addicts,” Chester said.
Bobby Lee frowned.
“What did you do, Chester?”
Bobby Lee thought the flowered wallpaper behind Chester was starting to bloom.
Chester looked at him.
“You think Robert Johnson was the only man ever met the devil at the crossroads? Blues music is in the
roots of the soil, but so is country music. Those roots are even deeper. You don’t think a bluegrass man
could find his way to those crossroads?”
Chester’s normally red face, flushed with anger and drink, became even redder.
“What do you think is at them crossroads?”
Behind him, the flowers bloomed black.
“Do you think what career we have come from my good looks and your sweet nature?”
Bobby Lee watched a cold smile come across Chester’s face, full of yellow teeth, and then as Bobby Lee
watched, a pair of horns began to grow out of his forehead.
Chester’s voice came in a hard rasp.
“Let me ask you another question. You knew me back when we both lived in the Cumberland
Homesteads, up in those mountains. When you’d know my family ever have money for a fiddle? When
did you ever see me practice on one when I wasn’t already good?”
In answer, Bobby Lee picked up the bottle again and smashed it into Chester’s face.
Chester fell with a growl, and Bobby Lee was on him in a flash, choking him, and after a few moments
Chester’s eyes bulged, and the horns receded, and Bobby Lee quit his work.
The walls quit sweating and blooming, and Chester looked like a normal person again, and Bobby Lee
realized this was going to be hard to explain.
So Bobby Lee dragged Chester out of the back door into an alley and heaved him up into a dumpster,
and hoped that was going to be enough.
Chester was heavy, and it was slow going, as the ground beneath Bobby Lee seemed to buck and heave.
Bobby Lee was grateful there wasn’t anyone lounging at the mouth of the alley during his work. The
crowd had dispersed, and with them the good vibes, and suddenly the Avalon was just a crumbling old
building.
He got back into the tiny dressing room just ahead of his son, who came in beaming.
“Pops, it was quite a night,” Johnny said.
Bobby Lee steadied his voice.
“It was. I’m proud you,” Bobby Lee said.
“Where’s Uncle Chester?”
Bobby Lee wiped at his brow.
“Oh, he found some trouble to get into, I reckon.”
Johnny nodded, then reached out a hand.
“Pops, you’re sweating, and you sound funny. You drink that water I left for you?”
“Sure, why?”
Johnny nodded more seriously, and slowly.
“I’m sorry, I wanted to be back here sooner. I wanted to go on that trip with you.”
“What trip?”
“I dosed that water, pops. I thought we could tune in together tonight. To celebrate. It looks like you
started without me, but I can walk you through the rest of the way. Just remember, everybody here is a
friend. This place is full of love tonight.”
Bobby Lee sat down hard.
“You didn’t eat the brownies? Cool. You eat one and I’ll eat one and we’ll be on this trip together. I can
see things when I trip, pops, if you can dig that.”
Dig was a funny word to Bobby Lee. He had dumped, not dug, a place for Chester to rest.
Bobby Lee started laughing.
“Pops?”
Bobby Lee couldn’t stop laughing all night.
They got on the Opry after all when they did a tribute show for Chester Killbuck. Bobby Lee took Johnny
to Nudie’s Rodeo Tailors in Hollywood and got matching rhinestone suits for the gig. Earl Scruggs
showed up and played with them. Mother Maybelle Carter was there and so was Doc Watson. Doc
Watson brought his son Merle, and Scruggs brought his sons Randy and Gary, and that made it more
special for Bobby Lee.
Roy Acuff was the MC, and it was just as well nobody in Johnny’s band mentioned they had a dog named
after him.
The Summer of Love didn’t seem to last a summer even. Johnny’s band got broken up by the draft after
all and then broken up for good by the Viet Cong in Dien Bien Phu.
Some people said the Summer of Love ended with the violence at Altamont Speedway, with the Rolling
Stones and the Hell’s Angels and everything that went down. Some people pointed to the murder of
Martin Luther King Junior and some the killing of Bobby Kennedy.
Some even said it ended when a hippi

Episode Notes
On a late night snack run a snarky paperboy is confronted with dozens of razor teethed monsters and he's on the menu.
"They Don't Drive Cars" 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:
Aaron had been hoping to sit through the entire Leave it to Beaver marathon on TV Land without interruption – at least until he had to leave for work – but by 2 AM his belly was asserting that food was better than the Beaver. He'd already exhausted his supply of snacks, not thinking that the bag of Salsa Verde Doritos should've been held in reserve for just such an emergency.
His stomach gurgled aggressively. One of those microwave breakfast sandwiches from Freddy's All-Nite would go down real smooth, Beaver or no. It was tough to bail on the show when the Beav's pals were about to dick him by wearing their normal, mom-approved clothes to school instead of the cool monster shirts the fellas had picked up the day before, but Aaron could deny his hunger no longer. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed the car keys and lit out, leaving the TV on so as not to miss a second when he came back. Canned laughter echoed as he shut the door behind him.
Aaron knew he was lucky to have a place like Freddy's All-Nite, considering the entire population of Charlton, New Mexico was about the size of the cast of Leave it to Beaver. He'd been the local paperboy for almost ten years now, which meant working during the wee hours and sleeping while the sun was up, and Freddy's had kept him in late-night Cokes and junk food. During that time, Aaron had never seen another human being in the place – besides Freddy, anyway – after 11 PM. He lived in constant fear that the old man would get fed up with it and start closing at midnight.
A peculiar wail emanated from Aaron's stomach. "Jesus," he said, patting his burgeoning gut and steering with one finger. Getting chubby at 25. Didn't change his feelings about that chicken sandwich, though.
The roads were still wet from the most recent rainstorm, which meant another night of wrestling the newspapers into their little plastic sleeves. Aaron hated the things, and was grateful that rain didn't come to Charlton very often.
Aaron pulled into the parking lot at Freddy's. As usual, the place was a tomb. Swarms of bugs battered themselves against the lights out front, filling the quiet night with a soft, steady thunking sound.
As he stepped out of the car, Aaron noticed the rack of STP near the front door had been knocked over, bottles of fuel additive strewn across the walk. He paused to clean the mess up. There was a small trail of thick, dark liquid spattered across the pavement, but Aaron couldn't track down which bottle had sprung the leak and just stuck them all back on the rack.
The new electric eye Freddy had bought set off a chime as Aaron entered the store. The old man was nowhere to be seen. "Hey Freddy, how's tricks?" Aaron said, a little louder than he meant to.
After a few seconds, Aaron lifted his foot and thrust it back and forth through the beam of the electric eye, setting off the chime a few more times.
"You in the shitter?"
He poked his head around a couple of the aisles, then glanced toward the counter. Both restroom keys still hung from their nails. Heading to the back of the store, Aaron tapped on the storeroom door. "Freddy?"
He put his ear to the door, listening for some sound of the old man. Remembering the upturned STP rack, Aaron quickly walked the length of the store, the electric eye chiming again as he went outside.
Rounding the corner of the building, Aaron felt his stomach do the hokey-pokey.
There was a shitload of blood slung from hell to breakfast back by the restroom doors.
Aaron took a couple steps back, stopped, turned his head to stare at the spilled STP. Only it wasn't STP.
"Aw, Freddy..." He shuffled towards the mess. Crouching, Aaron rested hands on knees, his eyes fixed on a fat June bug wallowing in a particularly large splatter.
Then the guy came out of nowhere, slamming into Aaron and sending them both tumbling ass-over-teakettle through the smeared blood and into the alley behind the store.
Rolling to a stop in a puddle of grease-slicked rainwater, the two men came up in a gory tangle. Terrified, Aaron flailed wildly with both fists, trying to fend off his attacker. The guy yelped as a blow connected with his nose.
"Asshole!" he shrieked, blood gushing from his nostril. "Lemme go!"
Aaron continued to sling fists with abandon as the guy struggled to disentangle himself. Wrestling a leg free, he awkwardly kicked Aaron in the chest and scrambled away.
"They're gonna get us!" Blood was coursing from the man's nose, dribbling onto his already-stained shirt.
Aaron sat up in the puddle, finally recognizing the man. "Lucas? What the hell – wait!"
Lucas had made his feet and was sprinting blindly down the alley. "Screw you!" he yelled back.
Further down the alley, a rectangle of pale light spilled out through a gap between two buildings, silhouetting Lucas as he fled. Aaron jumped to his feet, wincing at a sharp pain in his knee, and took off after him. Lucas Douthat was the only customer on Aaron's route who always gave him a Christmas bonus, and he figured he'd better smooth over that bloody nose.
As Lucas ran into the strip of light, the creatures took him down. Aaron skidded to a halt, panting, eyes wide with shock.
The things – dozens of them, each one no more than eight inches tall –
moved as a unit, like a school of fish, flooding out from between the two buildings and swarming over Lucas's thrashing body. He shrieked as he disappeared beneath the frenzied horde.
Aaron stared, useless, as the things darted in and out of the throng, tearing at the man. The creatures moved so fast he couldn't get a clear look at them. Even the two standing at the edge of the swarm, heads swiveling like prairie dogs standing guard, seemed almost to vibrate with barely- contained energy.
As suddenly as they had appeared, the creatures began scurrying away, headed back between the buildings. As the swarm dissipated, Aaron could see Lucas's shredded remains, one claw-like hand uplifted, flesh torn from the fingers. The last creature – one of the guards – darted in and snapped up a treat in its tiny jaws. The thing ran off, a length of intestine trailing behind it.
Aaron stood in silence for a long moment. When he released the breath he'd been holding, the sound made him jump.
"Holy shit," he muttered.
He took a step forward, then froze.
One of the things had flitted back into the alley and was staring at him, its tiny head cocking at a dozen different angles, like a dog on Dexedrine.
Aaron held his breath again, felt in his pocket for his car keys.
Another creature darted in to stand next to the first, their heads moving in unison.
Aaron turned tail and ran like hell.
Instantly, the two creatures took off after him, the entire swarm spilling around the corner behind them as if caught in their jet stream.
Feet pounding the damp pavement, Aaron tugged his car keys from his pocket. Fumbled them. The keyring clattered to the ground at his feet, caught the toe of his shoe and went skidding across the asphalt to wind up in a puddle of blood.
Without slowing down, Aaron scooped up the keys and hauled ass to his car. He flung the door open and jumped in just as the swarm began pouring out of the alley, skittering towards him.
He jammed the key into the ignition and slammed the car into reverse as the engine caught. The car laid rubber, obscuring the creatures in a cloud of smoke.
Aaron wiped a bloody hand on his pants and gripped the steering wheel as the car bounced over the curb and into the street. Dropping it into drive, Aaron peeled out again. He watched in the rear view mirror as the goddamn things poured into the street, ran through a confused circle, then scurried off to disappear amongst the buildings again.
So now what? Aaron's gaze flicked from the road ahead to the bloodstains on his shirt. He was practically wheezing, sucking air like an old man climbing stairs. There wasn't even a police station in Charlton – nearest cop was sixty miles down the highway, in Estancia. And what cop would believe Aaron's story, anyway? A bunch of quivering little monsters with lots of teeth ate a guy while he watched? He suddenly felt like Steve McQueen in The Blob.
He needed somebody to back him up.
Aaron spun the wheel, whipping his car into a left turn. He was impressed that the old beater had performed so well under pressure; the car had a tendency to choke and die when asked to accelerate away from a fast- food drive-through window.
Another left took him onto Howard road, where his friend Noel lived. There were no curbs out here; Aaron rolled the car to a stop in Noel's muddy front yard and jumped out. Tromping to the door, Aaron banged with one hand and rang the bell with the other. After a short barrage of this noise, a
light came on in the bedroom and Noel's angry, narrow face appeared through the parted curtains. Aaron very faintly heard the words What the fuck? and the curtains closed once again.
A few seconds later Noel opened the door, still in the act of zipping his pants. "Man, you'd better not be wakin' me up to help with your fuckin' paper route," he grumbled, voice thick with sleep

Episode Notes
A camping trip takes a turn for the gruesome as a blood thirsty monster stalks for it's next kill.
Wolf Moon by Joe Solmo
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:
Wolf Moon
by "Splatter" Joe Solmo
Daria looked up into the night. Was that a scream? She turned to her boyfriend of three years. His face was illuminated by the dancing flames of their campfire. The look in his eyes told her that he had heard it too. His hand subconsciously went to his belt, where he had a knife attached in a sheath.

“It was probably coyotes,” Brandon said reassuring her. “Sometimes they can sound like babies yelling.”

“That was no coyote. Wasn’t there a car that passed by us a little while ago? Maybe something happened to them, we should check to see if they are ok,” Daria said.

“I’m sure it’s just a bunch of drunks having a good time. I haven’t heard anything since,” Brandon said looking back towards the old logging road that traveled its way around the small lake they were camping on. “We are in the woods, we are going to hear things we aren’t used too. That’s half the reason we came out here. To experience new things,” he said and smiled at her. “Need another beer?” he asked.

“No,” she said sullenly and stared into the darkness towards the sound she heard. She looked back at the flimsy tent and wondered what kind of protection it could actually offer if something did come into the camp tonight. It was her first time camping and she was having a hard time relaxing.

Brandon on the other hand grew up in the woods and had no problem enjoying the outdoors. It was fine during the day, but once the darkness started to settle in her anxiety started to rise. She knew somewhere inside that she was just being foolish, but he body wouldn’t listen to her.

The full moon’s light played off the trees and cast shadows just out of the firelight. She constantly found herself looking around thinking she saw movement. Brandon said she was just acting nervous her first time in the woods. He had told her that he had camped here before and knew the area well.

The fresh air was great, she had to admit, and the quiet was unbelievable. No hustle of the city, no loud cars cranking bass driving by, no fireworks, or gunshots, you never really could tell. It felt like they were the only people in the world, until that other car drove up the road.

Brandon said there were other spots to camp around the lake, but it wasn’t a well-known area. She had tried to fish earlier, but grew bored after about an hour of trying. Brandon laughed at her for being impatient.

She looked over at the folding table they had some of their supplies sitting on. Everything from pans and paper plates to utensils and even a tube of Pringles. The rest of the food had been packed away into a sealed container and put in the back of their SUV to keep the bears away.

She looked up as she thought she heard another scream. She turned back towards Brandon but he had fallen asleep in his camp chair. She stood and approached her boyfriend who was lightly snoring. IF tonight was any other drinking night then he would sleep soundly through the night. She undid his belt and pulled the knife and its holder off and slid it into the front of her shorts.

She grabbed a flashlight from the table and walked the little path up to the logging road. She looked both ways on the road, the dirt illuminated by the full moon through the gap in the trees above. There was no movement or sound coming from either direction.

She debated if she should check out the other camp. She wanted to make sure they were okay. It would give her piece of mind as well as making sure they were alright. She couldn’t bring herself to start walking down the road. She was afraid. She hated to admit it thought, even to herself. “I’m being silly,” she said out loud and turned back towards her camp. The fire looked inviting from this far out in the cool night.

She stumbled on a root as she entered the campsite and it awoke Brandon. He rose from his chair. “Are you ready for bed, babe?” he asked.

“Yeah,” She replied and poured the rest of her beer onto the fire to put it out.

“That’s a waste of beer,” Brandon said and unzipped his pants. He started to piss on the fire. Daria headed for the tent disgusted. “Hey babe, we should do it. It’d be fucking intense! Get it? Fucking in tents,” Brandon said and burst out laughing. He turned around and saw her slip inside the tent. “Ugh no sense of humor,” he said zipping up.

A few minutes later Brandon was snoring next to Daria, wrapped up in his sleeping bag. If only she was that lucky, she thought as she watched the faint light from the moon dance in the shadows cast by the leaves. Every time the breeze kicked up she thought it was something approaching her camp. There was no way she was going to sleep tonight.

She played with the idea of sleeping in the car, she might feel safer that way, as she looked at the knife she still carried. She slid her finger across the edge of the blade to see how sharp it was. A think trail of blood ran down her finger as she misjudged how hard to press. She stuck her finger into her mouth.

A howl erupted out in the night. She didn’t know wolves lived in these woods. She turned towards Brandon to see if he had heard it, but he was still snoring. She tried to place where the howl had come from, in her mind. She thought it came from the same area as the screams they thought she had heard earlier.

“It’s just my imagination,” she whispered and tried to close her eyes, but she was filled with nervous energy. She thought if Brandon was awake she would take him up on his earlier offer, just to have companionship at the moment. She thought about waking him up. She knew if she did he would be pissed.

Was that a twig snap? She sat up in the tent. It sounded really close to the tent. The hairs on her arms rose up and gave her goosebumps. She looked down at the knife and realized she was holding it as hard as she could. The handle was sticky where she had bled from the cut.

Okay, that time it was definitely close to the camp. She tapped Brandon on the shoulder. He could be as pissed as he wanted she needed him right now, but he didn’t stir. It was then that she saw the shadow pass over the tent. What the fuck was that? She wondered and poked Brandon harder.

The large shadow stopped near the flaps of the tent and she could hear a sniffing sound. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s a bear,” she whispered and started to shake in fear. A low growl came from outside. A shadowy appendage rose in the darkness and she could see the claws of the beast.

She punched Brandon in the face and he woke up. “What the f...” he started to saw but she put her hand over her mouth and pointed to the tent entrance. His eyes grew huge as he saw the shape in the moonlight. The sniffing continued.

He reached down to his waist for the knife, but it wasn’t there. The shadow moved around to Daria’s side of the tent and she practically leapt on top of Brandon. She saw the thin fabric stretch as the animal pushed against it with its face, still sniffing. She looked down at her hand. “Oh shit,” she whispered and showed Brandon her bloody finger.

He took the knife from her and rolled his eyes. He pulled his pants on as a growl came from behind them. The tent shook from the animal probing it. He grabbed her and pointed towards the flap on the tent as he handed her the car keys.

She tried to protest, but he shook his head. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her limps felt heavy, almost frozen. She wasn’t sure she could make a run for it. The growling stopped and all was silent for a moment. The shadow moved off the tent into the woods. They could hear the footfalls of whatever it was.

Brandon made his way to the zipper on the tent and undid it slowly. “Now,” he said and opened the flap. She hesitated for just a moment and he pushed her out of the tent, following right behind her. She scanned the campsite for whatever it was, but didn’t see anything.

A great howl came from behind the tent and that made her move. She took off the short trail towards the car in the darkness. She heard Brandon behind her.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” he said and she turned around to see what he was talking about. A great black shape in the darkness charged after them and she ran to the car and yanked the door open. She turned her head towards Brandon and saw him fifteen feet from the car. The large black shape pounced with lightning speed and landed on his back, driving him to the ground.

“No!” she screamed and the beast looked up in her direction. Its yellow eyes glowed, reflecting the moonlight. She had never seen a bear up close before, but she knew instantly that it wasn’t a bear.

“Close the door,” Brandon called out to her from under the beast, which put a clawed hand down on the back of his head, driving his face into the ground. She yanked the door closed and plunged the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life and she turned on the headlights and threw the car into reverse. She lined the front of the car up with the camp so that she could see what was happening.

The beast, she didn’t know what else to call it stood on its hind legs, like a human. Its face had a

Episode Notes
Terror slices the Big Apple on New Years Eve, as death walks the streets with the Devil at his side!
Even the Devil Tells the Truth... Sometimes 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:
The first couple of years I just went for hookers… I figured no one would go looking for those broads anytime soon. It was simple, while everyone was staring at the big stupid ball like a bunch of deer in headlights I‘d find my gal, taking down an alley and do them up proper. A happy New Year’s for me… in theory anyway. 
The problem is, those bitches looked like they were relieved… and why wouldn’t they be, the knife was just another long, hard object painfully crammed inside of them, but this one brought an end to their filthy existence. Christ, it was so hard to get excited over that work… but I did my best.
Damn, I’ve gotten ahead of myself again. 
I suppose you want to know what makes me tick, huh? Well, go fuck yourself! Just messing with you… what do you want to know? My parents were real pieces of work; my dad drank his life away in every piss-hole bar down by the docks, and my mom sold ass in the same. I was unplanned, unwanted, and never made to forget it.
Except none of that hard-luck garbage is true. I grew up in a nice suburb; mom was a teacher and homemaker, dad was an accountant. The biggest threat to my childhood was the fact that I was spoiled rotten, or as spoiled as a middle class brat can be. 
So what made me turn bad? I have no idea…
See, back around ‘76 or so, beating the shit out of strangers for no reason was how I got my kicks, but little did I know this was going to be the mozzarella stick platter before the eggplant parm that is my career these days let me tell ya.
Anyway, I’d pulped this cat down Chinatown way, dig? Looking for any ill-gotten gains I could grab I found some sort of amulet in his left pocket… older than my Aunt Petunia, and expensive too… at least I hoped it would be when I went to pawn it. That would have to wait though, because beating the shit out of a man is hungry work, and my stomach was growling something fierce.
Thirty minutes later I was kicked back in my easy chair in my rat trap of an apartment, hamburger grease mixed with thin blood from that rare patty dripping down my arm. That’s when I remembered my spoils. I reached into my pants pocket and brought out that glittering trinket, now covered with slop from my chow.  
That’s when that bauble went shiny and hit me with some sort of mumbo-jumbo magic that sent me sprawling across the floor… things went black for a hot second, but when I came to he was just sitting there on top of the giant Zenith.
Well I say “he”, but in truth it may have been a she… or a human shaped lump of clam dip, because no matter how hard I stared at this… thing, I could never get a clear look at it, but I could tell it was dressed to the nines, and always smiling.
‘What’s so funny pal?’ I asked… that’s when that fucker talked directly to my brain, and while I can tell you what it said wasn’t in any language I’d ever heard, I understood every damn word… the bit about immortality, the murder biz that would seal the bargain… one ex-woman, every midnight on New Year’s Eve… hell, the son-of-a-bitch even had a big contract for me to sign; like something out of a god-damned comic book… and naturally that pen was filled with blood… too much!  
So yadda yadda, Lucifer, hookers and blood… and here we are; New Years’ Eve 1979… and it’s time for a change… but since not a lot of you clowns are familiar with my work, let me take ya through my nine to five, if ya can pick up what I’m layin’ down.
I wake-up around noonish… see I set my own hours, so I can sleep in… a real job perk if ya ask me. So yeah… shit, shower, shave… fry up an egg or two for breakfast, orange juice and vodka… then on with the day’s business.
I cruise the streets, and it is cold as a witch’s tit out here… but this involves my work the 364 days it isn’t December 31st. I just kinda walk around with a hard-on and get as much attention from the leather-boys and hustlers as I can; marking in my mind who is where and when. See the devil is in the details.
Then I take in a porno flick or two, grab a dog or a slice, then make my way back through the spank bank of earlier. I go for the toughest, strongest looking laddie I can find, then I punch and kick the ever-lovin’ shit out of them, rob them, maybe do the same to any tourist unfortunate enough to cross my path… and it’s off for a cup of Joe. What? The hooker thing only applies to the killing; and I only do that to the ladies once a year to honor that bargain… the rest of the year they just ain’t my bag.
Here’s the rub, I don’t really give a rat’s puckered pink asshole about the living forever thing, who needs that static? No, I was just thankful that someone put the notion of killing a woman into my thick skull… most of the time I don’t think about dames at all unless they are up on the stained silver screen. Plus it inspired me to up my game in the whole “inflicting pain on my fellow man game” I was so fond of… practice makes perfect and all that. Besides, who knows if that shit would still apply anyway… I hocked that amulet the next day for two hundred bucks and a sixer of Bud.
Where the fuck was I? Oh yeah, my day… all day, everyday. So I head home, take a shower… maybe throw in a TV dinner, catch some tube. You know what really tickles my asshole with a feather? Grabbing a paper and seeing if anyone reports on the shit I do… what can I say; I’m a gutter narcissus. Hey I went to school just like everyone else… any way, those rags never say a peep about me or the meat I tenderize… probably never will either, fuck ‘em!
Nighttime? More of the same really… I work two shifts a day, seven days a week, and that’s dedication no one can match… and I don’t even have a union or nothin’!
Now that’s January first to December 30th… but that next day? That’s where shit gets serious! I take a little personal time for most of the day… do a bump, maybe rub a few out… grab a nice steak from Sizzler for lunch. Real self care type of shit, ya dig?
Now most years I would just hang out on the fringes of Times Square looking for my mark, but as I said, this year was gonna be a big one. So after Sizzler I go for a haircut… I just gotta look good for this. I yank a magazine off the newsstand and tear out a sample of cologne… I wasn’t kidding around folks, believe-you-me!
Anyway, I get to Times Square early, and the one thing you out-of-towners watching from your big, comfy couches probably don’t realize; mother fuckers line-up for this thing hours and hours before anything is even going on… just standing in the cold, hard street milling around like fuckin’ zombies or something. 
I kick around for a bit, taking a drag on a Marb here and there. As I look around, I have to admit there are some spectacular candidates out there… much better than the ridden hard and put away wet flotsam and jetsam of the last few years… a strawberry blonde with gigantic tits and braces that catch the now setting sun when she flashes big smiles at her friend; an equally attractive Spanish chick with the blackest hair I have ever seen. You can bet those two are on my shit list for sure… but they just ain’t the one. 
I continue my search… I see a cute Chinese girl here, a sexy socialite there… all big ticket scores for sure, but again, I gotta feel this one in my balls. Then it hit me; “Fuck it’s cold out here… I need a coffee”… and as fate, if you believe in such bullshit, would have it, there was a donut shop directly across from me!
I went in, ordered a cup, and took a load off for a tick. Now I don’t believe in fate, but then again before a few years ago I never thought His Infernal Majesty would be sitting atop my boob tube pulling the ol’ Faust gag… so here we are. Anyway, out of the ladies’ room she came, looking for all the world like an angel in the flesh… well little angel, tonight’s the night you get your wings clipped!
I watched her go up to the counter and order. The way she moved I could tell she was athletic, but there was more… was she a ballerina? A gymnast? Damned if I know, but she definitely took care of herself, that’s for sure. Her hair was like spun gold.. I liked that, it would show the blood better once I did the devil’s business… literally.
Anyway she paid, walked out, and I followed her close, but not close enough to look obvious, dig? She snaked back through the crowds, the steam from her coffee trailing behind her leaving a nice trail for me to follow like that dude going through the Minotaur’s maze.
Damn, she was with someone… that would complicate things, but nothing I can’t handle. Just have to think about how to get her away from that bozo she’s with. 
That’s when fortune smiled upon me for the second time that night! There was that fool with his clipboard, and you just know he was on a power trip like no other… wandering the crowd, finding the most photogenic folks he could find and moving them right in line with the unblinking camera eye that would beam this bullshit into homes nationwide. He’d be easy, I dealt with dudes his size every din-dong freakin’ day!
“Hey buddy… you know that big shot producer running this thing?” I noticed the lanyard around hot shot’s neck. “Dammit, now where did my lanyard go?” I really played up looking for it; Oscar material here for sure.
“You mean Jim?”
“Yeah, Jim… he wants to talk to your ass pronto”
“Shit… probably wants me to get him coffee… can’t he see I’m trying to make this show special? I mean look at the prime trim I’ve picked out… what was your name aga

Episode Notes
A frozen hell brings evil to an all girl academy on Christmas Eve... and it's very hungry.
Home for Christmas 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:
“It’s never going to stop snowing.” Kat Walker said to herself, watching as never-ending white fell outside. The dying embers of the day cast a soft glow that lit the snow covered landscape in a blood red hue. The wind howled, making the old walls of the house creak and strain. 
Kat was alone in the parlor; the gathering place for most of the social activity at Blackoaks. A tall Christmas tree sat in the room’s center, it’s lights blinking on and off. The smell of cinnamon delighted Kat’s senses. Cinnamon cookie ornaments hung from the tree’s branches, crafted in various Christmas related forms; Santa, Frosty, snowflakes and Christmas trees… lovingly made by Blackoaks’ resident cook, Mallory Horst. A fire crackled in the fire place and the scent of burning wood hung in the air.
The sound of whisky flowing over ice pulled Kat from her thoughts. She watched fellow student Georgina Harris enter, reflected in the glass of the window. Georgina returned her metal flask to the folds of her expensive robe before crashing to the couch. The chic brunette lounged on the couch, her sleek legs visible at the robe’s part. Taking a sip of whisky, she lit a cigarette. “The weather outside is indeed frightful little Kitten.”  
Kat turned, angry at the interruption. She spun around so fast, her long Raven black hair fell across her eyes, stinging them.
 
“What are you doing?” Kat blurted out. Her anger getting the better of her.
“Working towards a career in alcoholism and nicotine addiction.” Georgina smirked, raising her glass in a toast. “Just like dear old mom.”
“You know the house rules.” Kat said, “If Miss Keene sees you.” Her voice lowered as if saying the woman’s name would summon the headmistress out of thin air.
“Don’t worry about it.” Georgina took a puff off her cigarette. “It’s not your ass on the line if I’m caught Kitten.”
“Fine” Kat gave up. Why did she care if the bitch got in trouble anyway? “And, my name is Kat. I hate it when you call me Kitten.”
Girls like Georgina were the reason Kat was at Blackoaks. She’d gotten in her fair share of fights with girls that thought they were better then her… thought they could tell Kat her place. Expulsion for Kat soon followed nearly every time. 
A slight, red-haired girl with a fox-like face stood framed in the doorway. Her freckled brow wrinkled in concern. She was wearing a snug, if preposterous, sweater; robots danced around a Christmas tree on it’s front, and a pair of pale blue jeans. 
“There you guys are.” Sue McCoy said, sounding relieved. “Miss Keene wanted to know if you guys wanted to exchange Christmas presents now or in the morning.”
Kat looked down at the presents, neatly arranged under the tree. She wondered how the tree looked at home. Her mom would have it all decked out with all the usual ornaments. This would be the first year Kat wouldn’t be there to help her decorate it. She was stuck here, at Blackoaks boarding school… mainly for the simple fact that her parents couldn’t afford to come and get her… even if the weather did permit.
Not that she was the only one stuck here for Christmas break. Georgina’s mom and her new girlfriend where off to Barcelona for the holiday. Sue was still here because she preferred it to her home life. Why, Kat really wasn’t sure, nor did she want to pry. 
The other two students still here, Lois Kincade and Alison Gordy, were both stuck due to the sudden onslaught of the freak blizzard assaulting half the country. Besides the remaining five girls, there was Miss Keene and Mallory still at the school.
  
Georgina kicked one of the presents under the tree with a outstretched leg. “I say we get this shit over with.” 
Sue turned to Kat. 
“Yeah, why not.” Kat answered. 
A half hour later, wrapping paper littered the parlor’s royal blue carpet. The girls had done a ‘Secret Santa’, ensuring that each girl got a gift and they didn’t have to spend a lot of money getting multiple presents.
Kat sat with her knees drawn up on the floor, clutching her gift in her arms… a simple black T-shirt with ‘I’m against It!’ written on it’s front in a spray paint font. Whoever had drawn Kat’s name, they certainly knew her tastes.     
Sitting next to her was Mallory. The cook was only a few years older then her and lived in town with her mother, who had held the position previously until injuring her back. Now her daughter supported her.
Kat had bonded with her, both feeling very much the outsider at Blackoaks. Mallory had a crisp, no bullshit way of looking at things, and never sat around feeling sorry for herself or whining about the shit life had handed to her. It was something Kat aspired to do herself. 
Mallory’s Secret Santa bought her a simple pendent necklace. She wore it proudly around her neck. Turning to simile at Kat as they all laughed at one of Miss Keene’s stories. 
Kat drifted in and out of the story the woman was telling. Her ears picking up bits and pieces of the news playing on the TV behind them. 
“...storm of the century…flights canceled…power outages…escaped mental patients…pile up on the thruway…”
The girls all laughed again and Kat joined in instinctively. Her thoughts turned back towards home. Were mom and dad celebrating tonight? Was mom making her annual Christmas lasagna tomorrow? She hoped her parents were safe and happy. 
“What’s on your mind?” 
Kat turned to see Mallory looking at her. 
“Nothing, just Christmas at home.” Kat answered.
 
“Miss your folks?” 
“Yeah, we don’t always get along… but this time of year though, all the shit of the year disappears.” Kat smiled, thinking about that warm feeling she got, sitting around the tree on Christmas morning. “How about you?”
“Hope I can get back into town tomorrow. Spend the day with mom.”
“Hold hands you love birds.” Georgina mocked them. The heavy scent of whisky hung in the air as she spoke. 
Mallory made a face. “God, you’re drunk.”
Georgina laughed. “Fuck yeah townie!”
Kat noticed a repeated thumping sound under the din of the girl’s laughter and the TV. It grew louder and more ferocious as seconds ticked by, until finally…
“Someone’s here!” Kat said, springing up from the floor. 
All eyes turned towards her. They stared as if she was in a one woman play, written by a psychotic.  
“At the door!” Kat added, already headed to the foyer. 
Kat fumbled with the door lock as the knocking outside intensified. Miss Keene and the girls gathered behind her. 
“I told ya, there’s somebody at the door.” Kat felt vindicated as the knocking continued. 
“Maybe you shouldn’t open that door.” Sue spoke up. “It could be a…you know…a crazy person.”
“It might be a rapist.” Lois said. 
“Or a Holy Roller.” Georgina added. “We’ll be buried in Watchtowers.” 
From the other side of the door, a man spoke. “Please, I know your in there. I need help.”
Kat looked to Miss Keene for guidance. The head mistress nodded her approval.
 
Without hesitation, Kat unlocked the door. Wind and snow assaulted her immediately. A man, looking half dead, stood at the center of the maelstrom. His hair whipped about as if alive, and his eyes were wide with panic. The man stumbled into the house, helped along by Kat and Miss Keene.
Sue struggled to shut the door behind them, the snow and wind fighting her. Mallory stepped in and helped her close the door.
“Well this is something.” Georgina observed the scene before her. 
They took the stranger into the dining room. A large wood table sat at room’s center. The room much like the living room had been decorated for the holiday; lights and garland ran along the walls, and the table was covered by a table cloth and place mats depicting Santa and his Reindeer on Christmas night.
Alison pulled out one of the chairs for the disheveled man. 
“Get him a blanket and some coffee.” Miss Keene instructed Alison and Lois, sending the two girls racing off in opposite directions. 
“I told them. ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’” the man said through chapped lips. He looked up into Kat’s eyes. “My wife and son, they’re waiting for me.”
 
Miss Keene took the blanket from a returning Alison and draped it over the man’s shoulders. “Were you in an accident?” 
The man hugged the blanket to himself before nodding. “Our bus went off the road, the snow made it hard to see.”
Lois came back with a steaming cup of coffee. The man gladly took the mug. Holding it in his hands for the warmth it radiated. 
“Where about did you crash?” Miss Keene asked. “How many people on the bus besides you?”
“I don’t know where. The storm made it hard to see any landmarks.” The man took a sip of coffee. “Ten, I think there was ten on the bus.” He pondered this for a moment before continuing. “I went for help. Got lost.” He laughed grimly. “I was in the army. Some tracker I turned out to be. I used to go through the jungle like nothing.” 
“We should call the police.” Lois said. 
“And tell them what?” Georgina pointed out. “We don’t know where this guy crashed? Where we gonna send ‘em?”
 
Mallory stepped forward. “She’s right.” 
 
“We should get you to the hospital.” Miss Keene said, turning towards the man. 
“I’ll call for an ambulance,” The headmistress left. 
There were only two working phones at Blackoaks; one in Miss Keene’s office and the other in the Rec room. The girl’s weren’t allowed to have cell phones as they were felt to be too much of a distraction from their studies. The same went for thee internet. The girls were allowed laptops for assignments, but even those couldn’t go online. 
Aft

Episode Notes
After a terrible accident a man is left alone to freeze on the side of a snowy road... Only, he's not alone at all...
Biting Cold by Jeff Carpenter
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:
Pain hit him like a spear in the gut.
He was hungry, but he knew that thing out there was too. And he knew its
kind never left wounded prey until they could pick the bones clean.
He was sheltered, safe for now (or so he hoped), dug into his snow cave. He
shifted his body, bumping up against the cold walls. He couldn't see his right
arm. And maybe that was for the best.
The solidity of the snow walls comforted him, but it was a frozen comfort. A
chilled comfort for his cold, tired bones.
A sound carried over the crisp air. His ears pricked up. Chattering. An
incessant clacking that assaulted his ears.
It was his own noise. With every intake of breath he could feel the sharp
cold shoot through his teeth. His teeth chattered but he could not feel
them.
He longed for another familiar sound. A sound that would take him home.
In his breast pocket was a cell phone with very low battery charge. He was
far out of range of any known cell tower, but he still had some voice
messages saved that he had listened to before the blizzard hit.
One from his father at the hunting lodge. Christmas was approaching and
his father had exhorted him to check the traplines one more time before the
big snow hit hard and stranded them.
He was sure his father had attempted a search for him, but the guests had
gone home for the holidays and the wheelchair would have been useless
much beyond the packed down paths around the cabin in this snow.
Another message from his little girl back in the city, complaining about her
new braces and how they hurt her teeth and made her lips bleed when she
practiced her carols for the choir.
She would be carolling out there tonight. Braving the cold and her sore
gums to spread her joy to the world around her.
She had left him one last message, but he would leave that one unheard
until he really needed to hear it.
He would survive. For her.
He exhaled and felt the steamy breath in front of his face. He tried to
breathe warmth into his fingers on his left hand, but they were well past
numb now.
Out there was the only hope for life, but death lurked there in the shadows.
If he did nothing, if he curled up in his icy tomb and let sleep overtake him,
the beast would have him still. It would dig in and dig him out. Scavenge his
cold tired bones like a grave robber. The beast's teeth would crunch and
crush the bones and frozen flesh of his frozen, rigid corpse, just as easily as
if he had offered himself to it. It would swallow him in huge choking gulps
and then he would be gone and it would be night forever.
He closed his eyes, tight enough to shut out the images in his brain-- the
creature invading the hole with its snout, slavering to get at the bloody
sweating slab of meat still living inside. If only he could last through the
night then maybe...
One more night... it was just last night that it all had happened... The
avalanche had thrown a tree on top of him... brought a whole damn tree
down on top of him...
It must have been the rifle shot that set it off... must have been. From
behind him, the rumble came out of nowhere... The tree had torn his arm
from his shoulder and left it gashed and bleeding. When he came to, with a
violent tug on his arm socket. The beast's beady red eyes dared him to
wrench his arm back into place.
He let the animal take his prize. It was no good to him anymore anyway.
But now the beast knew he was weakened and had limited mobility. Had
limited range. Had tasted mortality and was handicapped.
It would come again and again to test its prey's strength and its ebbing will
to survive. If he could only make it to the tree... The upturned tree, its
branches ready-made kindling. The water-proof matches in his pocket were
still good-- he hoped. Fire. A glorious fire could be kindled. Bringing
warmth to his long night. Warming his belly. Slaking his thirst. Thawing his
fingers. The beast would feed him; its long dense fur-- the oil in its hairs--
would keep the frost off him.
His boot would hold enough snow to melt into drinking water. His left hand
clenched into a fist. It needed to hold something-- something solid. His bolt-
action Remington had been broken and buried by the tree’s weight. No
weapon... Still...
The branches could make a spear, but he didn't have a knife to sharpen it.
Teeth. He had teeth, as did the beast of course. And he would pit his
molars, canines, incisors and his dizzy brain against the animal's.
He had thirty-two. Thirty-one after that drunken brawl. Molars for grinding,
incisors for biting and cutting. Canines-- his eye teeth-- for tearing and
ripping.
He would chew the bark and spit it out. He would chew the fleshy tip of his
branch into a wicked sharp point of death-dealing. Plunge it into the gut of
the ravenous animal, finally killing its hunger.
He had no fingers. Not that he could feel anyway. He could pull himself to
the tree ... but that could loosen the shirt of his make-shift tourniquet and
open the flow of blood again. He can feel himself succumbing-- to the cold,
to his leaking blood, to the dark night all around. It was now or never. His
eyelids flutter. To sleep... or?
He moves. He pushes out the hole, crawling at first then limping, stooping,
gradually more erect, from animal to man, a momentary recurrence of
evolutionary strides. He can do it. He is doing it! His numb fingers find the
tree. With a grunt he feebly snaps off twigs. He clutches them clumsily in
his single arm They slip, fall out. He scoops them up again.
He collects and breaks off branches of various sizes from the fallen tree--
smaller for kindling, larger for the main fuel of the fire. He stacks them in
a rickety pyramid. His hand, curled like a useless claw, clutches the
matchbox to his chest. He pulls out one match with his teeth.
His lips tremble as he bends his head to the matchbox striking surface. The
match flares up and burns his lips. It falls to the snow and fizzles. He tries
again and manages to catch it aflame. He ignites the pyramid stack of
wood.
With the warmth comes the feeling back into his fingers. He bites into the
fleshy wood, his lips curling at the bitter taste of bark. He grinds away at
the wood, periodically spitting out the pulpy ball of mulch. He wipes the
wood juice running down his chin with the back of his hand. The hot saliva
runs cold and icy down his chin, almost freezing solid before running down
his neck collar. He breaks a tooth and whimpers in pain. Then he stops.
He sees a movement, motion at the edge of the perimeter of the circle of
firelight. his eyes dart to the right, scanning the flickering shadows and
darkness beyond.
He holds the rim of the boot collar to his lips, awaiting the refreshing slake
of liquid to quench his thirst.
The smell hits him first, the foul pungent odor, then the crushing weight of
the beast slams into his chest, bowling him over. His arms flail to fight for
balance, but he is gone and so is his boot-- flung into the fire, splashing
water. It sizzles and steams.
And then the wolverine growls and makes his slow advance. Haltingly.
Limping.
The beast leaps on him, snarling, slavering hot spit and wet saliva on his
face. He turns his head, avoiding its snapping teeth, the hot breath on his
face. It pushes on top of him for better advantage. It will have him soon. He
can feel himself losing the battle. His eyelids flutter. To sleep... or? He
bites into the exposed neck of the beast through wet fur. The beast jerks
and rears back, giving him enough room to reach to his side and grab the
spear .
He plunges the spear deep into the belly of the beast. It howls in agony and
its tongue lolls in its mouth, tasting mortality. The wolverine slumps to the
ground, its fur bathed in the orange glow of the fire.
He raises his stick in victory. He circles the body of the wolverine, watching
it closely-- the steam escaping from the gash in its belly as it slowly cools to
the outside temperature.
SNAP! Teeth bite into his ankle. The shinbone in his leg fractures. The
unrelenting metal jaws of one of his steel traps enclose his lower leg. He
hits the ground hard.
He stares at the wolverine's missing fore-limb, the nub where it had bitten it
off to escape. And then his own missing arm. The wolverine's eyes now
closed, its soft lashes whiting over with fresh snow flakes. His lashes too
grow heavy with white flakes.
The flickering flames of the fire die to embers. His eyelids flutter.
He takes the cell phone out of his breast pocket. One last unheard message.
He clicks it.
It is his daughter, singing softly:
O holy night the stars are brightly shining
He closes his eyes and listens to the carol on repeat until the battery
dies.
A thrill of hope the weary wor

Episode Notes
A reluctant young woman decides to throw caution to the wind and go on her first date, what's the worst that could happen?
The Blind Date 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:
Cassandra wasn’t like most teen girls. She didn’t enjoy the same things that the other girls in school did. She didn’t chase after boys, or dressed in the latest fashions. It was a rare sight to see Cassandra wearing make-up on a day other than Halloween.

That was the only holiday that Cassandra cared about. She felt that was the only night she could actually be herself. She loved reading gothic horror, curled up on her bed. Her bookshelf was lined with the classics, Dracula, Frankenstein, and Dr. Jekyll to name a few. The newer romantic take on the classics made her feel sick and angry. They were taking her beloved stories and twisting them to attract the same people she loathed and escaped into the books from.

Cassandra had one person she would really call a friend. A girl two years older than her started talking to her in the lunch room one day. Betty was her name. She dressed in all black clothes and dyed her hair as black as she could. Cassandra adopted her look almost instantly. They shared a lot of the same interests.

The only difference between the two was that Betty was interested in the opposite sex. She occasionally had a boyfriend, and the time the two friends shared sometimes was strained, but Cassandra really didn’t worry. She would just dive into a book until Betty and her boyfriend of the week broke up.

Betty had a volatile temperament, especially with her boyfriends. None of her relationships lasted a month. One time she came over to Cassandra’s house with a black eye. Her boyfriend at the time, Randy punched her in the face. Betty said she cut Randy with a switchblade she carried at all times. Randy lived a few towns over so Cassandra never met him, or seen him to verify the story.

“Come on Cassandra, a boyfriend might do you some good,” Betty chided one time. She laughed it off at the time, but truthfully sometimes she did think about it. Having someone to share her dreams with, other than Betty, wouldn’t be so bad, she told herself.

After almost a year of joking around Betty started to get insistent, especially after meeting her newest boyfriend Brandon. She had met Brandon on a new Goth dating site. Cassandra warned her against it, but Betty argued that the site screens all the people on there. On their first date Cassandra followed them, just in case, but everything went well.

“Cassandra come on, just make a profile, then you can see who’s on there. You never know, maybe your future husband is on there,” Betty said applying her black lipstick in Cassandra’s vanity mirror. She had a date with Brandon later that evening and was getting ready at Cassandra’s house because she could borrow her clothes.

“Maybe it’s not a husband you’re after, they have women too,” Betty said with a laugh and playfully tossed the lipstick at her friend.

“Oh stop,” Cassandra said back.

“Well, what are you? Asexual?” Betty asked.

“I just think getting a boyfriend is more trouble than its worth. I don’t need some asshole calling me when I have fifty pages left of my favorite book,” Cassandra said as she pulled a black lacy dress from her closet. “Here, wear this one, it will make you look slutty. Brandon will love it.”

“I wouldn’t want to lead him on,” Betty said. They both looked at each other and smiles crept onto their faces. They both burst out with laughter. It wasn’t like Betty slept around, but if the mood struck her then she wouldn’t be shy with her boyfriend. It was cool for the guys to sleep with any girl they could, but if the kids at school saw Betty doing it they would call her a slut. That was probably why Betty dated boys from out of town, Cassandra thought.

Betty’s phone dinged with a text message and Cassandra used that interruption to check her hair in the mirror. It was time to dye her roots again. She would have to run out to the drug store. She heard Betty laugh, and looked at her friend.

“What’s so funny?” Cassandra asked.

“Brandon, he is so funny. He asked me if he should bring condoms,” Betty replied.

“You guys have only been dating for like two weeks, Jesus!” Casandra said.

“Yeah but he has been real good to me so far, he deserves a treat,” Betty said in a playful voice and slapped her ass.

“You’re too much,” Cassandra said with a smile and rolled her eyes.

A short time later, after Betty left, Cassandra sat in her room with a copy of In a Glass Darkly. It was the seventh time she read the collection of short stories by Sheridan Le Fanu. Her eyes kept drifting from the written word to her laptop Betty had left open on the end of her bed. After the third time she sighed and put the book down.

She typed in the web address for the gothic singles site Betty had used to find Brandon. I’ll only look around for fun, and to shut Betty up, she thought as she began to make a profile. She took a selfie with her cell and uploaded it to her profile.

Once that was done she browsed through a few men’s profiles looking superficially at them. She grew bored a few minutes later and put her phone down. She looked back towards her book, but she wasn’t in the mood, so she popped in the DVD of Ginger Snaps, her favorite werewolf movie.

After a few minutes a ding came from her phone. “Uh, Betty,” she said picking up her phone, but saw it wasn’t a text message at all. It was a notification from the Goth dating website. Someone had viewed her profile and wanted to chat.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t actually talk to a guy, could she? Even over the internet she wasn’t sure she would have the confidence enough to talk to someone in that manner. She tapped her finger on the thumbnail image to open his profile, but it instead it opened the chat window.

“Fuck!” she said as she saw the mystery guy was typing. She looked at the enlarged photo of him. He had shoulder length black hair. He wore a black leather jacket in his picture. She looked at the name attached to the profile. Jeremy, 19.

He was cute, she had to admit, as she scrolled through his information.

Ba-ding!
A new message from Jeremy. She tapped on the notification.
Hi there, I’m Jeremy and I love reading horror. I listen to goth music and just graduated. You look real pretty in your profile picture.
Even though he wasn’t there in person, she blushed anyway. No one ever called her pretty before, well except for Betty, but that didn’t count. Even her own parents, that mostly left her alone, never complimented her on anything.
“What should I say?” she whispered out loud as she looked at her phone. She began to type a message, then deleted it. After a few tries she finally got out what she wanted to say, sort of.
Thanks! You’re pretty too, I LOVE horror!
She looked back at her message after hitting send. “Oh God damnit!” she exclaimed. “You’re pretty too? What the fuck is wrong with me?”
She saw that he was typing back to her and she cringed imagining his response to her. She knew that she wasn’t ready to chat with a guy! She wasn’t cool like Betty. She wished her friend were here now to tell her what to say. She would probably tell her to send a pic of her boobs.
Um thanks…what kind of music do you listen too?
Well that wasn’t as bad as she thought. He just thanked her. She thought about what to say back.
Mostly local music. Have you ever been to The Freezer? She asked. It was a local club that she had been too. One of Betty’s old boyfriends had a band and they went a few times. Some of the bands she actually enjoyed, except for Betty’s boyfriends, they were terrible.
The Club over on 34th? I’m there right now. Chum Trail is playing tonight. They start in a half an hour, you should come out!
She hadn’t heard of a band called Chum Trail before. She thought about it, but she had never been there without Betty. She wasn’t sure she could do it. She quickly texted her friend to get some advice.
Are you coming?
Jeremy messaged her. She waited a few more seconds. “Come on Betty, you twat, message me back,” she said to her phone. A minute passed and still nothing.
Hello?
She felt bad for not messaging Jeremy back, but she was indecisive. She wasn’t the outgoing person Betty was and sometimes she was content just to follow in the wake of her friend. She sighed as she looked at her phone laying on the black comforter on her bed. Finally she couldn’t stand it no more and picked up her phone. She opened the messaging app and started to type to Jeremy that she couldn’t make it tonight, but some other time, but she only got two letters typed before she received a text from Betty.
WTF GO!
“I knew she would say that,” Cassandra said and let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
OK
She typed it to Jeremy and flinched when she hit send. She could always not go and say something came up, anyway.
Sweet! I’ll be outside waiting for you!
Ah shit. Now she had to go. She jumped off the bed and looked into the closet her and Betty had destroyed earlier to dress Betty up. Now it was her turn. Although she was very apprehensive about going she had to admit she was excited as well. She fixed her hair in the mirror quick and then put on the black lipstic

Episode Notes
When a new house has old secrets can the new young inhabitants survive their homecoming?
Homecoming 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:
Brandon pulled the keyring from his pocket of his worn blue jeans. Kristie danced impatiently from foot to foot behind him in the cold morning air. “Hurry up Brandon, its freezing out here,” she said as a cloud of her frozen breath escaped her mouth.
“First thing we are going to have to do is change the locks. This key isn’t working right,” Brandon said over his shoulder back at his fiancé.
“I just hope the heat is turned on. I can’t believe you went out and got us a house without letting me see it first,” she said and rubbed her arms.
“It’s more romantic that way. Besides… it’s all my money,” Brandon said as the key finally did its job and the lock clicked. He swung the door open and turned towards Kristie. “Shall I carry you over the threshold?” he asked.
“Not until we get married, Bran. Let’s just get warm,” Kristie said and pushed passed him. He heard her boots click on the hardwood floors of the living room. “This place is huge,” he heard her say from deep within the house. It put a smile on his face that she liked the house he picked out. He entered and closed the door behind him.
“How much did you pay for this place, Bran?” she asked as he entered the kitchen behind her. She ran her hands over the granite countertop. It was so smooth.
“Now don’t you worry about that,” he replied and wrapped his arms around her. She squealed and started to giggle.
“How can we afford this place?”
“I got it all covered. I have been saving up for a while now. If I take some overtime down at the shop every week we should be fine. I talked to Sam he said I can work Saturdays,” Brandon said.
“It’s beautiful. When do we move in?” she asked.
“As soon as we are done here. I got the truck for the whole day,” he said back. “This is going to be great. We can now start a family,” Brandon finished. She smiled back at him and kissed him on the mouth making a loud smacking noise with her lips when they separated.
“Let’s go! You know I don’t have much at my moms,” she said and skipped towards the front door. Brandon watched her go. It wasn’t just to see her backside, although it was quite impressive. It was her youthfulness that really attracted him to her.
They had met in high school, he was a senior, but she was only a freshman. They didn’t really talk until Kristie’s mom had to bring her car into the shop Brandon worked at after graduation. They were nearly inseparable ever since. He followed her out the door.
Night fell across the town early in the wintertime, it was only 6:30pm but the streetlights have come on already when they pulled up in Sam’s borrowed truck full with their possessions. Brandon backed it right up to the front door so they didn’t have to walk as far.
“Come on babe, let’s get this stuff inside. We need to christen each room you know,” Brandon said patting Kristie on the behind.
“Once we get this stuff inside I’m going to be too tired,” she said and watched the smile leave Brandon’s face. “Well maybe two rooms,” she said coyly.
They carried boxes inside and placed them in the rooms written on the outside. They didn’t have much in the way of furniture. They were using lawn chairs temporarily in the living room. It would take another week or so for Brandon to get enough money up to get a couch from one of those rental places.
“You know Bran, I was thinking now that we have our own house, that maybe I should get a job,” Kristie said as she placed a milk crate down in the living room. Brandon placed the T.V. on top of it. At least they had a flat screen and not one of those old heavy T.V.’s he thought to himself.
“I’ll bring the truck back tomorrow. Why don’t we order a pizza and get cleaned up,” Brandon said kissing his fiancé.
“Sounds good to me, I could use a hot shower,” Kristie said and headed up the stairs. Brandon ordered a pizza quick and followed her up.
He could hear the shower running as he entered their bedroom. He started to assemble the wooden frame before he lacked all ambition. He just finished when he heard a knock on the door. He raced downstairs to get the pizza.
After they were full they made their way to the bedroom. He was glad he had finished putting the bed together. They hopped onto the mattress and started to get undressed.
Brandon awoke sometime in the night. He sat up and looked around their bedroom. It was like a dream come true. He turned back to his bride to be and smiled. He threw on his pants and headed down to the kitchen to grab himself a drink. He hoped there was a beer or two left over. Nothing was as good as a cold beer after sex, he thought.
He let out a wahoo when he opened the fridge and saw there was plenty left. He grabbed a bottle and twisted the top off. He took a long pull off the bottle before leaning against the counter looking over the boxes he had yet to unpack. A chore that he really didn’t mind having to do. Being out on their own was worth it, even if they didn’t have much.
He didn’t mind Kristie’s parents, well her foster parents, even thought they had split up both of them continued to be a part of her life. She had lived with her foster mother since they divorced two years ago. Sometimes Kristie would tell him he that she wanted to know her real parents, but she had no way of knowing. He foster parents refused to help her.
Brandon heard a thump from upstairs. “Babe?” he called out, but only silence followed. He put his beer down on the counter and moved towards the stairs. He heard no movement upstairs. “Maybe it’s the house settling,” he said and went back to his bottle.
A louder thump came from upstairs, this time with a scream. It was not the house settling. He ran for the stairs but a half dozen steps up he froze. Standing at the top of the stairs was a black form, its eyes glowed red with hatred. “Intrusus,” it said in a guttural voice.
Brandon felt his knees give out and he fell back onto the hard kitchen floor. He slid into the corner of the cabinets. Brandon was paralyzed with fear, but he heard something coming down the stairs and Kristie was screaming. He couldn’t turn his head to look. He listened as the noise went through the kitchen to the hall and then he heard a door open and slam shut. Then there was only silence.
It took him another minute before he could move. He got to his feet and called out to Kristie, but he heard no reply. He ran into the Hall and looked for her. He saw a small blood trail leading to the basement door. He grabbed a flashlight in the living room and headed towards the basement door.
He placed his hand on the knob and yanked it open, not sure what to expect, but only darkness greeted him. He shone the light on the wooden basement steps. He say the same blood trail leading down into the abyss.
“Kristie!” he called out. There was no reply. He took a test step down and waited, for what he wasn’t sure. He continued down into the darkness. He had never been in the basement before. When he came to look over the house he had Sam look over the furnace and other things in the basement. His boss knew more about those kind of things. Now he wished he had gone down those stairs before, to know what he was walking into.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and shone the light around the basement. He followed the trail of blood that led off to the right from the stairs. A moment later he came to a wooden wall, with a door built in with odd symbols painted in a black paint on it.
Brandon paused and took a deep breath. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he felt rooted in place. What if the thing he saw at the top of the stairs was in here? What if it had Kristie? He looked around on the old wooden shelves for some kind of weapon, although he didn’t know what good it would do.
Brandon found a crowbar and picked it up with his left hand. He shined the light on the door that lead deeper into the basement. The symbols written in black paint there looked foreboding to him. He couldn’t place why, just something primordial told him to run, leave Kristie and run. He couldn’t leave her though. She was the only thing that made existence worth it for him.
He took a deep breath, trying to gather his resolve and grabbed the handle on the wooden door. It was hot to the touch and he yanked his hand back. He used a rag he found to grab it a second time and yanked it open.
Dancing flames met him, the heat off of which assaulted him immediately. He saw Kristie, surrounded by a ring of fire. Her legs bound at her slender ankles and her hand tied behind her back with some kind of leather strap. She was still naked from their foray earlier, her short cropped blond hair sticking to her face with sweat generated by the heat.
“Kristie!” he called and took a step closer to her. Kristie’s head snapped towards him.
“No Brandon. Stay back!” she called out with panic in her voice.
A shadow moved off to the left, Brandon barely caught the movement out of the corner of her eyes. “Intrusus,” the thing said towards him.
“Kristie, are you ok?” Brandon said facing the shadow and sidestepping towards the circle of flame.
“I…I’m ok,” she said. Brandon run. Just run!” she said.
“I can’t leave you,” he said back and watched the shadow move closer. Somehow it was darker than the blackness behind it.
“Lex debet incipere,” it said in its hateful voice.
“What does it want?” Brandon asked his fiancé. He could feel the heat on his bare back. He was only a few feet from the flames.
“I don’t know. I don’t understand it,” she said.
“Can you move? If you we

Episode Notes
On Thanksgiving a police officer discovers a horrible secret about a family dinner...
Thanksgiving Dinner by Rachael Redolfi (A Weekly Spooky Original)
https://www.facebook.com/redolfifiberfantasies/
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:****
Monticello, Indiana - just an hour and a half from the infamous Gary, and still less than three hours from Chicago. It was a small town, with a population that barely scratched 5,000 men, women, and children. Most residents grew up together, worked together, went to school together, hell… Most of them even frequented the same five churches. 
That’s why, when Sophia got the chance to move she chose Monticello. Just close enough to home that she could visit her family if she chose to, but usually she chose not to. She loved her family but… they were a thorn in her side. 
Chicago just wasn’t quite her speed; there was too much going on all the time and she just couldn’t cope with all of that, not anymore. Aside from being constantly high-strung from all the work she had to do for the city, she also found herself increasingly depressed dealing with the less-than-responsible members of her precinct..
With the recommendation of her chief, and with a little bit of fenagiling when a position opened up, Sophia got herself a cushy job in Monticello, Indiana. She considered it cushy because she really didn’t have to do much or deal with much, aside from the odd noise complaint or writing your standard parking tickets. Sure, in the summer she would have to work a little harder to control traffic or stave off the common drunken tourist, but for the most part she really didn’t have to work that hard. 
It really felt like the only time she was working was May through August - once the chilly September air hit, everything quieted down and she got a chance to relax. 
Sitting in her cruiser, she got a text on her phone. 
“Are you coming, or not?” the text message from her brother bellowed.
Sophia grimaced at her phone, sighed, and stretched out. It had been a long shift already, she really didn’t feel like dealing with her family. She glanced at a picture on her dashboard before opening up her phone and responding. 
“No. I’m not coming. The drive is too long,” she tapped back.
Three dots. 
Someone honked across the street and she glanced up. One elderly driver was taking too long to make a left turn at a light. She decided to ignore it. 
The response finally chimed, “Dinner starts at 6. Just say you don’t want to see us.”
“Ok fine I don’t want to see you,” she hastily pounded back then hit send. She was working a double anyway. Chief Lewis called off sick and she’d taken his shift; even if she wanted to see her family she couldn’t. 
Her black coffee bellowed up puffs of heat-vapor. She took a huge, scalding gulp and hissed, “fucker” at her phone before glancing back up at traffic. The picture on her dashboard glowered at her in monochromatic tones. 
The elderly driver had figured out the problem and traffic was moving along fine. 
It was never busy during noon, anyway, but during the holiday season it was so slow she could almost take a nap. 
Another ding. She glanced at the home-screen of her phone which had the banner of, “But grandma really misses you. Her and mom…”
She honestly debated opening up that message - it had been a whole year since her brother had attempted an honest-to-god conversation with her, she was curious to see what he would try to pull this time. 
“Officer Cortez please report, please,” a familiar and friendly voice chimed. 
Nancy was always too polite, if she didn’t end a call with “please”, Sophia would be suspicious. 
“Officer Cortez, reporting,” Sophia said back.
“We have a request for a welfare check at 1911 East Davidson, please,” Nancy said. 
Sophia plugged it into her GPS, it was less than three miles away. 
“Now, this one here is a doozy,” Nancy continued. “Probably should have just called animal control… um, if you please.”
Officer Cortez talked back through the receiver, “If you needed animal control you just should have called them. Why am I going there?”
“Well, to be honest,” Nancy droned. If she wasn’t droning, something was wrong. “Perfectly honest, mind you, the animal isn’t of the utmost concern.”
“Alright then, so what is?”
“Norman Roberts. He ain’t been in contact with his neighbor and his dog is still outside, if you please. Abigail White called and said he hasn’t been seen in over twelve days.” 
Sophia started her car and the engine of her cruiser grumbled to life when she followed the directions on her GPS. 
“Oh good! You are going! I’ll let Chief Lewis know he don’t need to go all the way down there,” Nancy said. 
Sophia paused. Furrowed her brows. Hissed into the radio, “You didn’t disturb him, did you?”
“Oh I’ve been keeping him updated on all activity in the town!” Nancy chortled back cheerily.
Sophia sighed, pinched her brow at a stop-sign and groaned, “Let him know I’m handling it and then… just… stop. Please. He needs his rest.”
“Oh, sure!” Nancy chirped. 
Sophia headed forward and followed the directions on her phone. 
“I guess chemo ain’t easy, afterall,” the dispatcher noted. 
“No, it is not,” Sophia reassured, trying not to look at the picture of her father. 
Sophia took a turn, waited at a traffic light, and took another sip of her coffee. Well-paved roads gave way to gravel as she headed toward the trailer-park. The soy fields were barren and empty, a copse of oak trees with vibrant orange leaves towered near a fence line, and a few crows glowered at her from their perched on the phone lines. 
The road was bumpy and her cruiser had a rough time hopping over all the potholes. Monticelllo was doing well, but not well enough to buy new SUV’s for the police, or repave all the roads; and even as well as the city was doing, it still had its rough areas, just like any city around the world. Sophia just counted herself lucky that this particular city didn’t have many of the other issues as elsewhere in the country. 
While driving past a barren grove of trees her phone chimed again. Another message from her brother, this time insisting, “Dad would want you here.” 
That almost set her off. Feeling the blood pounding hard in her arms and the burning sense of rage in her chest she paused, took a deep breath and counted. 
One.
Two.
Three. 
Four.
Five. 
She released the breath glanced at the picture of her father in uniform she kept in the car and scowled, grumbling to herself, “Now he’s trying to use you against me.” She wouldn’t dignify her brother’s harassment with a response. 
She turned a corner at the entrance of the trailer park and followed each left-hand turn until she came to the address she was looking for.
An elderly woman, definitely past her seventies, rushed out of a trailer and swarmed Sophia’s SUV. 
“Are you here for Norm?” the woman asked.
Sophia nodded, stepped out from the car with hardly a glance at the photo, and considered leaving her phone in the car but then thought better of it. If this was an emergency she would want her phone - and if it wasn’t… Well, it was still set on vibrate and wouldn’t disturb her. 
The woman, Abigail, bombarded Sophia with a tirade of information, “I’ve been waiting for what seems like forever! It’s Thanksgiving now and Norm promised to have dinner with me… He always promises but rarely keeps them. Almost two weeks ago, though, I made him swear on his momma’s grave he’d have Thanksgiving dinner with me and he ain’t said a word!”
Sophia nodded, took out her notepad and wrote down any pertinent information she could discern - there was none. 
“So the last time you spoke to Norman was twelve days ago?” she asked.
“Yes, twelve days ago,” Abigail confirmed with a nod. “He’d just got home from a long haul and promised me a visit today!” 
Sophia closed the door of her car with a slam, and immediately a cacophony of barks sounded from behind the trailer. Within a few moments the entire park was filled with the warning howls of dogs. 
“He does that when anyone comes over,” Abigail explained, pointing at the small yard behind the trailer. “He’s been chained up this whole time.” 
“For almost two weeks?” 
“Yeah, I just been giving him food and water,” Abigail explained, looking rather sheepish. 
Sophia grimaced before the yelping died down, and only the baying of Norman’s hound remained. 
“Have you tried contacting Norman directly?” she pried. 
Abigail nodded. “I banged on the door - both front and back! - and he hasn’t said anything,” she explained. “I called him last week but it went straight to voicemail.” 
Sophia nodded, and glanced over Norman’s trailer; none of the other trailers were in the best of shape, but his was the most worn-down. The paint had peeled off of practically every inch, all of the windows had been broken and replaced with plywood, the front door itself was held in place with a patchwork of duct-tape and bungee-cords… the trailer sat at nearly a forty-five degree angle at the left corner because the foundation had settled unevenly.
She noted a security camera duct-taped just above the front door and she assumed on instinct there was a twin on the other side of the house. She didn’t mention this to Abigail. 
Officer Cortez took a step forward and asked, “So when was the last time you spoke to him directly?”  
Abigail’s answer finally raised enough alarm that Sophia had to write down the answer, “Just about three weeks ago, right before he went on the road.” 
Noting it, and raising an eyebrow, Sophia took another step forward and the dog in the backyard began to growl again. Another noise - like a dog growling but very muffled - cau

Episode Notes
A young girl and her father are surviving and thriving in the landscape of the apocalypse, but this new dangerous world is more than meets the eye...
Surivors by Shane Migliavacca
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:
The girl stared at the picture of her mother. She was only a baby in the photo. Her mom holding her tight and smiling. The girl was only one when the world ended. Her mom died then, in the ensuing chaos. She was fifteen now. Her father had escaped the city with her. Raised her out here in the middle of nowhere. They lived in a cabin, surrounded by beautiful trees. He taught her how to read, to hunt, to survive. She could hear the thunk of the ax outside. He was cutting some firewood. It was a comforting sound. They’d need that wood soon. Fall’s chill heavy was in the air. She loved of the smell of burning wood. Curling up by the fire and reading a book. Father had brought a bunch of books with him. He’d brought a few more back on a recent supply run. The girl hoped someday he’d let her come along on one. But, there was only the two of them. He told her that someone needed to guard the cabin and their stuff.
There were scavengers out there. People like them, but willing to hurt, kill others to get what they want. Worse then the scavengers were the dead. They were the ones that destroyed every thing. Dead bodies returned to life. They attacked the living, ate their flesh. One bite from them, even a scratch and you’d get sick and turn into one of them. That’s what happened to mom. She’d seen some pictures of them dad had shown her. Terrible looking things. A shiver ran down her spine just thinking about those pictures. There was always a risk those things could show up here.
The girl felt nervous. She got up from her chair and went over to the window. From here she could see her father working. Her dad brought down the ax, splitting a large piece of wood. His face was sweaty. He was starting to grow a beard. She didn’t like him with the beard, it hid his smile. He said it kept his face warm in the winter. Her dad looked up and saw her watching. He waved. The girl waved back, just seeing him, she felt reassured.
There wasn’t much to do right now. She’d washed the dishes from breakfast. It was to early to think about making lunch. They had a good garden going here, she’d gotten pretty good at gardening. Her dad had learned it from mom and later from mom’s books. The same books the girl read growing up. They along with the photo made her feel still connected to her mother. Dad didn’t talk much about her. It made him too sad. She could see it in his eyes.
Besides the garden they hunted the local wildlife for food. There were deer, turkey, rabbits and squirrels. She’d gone a few times, but as good as they tasted, she couldn’t bring herself to shoot one. Dad had been disappointed. Mainly he said, because he feared what would happen if he wasn’t around. This always led her to getting upset, so he dropped it. Now he went hunting by himself. She was better at setting traps for the smaller ones. At least she didn’t have to be there for those, when it happened. When they died. Her dad checked the traps once or twice a day. Mostly they just got squirrels. They made a good stew meat. Dad said they tasted a bit like pork. Something they didn’t have anymore around here. He said maybe someday they’d get lucky and find a wild pig.
There was some time before it would be lunch time. She didn’t really want to stay in the cabin all day. It was too nice outside. A little chilly maybe, but the morning sun was warming things up. Maybe she could convince Dad to let her go check the traps. It would a nice walk and a chance to get some fresh air. The cabin tended to get a little stuffy. If she was going to convince her father, she needed to be equipped.
The Girl went to over to the wall of weapons. That was her name for it anyway. On the gun rack sat their hunting rifle and a shotgun. Underneath on a table sat a bow and a bunch of arrows. Next to them was her pistol, sitting in it’s holster. If dad had his way, she’d wear the gun all the time. Even to bed.
The girl picked the holster up, taking the gun out and checking it. Loaded and ready to go. She took the belt with the holster and fastened the buckle. It felt tight against her waist. The girl took a sheath with a knife that was setting on the table. Couldn’t forget that. She tied it to her leg. Then she slid on her flannel jacket. Putting a handful of rounds in one pocket. Now all she needed to do was convince her father.
After promising her father about fifty times she’d be careful and keep to the route, the girl got to go. He offered to go with her, but after telling him she wanted to do it herself he relented. The girl wouldn’t have minded her dad’s company at all. But they spent so much time together at the cabin, it was nice to have some time all to herself. Besides, she was getting older, it was time she had more responsibility.
As she headed out the girl could still hear a few birds chirping away in the trees. There were some that hadn’t left yet. She hoped they’d be okay.
The brush crunched under her boots. The trees had started losing their leaves. They looked so beautiful this time of the year, with the orange and red leaves. It was a shame they couldn’t look that way all year round.
She heard a distant rumble in the sky. Looking up she saw the great bird far up in the clouds. Father told her about them. They soared through the skies. Letting out a great roar. Their bodies sparkled with lights, leaving a great trail of smoke behind them as they went. The girl stared up in awe. She followed after waving her arms and calling to it. Not that it could see or hear her way down on the ground as it flew through the heavens.
It reminded the girl of one of the dragons in the books she read. Tales of great warriors fighting mighty beasts. All for a fair princess. Then the warrior and the princess would go off together. Happily ever after. The stories always end with that. What was happily ever after? Sometimes the books had pictures. The girl would look at the pictures of the handsome warrior and feel odd. She dare not tell her father. The feelings made her feel embarrassed. Some times she dreamed about those warriors.
The ground gave way underneath her. The girl went tumbling down a hill, crashing through some brush. Leaves and branches scraped her face and hands as she rolled down the hill. Coming to a sudden stop in a small ditch.
The girl could feel blood trickle down her cheek. She stood, feeling dumb. She’d done what her father always warned her about. Lost focus. She’d been so caught up watching the great bird and daydreaming. The girl felt sore and had some cuts, but she was lucky to be alive. She turned looking up at the hill she’d just came down. It was quite steep. It was a miracle she didn’t break anything. More then the physical pain she felt ashamed. Ashamed she’d let her father’s faith in her down.
The girl started back up the hill, but the dirt was too lose. All she could manage was to get a little ways up before sliding back down. Finally giving up, she used a few of the words her father told her not to. She’d have to find another way back.
The girl looked around, A sliver of fear ran through her belly. She’d never been here before. She touched the gun at her side. Reassured by it’s cold surface and weight against her hip. There was nothing to fear if she remembered what her father had taught her. Keep her head and stay on the goal.
She started walking, looking for a way around. Or maybe an easier place to climb up. Her eyes scanning the terrain. As the girl made her way through the woods, a sound stopped her. It was a man’s voice. Gruff sounding, not at all like her dad’s. It sounded mean, violent.
“Keep your eyes open Dale.” It said, saying the name with anger.
The girl’s heart started to beat fast. That sliver of fear started to multiply.
Another voice, younger answered the man. “I am. I am!”
The girl crouched low and crept forward. She wanted to get a look at these intruders. Size them up. Did they know her and dad were here? Did they come to take their supplies?
She hid behind a large fallen tree. Long dead, it’s roots looked like the mouth of an angry monster. Peeking over the tree carcass she saw them. There were three of them. The gruff sounding one. He was the oldest. Then there was another male, about her age it looked. Then a boy, the one he called Dale. Maybe twelve or thirteen years old.
The girl eased along the dead tree as they moved forward. She needed to stay behind some cover. Slowly she drew her pistol. Taking the safety off with a click. Unless she ambushed them, they had the advantage with the rifles. They had the benefit of distance on their side. They’d have to come closer for her to get a good shot.
So, she waited. Breathing heavy. Sweat dripping down her forehead. Mixing with the blood from the scratches. The girl wiped her forehead leaving a greasy, bloody smear across it.
“You have to be careful with that rifle son.” The older man said, sounding a bit annoyed, yet fatherly. Were these his sons? “Out here you could hurt yourself or one of us. And there’s nobody to help.” It reminded her of her own training. Maybe they were good people. Maybe if she called out to them, approached them. They could be friends. No. She remembered what her father had told her about the others. They only wanted everything for themselves. Looking at the lanky older man she could believe it. He had a look about him. Something that told her to stay away. They’d most likely sho